CHAPTER THREE: WHEN LOVE TURNS TO UNEASE
1140 Words
Rita couldn’t stop replaying Prince’s abrupt resignation in her mind. The memory gnawed at her like a persistent itch she couldn’t scratch. Who just wakes up one day and walks away from a high-paying job for a business that doesn’t even exist yet? That should have been the first glaring red flag. Yet here she was, standing beside him, heart hammering, caught between disbelief and attraction.
She wanted answers, loud, demanding ones but every time she opened her mouth, her thoughts tumbled into themselves, a jumble of hope and fear. Prince noticed the tension tightening around her, a subtle quiver in her jaw, the way she fiddled with her keys. He leaned closer, offering that smile, warm, confident, infuriatingly disarming.
Was she being paranoid, or was she ignoring something dangerous?
Texas had grown too small, too quiet. The streets felt claustrophobic, the neighbors too friendly in a way that pressed on her. She missed New York: the city’s pulse, the chaos, the familiar rhythm of her work. And yet, she stayed, caught in the orbit of a man moving faster than the world around him.
Valentine’s Day arrived like a storm. Prince’s gestures were larger than life: a box of cakes, vanilla and chocolate intertwined like their uneasy relationship; delicate flowers; dresses and shoes all for her. He even booked tickets back to New York, insisting he wanted to meet her parents and declare his intentions the very next day.
In the days leading up to the trip, Prince maintained constant contact with her mother, sending gifts wristwatches, shoes, designer dresses, and even brand-new phones. Rita’s chest swelled at the generosity. She barely noticed the subtle strings being pulled, the faint pressure beneath every act, the careful choreography of a man who knew exactly how to impress.
Prince would sometimes leave to hang out with friends, leaving Rita to pack. Nights ended with Netflix and quiet laughter, their bodies sinking into the couch as the glow of the TV painted their faces.
The morning of their flight, the house was still except for the hum of the refrigerator. They woke early, said their prayers, and loaded their bags. A melancholy playlist filled the car, and Rita stared out the window, thoughts heavy, almost numb. She didn’t notice the faint smirk that flickered across Prince’s face, or the way he tapped his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel.
At the airport, the intercom crackled, announcing their flight. They found their seats, hands brushing occasionally, exchanging brief smiles. The plane lifted off, the city shrinking below, a patchwork of lights fading into the night.
By the time they arrived in New York, her mother’s pharmacy was bustling. The sharp scent of antiseptics mingled with faint sweetness from over-the-counter remedies. Seeing her mother’s face light up at the sight of Prince, finally meeting the man she’d spoken to countless times was heartwarming. But Rita noticed the tension in the smiles: Prince’s over-eager politeness, the way he leaned in too closely, the constant need to fill silence.
He spoke too much. Observations slipped out, controlling without overt threat. “She does spend a lot of time on her phone,” he said casually. “Sometimes she’s… distracted.”
Rita’s stomach twisted. She forced a polite laugh, but her jaw tightened. Without a word, she walked away, leaving him to smooth over the conversation with her mother.
Later, Prince left for his hotel to prepare for the next day’s meeting with her father. Rita stayed behind with her mother, sharing stories of her time in Texas, the small joys, the frustrations, and showing off the ring Prince had given her.
As evening fell, Rita gathered her family in the living room. “Tomorrow, my fiancé will be coming to make his intentions known,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady, holding out the gifts he had brought for everyone.
Her father’s gaze sharpened, like a hawk zeroing in on movement. “Gifts won’t buy me,” he said slowly. “If he isn’t convinced he’s the one, my blessing won’t be given.” His eyes flicked to Rita, searching for cracks she wasn’t sure existed. Guilt pricked at her conscience; she had lied about the trip, claiming she was visiting an uncle instead of traveling to meet a man.
The next morning, Rita rose before dawn. She moved through the house with quiet precision, preparing breakfast and tidying the rooms, her mind rehearsing every possible scenario. At the market, she selected the freshest seafood, her fingers brushing the scales, smelling the briny scent that reminded her of home.
Prince arrived early, punctual as ever. The family gathered in the dining room, and her father led an opening prayer. Silence fell like a thick curtain, broken only when Prince spoke, offering a carton of red wine from his father who couldn’t attend.
Her father’s eyes narrowed. “The purpose of your visit?”
Prince let his fork clatter lightly on his plate, cleared his throat, and sipped the room-temperature water before speaking. “I have found a flower I wish to cherish from this family,” he said, smiling at Rita. “I’ve known her for some time and I’m impressed with her upbringing. I would love to marry her.”
Her father leaned forward, piercing gaze steady. “How long have you known each other?”
Rita hurriedly interjected, bending the truth. “We’ve known each other for over a year now,” she said, hoping it would protect their plan.
Prince nodded smoothly. “Yes, sir. Over a year.”
“And what do you do?” her father asked.
“I work as an executive manager at an IT company,” Prince replied confidently.
Rita’s heart thumped. He had resigned. Why hadn’t he told them?
Prince pressed on, his voice calm but urgent. He wanted a court wedding as soon as possible, claiming a looming UK conference required Rita’s presence as his wife. The words were polished, persuasive, but the subtle pressure made her chest tighten.
Her father leaned back, arms crossed, suspicion clouding his features. “Traditions exist for a reason. Families are meant to meet. You should have come with at least two family members. Only after proper consent can we discuss tradition or court.”
Prince’s tone remained coaxing, confident, almost hypnotic, but a chill crept along Rita’s spine. The haste, the smooth talk. It was all carefully measured. Her mother’s approval shone brightly, blinding in its warmth. Even her father, cautious as ever, murmured, “I’ll pray about it.”
As the family dispersed, Rita lingered, eyes scanning the room. Something beneath the surface was shifting. Something Prince’s charm and gifts couldn’t mask. Her chest tightened, her stomach fluttered, and a small, insistent whisper in the back of her mind warned:
Not everything is as it seems
- Writer
