Chapter 4

At one point Esme would actually believe that she was falling in love with Charles. He was an attractive man and a good heart. So she thought at the beginning anyhow. She remembered the day he proposed, remembered every word he had ever said.

What he did that day, would be called sweet. Even romantic. So unCharles-like. He had taken her back to the spot they had gone for their first date. It was a cute picnic spot up atop of a quiet hill, looking down at all the houses below.

Charles had brought a picnic basket and one of those red checkered blanket. It was right out of a fairy tale, and Esme relished in it.

"Thank you for bringing me here," Esme said as she bent down and smoothed her sundress down so it wouldn't crease.

Charles smiled at her, from his spot beside the basket, plucking out the food he had brought along.

One of the items he bought out made Esme cry out in joy.

"Macaroni and cheese?" she grinned, astonished. "But you hate it!" It was true, Esme remembered how he had said he didn't like anything that wasn't roasted for an hour. He had a fetish for poultry and especially hunting.

He smiled and she could see little tiny wrinkles at the side of his mouth. "I thought I'd give it a try… for you."

Esme felt like a princess. She knew it was only mac and cheese, but this man was willing to try something new just for her. Her heart swelled. Charles extracted two forks and handed one to her.

She watched almost intently as he stuck his fork into the pasta and took a bite.

"Well?" she gushed, looking at him expectantly.

He tried to smile as his adam's apple bobbed. "It's… different."

How Esme had laughed! She laughed until his sides hurt and had somehow managed to flip on her back with such a fit. If her mother was here, she would surely scold Esme for such undecent behavior, especially around a male. But her mother wasn't there so she laughed until Charles was peering down at her with his eyesbrows creased.

"It was nice of you to try," she said once she had calmed down and gotten back up from the ground.

He once again tried to smile, but his eyes were tight. "Thank you," Esme whispered sweetly, looking back into his dark pupils. They seemed to soften, but she wasn't so sure. She liked to think they did.

Charles handed the mac and cheese to her, and got out his own chicken sandwich. He bit into it, instantly satisfied. "Much better," he said when he noticed Esme looking up at him. She smiled shyly at him reply and stabbed her fork into the pasta. It was delicious.

"I'll have to make you a dinner you'll actually like one day," Esme replied as she grabbed the bottle of milk Charles had brought along. "For planning such a nice day out."

She struggled with the top of the bottle for a few moments before Charles sighed, placing his sandwich atop of the basket and taking the bottle from Esme's hands. With a twist, it popped off. Was it strange that Esme noticed the veins pop out from his hands?

"Thank you," Esme said, reaching out to take the bottle back. But Charles' hand had slid from the bottle to Esme's own hand, and his fingers rubbed against the top of her hand. It wasn't as gentle as she imagined it to be.

She pulled her hand back quickly.

"There's a reason I bought you out here today," he said after a moments pause as he took in the situation. "I wanted it to be special."

"What be special?" Esme said tentively as she took the bottle back.

He was silent for a moment and she could only hear the soft singing of the birds.

When he spoke again, it had been a few minutes of awkward silence. "I talked to your father yesterday." This grew no surprise from Esme for Charles and her father were very close and often shared a pipe together on the front porch or a drink in the kitchen late at night.

"I hope you weren't talking about me," Esme replied, but secretly hoped they were.

"Actually we did," he answered.

"Nothing bad I hope."

Charles cleared his throat loudly. "No… No I hope not."

Esme loved how he was so hesitate. "What's wrong?" she asked him and reached out to stroke his face. He leaned back away from her approach and cleared his throat once again.

"I want to say this before I forget how to say it."

She nodded, taken aback. "Go ahead."

"I asked your father if I could marry you."

Esme's eyes popped. Marry Charles? "What did he say?"

Charles starred at her, assessing her reaction. "He told me I might as well as you."

Esme said nothing for a long while, her eyes locked on the checkered blanket. After a while, she forced herself to say simply, "Well then."

She managed to tear her eyes from the blanket to look into Charles' eyes. They had a hint of anger in them that made Esme's own eyes widen further.

The minutes ticked on until Charles asked, "So, will you marry me then?"

"I'll… I'll have to ask my father."

The storm in Charles' eyes blazed on. "Very well," he responded, getting up off the picnic blanket and snatching the basket off the ground. "I'll bring you home right away."

Esme had enough manners to reply, "That would be very lovely, thank you."

It was little than half an hour later that Esme was back at home surrounded by her mother, her father, and her newly married best friend.

"He asked you to marry him?" Delilah gushed, her cheeks reddening even more than her newlywed glow.

Esme nodded absentmindly.

"And what did you say?!" demanded her mother, who had long ago planned out her daughter's wedding in her head.

"I said I'd talk to father." Delilah and Mrs. Platt suddenly rounded on Mr. Platt who sat in the very corner of the house, sipping on some scotch.

"Tell her to marry him!" Mrs. Platt cried, but her husband just took another sip from his glass.

Delilah had the decency to turn back to Esme and ask, "Do you want to marry him?"

Esme considered what to say in her head for a second before responding, "I'm indifferent towards him."

Her mother rolled her eyes dramatically. "I highly doubt that, he's been coming around to see you all the time."

Esme merely pressed her lips together.

"You can't say you don't like him," Mrs. Platt tried again.

Her daughter mulled and faired, "I'm not opposed to him in the least."

"But is that good enough to marry him?" Delilah pressed.

"I don't know."

Her mother was quick to put in, "You're twenty-two! It's about time you settled down."

There was a sigh from the other side of the room, and Mr. Platt placed his drink down with a clatter on the wooden table. "Esme, this is ridiculous. Charles Evenson comes from a decent family. He is a man with good prospects and a good friend of this family. He has asked you to marry him. Don't turn him down."

Esme, who never did what people demanded of her, clenched her teeth together. "And what if I don't want to marry him?"

Her father stared back at her with a set determination. "I don't care. You will."

"Father!"

"Esme…" His face softened as he stared at his daughter, who was sweet and beautiful and deserved a bit of stability in her life. "I know what's best for you. Marry Charles."

And that was how the diamond ring appeared on her finger.