POV Ella
Three days since our wedding. Three days since the last time I saw Keith.
No matter how late I stay up or how early I wake up, he is always away. Yesterday, I was up, reading on the couch till 3 am, and he didn't show up. I woke up at 6 am today, to hear the door snap behind him just as I stepped out.
It's uncanny, his ability to dodge me. For the past three days, the only conversation I've had is with Joan, the sweet middle-aged housekeeper/ cook.
It was Joan who prepared the meals in the fridge on our first day, who cleans and keeps the house, leaving little for me to do except stew in my loneliness.
I pick at my food — some pasta dish Joan has kindly prepared for dinner, that tastes like ash in my mouth — as I glance at the gilded clock hanging in the living room.
8:30 pm.
I sigh. No sign of Keith. Does he truly hate me that much?
I drop my fork and hug myself. This isn't sustainable, for either of us. How can he possibly hate me this much, without even getting to know me?
He'll have to meet you tomorrow though, for lunch with Grandpa, I console myself.
I give up the food, wash the dishes and decide to call it a night. I glance at the clock once more before heading to my room.
9:30 pm.
I feel the twinge of disappointment keenly. If only..
Click.
Keith walks through the door and freezes as he spots me. He grimaces and starts to head towards his room.
"Wait," I call. He stops again. Doubt, uncertainty and frustration flood me, and tears fill my eyes. It takes a moment to harness my voice again, and he's already moving away in that brief second.
"Please, can we just talk for a moment?"
He stills. His shoulders drop a little. I see him shrug, as if an internal debate has just ended. I hear him huff. "Give me a few minutes to freshen up. We'll talk after I've eaten."
I wait for him on the couch and become a ball of nervous energy by the time he finishes his dinner. He eats silently, completely ignoring my presence. I breathe in the aroma of the pasta he is eating. His utensils clink on the china plate, the loudest thing in the room.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
I hear the seconds ticking by and my hands start to grow cold. I can't stop fidgeting as I steal glances at him.
"Can I eat in peace?"
I jump and mumble sorry before turning away. My cheeks flush in embarrassment. I'm mortified, but I can't help myself. I feel like if I take my eyes off him for even a second, he'll run away and I'll miss my chance.
Clink. Tap. Whoosh.
I chance a glance at him to find he's putting his plate away. I open my mouth to speak —
"About tomorrow, we'll be leaving at 10:30 am."
He looks at me then, eyes cold and distant. "Grandpa likes to connect and catch-up with the family before and during lunch. We'll be going a little earlier than usual so that he can finish his scrutiny of you before the rest of the family arrives."
He continues in the same monotone, like speaking to me is a chore he would rather not do.
"A stylist will come in at around 8 am to fix your look and outfit. Be ready for them when they arrive."
He turns and starts walking away, as if this is all the conversation he can handle with me tonight.
It hurts. His indifference to me hurts more than all of the disrespect and neglect I've faced at the hands of my family. At least with them, I know the reason behind their hatred.
Keith's instant dislike of the adult me, and continued indifference pain me more than all of the cruelty I've endured at the hands of my family.
"Why do you hate me so much?"
The words leave my mouth of their own accord. I want to take them back, but I don't. I push on, squaring my shoulders, determined to get the answer out of him.
"Have I done something to offend you?"
He turns to me wide-eyed, and then blinks. His face takes on a far-away expression and then he frowns, as if trying to determine the answer to my question.
He looks me right in the eyes then as if he is seeing me for the first time. He opens his mouth as if to say something, then snaps it shut. He blinks. Once. Twice. Thrice.
"I… don't hate you."
He seems surprised by the admission. I feel a lightness envelop me at those words, before doubt creeps in. If he doesn't hate me… then why does he act like he does?
I glance at him as he struggles with the weight of his thoughts. Does he mean it?
I want to believe him. God, I do. But what if… this is his cruel idea of a joke? My heart sinks a little at this thought.
I look at him, trying to discern his thoughts. I stare on as a slow heat fills my heart.
I don't want our conversation to end like this. In his hesitation and my doubt. I want us to resolve things.
I want a chance to make this marriage work.
His silver eyes glow in the evening light, his light blond hair curling slightly at the nape, but otherwise still styled perfectly. I take in the T-shirt he's wearing with his sweats, stretching over broad shoulders and I feel my heart take off like a rocket. I swallow nervously. He's still staring at me, a slight frown gracing his face, lips pressed into a slight pucker like he can't figure out what to do with this new information. The apparent confusion makes him look utterly innocent, and years younger than he is.
He is so cute. I feel an overwhelming sweetness fill my heart.
I wish — suddenly and fiercely — you were mine.
Realisation crawls into my awareness and a current runs through me.
I like Keith. Ever since my birthday, seven years ago, I've liked him.
Oh no. I'm in trouble now.