INTRO GONE WRONG
"Father." Jerol salutes the man whom I presume is in his late sixties, and they in these quick manly hugs that do not last even for a second. They appear not have so much in common in terms of complexion except for the eyes and jaws.
However, that is not a problem in any way. What baffles me is the elegant woman was lagging behind this man. Her eyes have not left me since she saw me, and I getting nervous. If it's an assessment she is doing, I highly doubt I will pass. The she is giving me is not anywhere close to like or approval. It's a look of ...I don't like it.
"Welcome, father. Mother!" Jerol takes a step to hug his mother who glitters with the moment his son speaks to him.
"Hey, son!" She says, enveloping her son in a motherly hug.
If only I knew the feeling, I would be able to know how exactly Jerol is feeling right in his mother's loving arms. But never did I receive a hug from my mother in my life, so, I can only imagine the feeling. It must be sweet.
"Mother, father, I want you to meet someone." He announces after they pull away the hug that lasted for far too long. He gently pulls me to him, his hand going my small waist. The four eyes in front of us shoot at me, scaring the hell out of . One pair of these eyes is open for anything. I can see through them the of knowing who I really am to the man right beside me. But the other pair eyes is filled with questions, discontent - I bet she is hoping against all hope that I not what she thinks I am. "I would like you to meet my beautiful wife, Tessa
Angeline McCall."
Boom!
My cheeks turn red due to that sweet intro from my fake husband, and the smile that on his father's face warms my heart. However, I paralyse the moment my lands on his mother. I knew she wasn't impressed with me for some reason. I you can't hide everything with just a makeover, right? She might have sensed odd behind this beautiful attire and make-ups.
But honestly, does she have to be so harsh and so obvious? She is strangling me with eyes.
"What a beauty you got for yourself here, son! I didn't know you had such great !"
"Oh, come on father!"
"I am dead serious. I am tempted to think that you got her from one of these stupid sites because I know you Jerol, you don't have time for anything but work. But again, her beauty and everything else about her tells me that she is too descent well reserved for such crap."
"Are you trying to scare my wife away, father?"
"Not at all, son. I am happy that you finally, finally, found your missing rib. Now I why it took you almost forever, huh? You were mining a gold. Good job son, and to the family my dear." He pulls me for a hug, and after we pull away, he me his hand for a handshake. "I am Adriano McCall."
"Ni.. nice meeting you, Mr McCall." I mumble with a broken voice.
"Come on now, my daughter. You are my son's wife, and that practically makes you daughter. Just call me father, that will make me so proud."
"Well.." I spare a glance at Jerol, and after he slightly nods his head to me as a yes , and an assuring smile appears on his face, I turn to his father who still has my in his. "Alright. Father. Thank you." He smiles, and I snuggle back to Jerol's .
"Sweetheart." He turns to his statue of a wife who looks so bored even before the begins. "Aren't you going to say anything to your daughter or even your son on big step he has taken?"
She looks at her husband and fakes a weak smile that is so obvious, and she turns to , offering her hand. "Welcome, Tessa Angeline.....? Sorry, I didn't get your sir . What was it again?" She says, and my hand just got hooked on the air by some of magic. We stare at each other, our hands waiting for the handshake, her eyes , and her expression growing impatient of waiting for an answer.
"I.. I.." I swallow hard and avoid her eyes for a moment. I don't want to see the look disappointment in her after what I am about to say, because I can feel it is way her expectations.
"She is a McCall, mum. That is all there is to know."
Saviour! I was about to grin until her mother challenged me.
"I know that, son. But which family does she come from? Where does she come ? Who are her people? I think I have the right to know, right, son?" Her hand on the side of her thigh, the sound of the invaluable bracelets on it being the only that can be heard around us.
I look up to Jerol, and from the look of things, his silence and the confusion on his , I am sure he wasn't expecting this. He looks clueless about what to say, and I hate lies, I decide to let out the truth. Besides, there is nothing to be of whether I have a surname or not.
"I don't have a surname, Mrs. McCall. I was just Tessa Angeline before I became a
McCall." I say, and her eyes turn cold at once.
"What?" You don't have parents? You never had parents? Who raised you? Where did grow up? What do you do then? What have you specialized in? Are you...."
"Mom, please! Is this some kind of interrogation or something?" Jerol shouts, cutting mother off, shocking both his parents with his outburst. I don't know whether to be that he came to my rescue before his mother could choke me with her questions, feel bad for him almost yelling at his mother just to defend me. I'm sure this will have more reasons to hate me now.
"Well, I am sorry. But forgive me, son. I just can't accept anyone in this family a thorough check on their background. This world is full of fake people.
People who are experts in nothing but taking advantage of every chance they get. So, exactly is this woman, Jerol? I need answers."
God, please! I can't be the reason for this family to fight on the first day I meet them.
"This woman, mum, is the woman I love. She is my wife. No more questions and 's final." He tried to remain as calm as he could, but his eyes, they are smoking . I reach for his hand, and intertwin our fingers, squeezing it a little in an attempt calm him a little.
"You are so damn wrong, Jerol, if you think I will accept her that just like that without her real identity. I will do whatever it takes to know her every single detail."
She warns.
"Do whatever you want, mother, as long as you don't involve us. Whatever your will be, don't bother us with them. Now if you don't mind, we have kept the waiting for far too long, and it's getting late. Let's have dinner, please."
We all stroll on the red carpet to the red-themed dining table with white plates and glasses well arranged.
After a moment of chit-chatting and inaudible whispers, the servants bring the food to table. Everyone is teasing Jerol about having a beautiful girlfriend. One even a joke that he will snatch me away from him, but just one single glare from
Jerol was enough to make him take his words back.
The aroma, my God! It's so rich. I swear I have never smelled something so good in entire life.
"What can I serve you?" Jerol inquires when it's almost our turn to serve ourselves.
I'm almost drooling!
Wait...
What do I know about rich people's foods? Nothing. These people are so complicated just everything. Chicken to them is not the ordinary chicken the poor people know.
They have different kinds of chicken depending on how it's cooked. That is what I from a servant here, and since I can't even differentiate between roasted and chicken, I tell Jerol to serve me whatever he is having.
Soon enough, a plate of chicken and brownish rice that's mouth-watering lay under nose, and a bowl of soup aside. I run for the piece of chicken on my plate, but I can lay my hands on them, some clicking sounds startled me.
I look around the table, and that's when it hit me. I am not back in the ghetto where everything is eaten with hands. I am with the rich, and distinguished, and I to behave like them. Jerol must have discovered my distress, and like he said we left the bedroom earlier, I feel his hand squeezing my thigh under the table, asking, "what's up"?, because I am sure I look damn tense.
I gawk at him, and then at the small knife and fork on my plate, but he gives me a smile.
I clench on the new eating tools and try to prove my fitness and worth in this class of rich, but I miserably fail. Even holding the tiny knife properly is an issue, not to of cutting the damn meat which seems so slippery for the knife. I angrily try , and again, and again, until I bitterly take a break, discharging a sigh of .
This is so freaking not my style!