Happy Ever After

Bright

Metawin didn't seem to be listening. He sauntered close to the picnic basket then plopped down.

"What are you doing?" I rush towards him as he plucks a strawberry from the platter.

"Dara doesn't like strawberries. Makes her throat itch." He takes a bite. "I am doing you a favor by eating them."

He moves to take another strawberry. I try to tug it out of his hands but he tugs back rather forcefully and I fall, landing on his lap.

I freeze for a moment. Staring into the equally frozen face in front of me.

I clear my throat as I get off him and he moves away from me.

"Give me back the strawberry," I say just to be able to say something. I could not bear the awkward silence any longer.

"You have so many! Why can't I have two?"

"It's not for you. I didn't prepare this picnic for you."

Metawin snorts and returns the strawberry.

I almost feel relieved except his hand goes towards the bouquet of flowers.

"Stop that!"

"Dara is allergic to flowers."

"Why should I believe anything you say? You are clearly here just to sabotage my date."

"Don't flatter yourself. I didn't even know you were here," Metawin says as he lunges for the bouquet. He strokes the petals gently as if to mock me.

"Those flowers are for the person I am going to marry," I say, snatching the bouquet out of his hands.

"Fine. Don't listen. I hope you have Benadryl in that picnic basket of yours."

"I will manage," I say huffily, trying to hide my distress. Was Dara truly allergic to flowers? What do I do with this bouquet now? Do I hide it? Do I give it anyway? I was so lost in thought that it takes me a moment to realize that Metawin was trying to open the picnic basket.

What a fucking nuisance this viscount was.

"Can you stop that? I know you are also courting Dara but must your methods to best me be so childish?"

Metawin pouts and suddenly I feel an urge to comfort him. Which is insane.

"I am just hungry," he whines, lips drawn outwards and small eyes becoming tinier.

"I will give you money, go to a restaurant. Leave me be please. Dara will be here any minute."

"I am not a beggar," he says petulantly, as if he were minutes away from a tantrum. "And I brought the dogs. I can't go to a restaurant."

"Stop acting like a five-year-old," I admonish, suppressing all the big brother protectiveness Metawin's tone was awakening in me.

Pout growing more pronounced, he starts to stand up. The two dogs make the scene more pitiful by drawing close to Metawin and whimpering.

"Fine!" I open the picnic basket and fish out a sandwich. "One sandwich and you're out of here."

He claps his hands excitedly. I hand him a sandwich which he pushes whole into his pink, eager mouth.

"Delicious!," Metawin exclaims after he swallows it down. "You have a great cook."

"I made them myself."

Metawin looks impressed. "Who knew a Prince could make such a good sandwich."

The praise makes me squirm - which is new. I am quite used to praise. But maybe praise feels different when it comes from someone who wants nothing from you, someone who you're sure is sincere.