Chapter 4

(Jonathan's POV)

"You can stop here," I uttered softly to my driver, who like the caretaker had served me for years. "I wouldn't want to draw any attention to myself."

"Okay sir," he responded, parking the car a few meters away from the bus stop.

My skin was instantly grazed by the hotness of the sun as I stepped out of the limousine and began to walk towards the commercial bus that was still taking in commuters.

"You can sit over here sir," a young teenage boy gestured towards me as I scouted for a seat.

"Oh, thank you." I nodded, a faint smile visible on my face.

As the wheels of the bus began to move, my mind wandered back to that fateful day when I met Emelda.

It was one year to the day since I'd lost my son and daughter-in-law in a car accident, and filled with grief and sad memories of them both, I'd sought solace in the bottom of a bottle in a bar which I later found out was owned by Emelda's stepmother.

The liquor had numbed my senses, dulled my pain, but only for a time.

And then, in the haze of my drunken stupor, I'd stumbled and vomited on the floor of the bar, my body heaving and retching, my world spinning.

It was then that I saw her, Emelda, rushing towards me with a handkerchief unlike the others who just glared at me in disgust.

She didn't hesitate, didn't flinch at the sight of me, a drunken, grieving old man.

"Are you okay sir?" she asked, her voice soft and gentle as she helped me to clean myself up. "It's okay sir. Everyone has their bad days." She added.

"I'm Emelda," she'd said, her eyes kind and sympathetic.

"Th…thank you." I managed to mutter, feeling too choked up to speak.

She'd helped me to a chair, and she'd sat with me, talking to me as though I were a human being, not a drunk old man.

And although I was filled with despair and grieving, I'd seen something in her, kindness, a spark of light in the darkness, a compassion that I had not felt genuinely in a long time.

Over the next few weeks, I purposely would stop by for a drink so that I could see, observe and get to know Emelda better.

On one occasion, I intentionally stayed till the close for the day. I volunteered to walk her home after her stepmother and sister had left earlier in the car. We spoke for hours. She told me about her life, her dreams, her struggles. And I shared with her little of my own stories, my memories of my late son and daughter-in-law.

It was on such an occasion that the idea struck me.

I could marry her for Bryan who had continued in his lascivious lifestyle and had chosen not to be responsible. Atleast, I was sure that a good heir would be birthed and raised. But first, she would have to pass the test.

Finally, the driver announced that the bus had come to its destination. I scurried through numerous passengers. I never knew there could be too many people on a bus.

I was glad when I stepped off the bus. Scanning my eyes across the street for Juana I adjusted the collar of my shirt.

In a few seconds, I spotted her standing across the street, so I crossed over, my steps brisk and businesslike.

"Mr. Rodriguez," she uttered, her smile coy and calculating. "What a pleasure to see you."

I nodded, my expression neutral. "Thank you, Juana."

She waved a hand dismissively. "It's nothing. Shall we?"

"Yes, sure." I responded, trying to keep my expression calm and neutral.

Juana led the way with a haughty air as we made our way to her house which was not quite far from the open street.

In a few minutes we were already in. As I sat in one of the chairs, my eyes took a stroll in my surroundings.

Their home was a far cry from the gigantic mansion I was used to, but I could still see the signs of its former glory, the expensive art and antique furnishings that hinted of a once-wealthy family.

"Thank you for having me," I said, my voice polite but firm.

"Of course," Juana says, her tone dismissive.

"So, Mr Rodriguez, are you here with the money?" Juana asked impatiently, her eyes glinting with greed.

"Oh, I…"

"Mum, where have you been? Been searching all over for you." Natasha, a young lady of about the same age as Emelda came whining, cutting me off.

"I simply must have that new dress for the party, all my friends have theirs already." Natasha continued, her voice shrill and grating. "It's the latest fashion, and everyone will be wearing it. I can't be left out."

It was obvious that unlike Emelda, Natasha was a spoiled and overly-pampered brat. I watched her, my face neutral as I tried to hide my annoyance.

Juana shoots me a look of apology, a forced smile on her face. "Please forgive her, Mr. Rodriguez. Natasha is a bit...high-spirited." she covered up.

I nodded, my expression still carefully neutral. "Of course," I replied. "It's no trouble at all."

"Anyway," Juana let out, her tone firm as she turned back to me. "We were discussing my daughter, Emelda.

Natasha's impatience was clear as her brows furrowed. "Why can't you just talk about me for once?" she ranted, her voice an irritable whine.

Juana's face darkened instantly, from the look on her face, she had had enough. She was already irritated. "Natasha, be quiet," she snapped, her tone revealing she had lost her temper. "We are discussing important matters here."

I resist the urge to sigh, my patience wearing thin.

Natasha huffs, but she does as she was told. Crossing her arms over her chest in a childish display of anger, she sank into the brown leathered furniture, her mouth shut.

Silently, I let out a soft sigh releasing the irritation built in me.

I turned my attention back to Juana, my voice calm and level.

"Can I see my bride now?"