Dreams: Diary of a Chaebol

Entry 4 pt. 2

A/N: Warning: there will be more brief instances of swearing and references to sexual abuse.
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"Are we there yet?"

"Almost."

"How about now?"

"Be patient, jagiya."

"No." But Alice doesn't move to push my hands away. Soon we arrive at a field of grass by a quiet, bubbling river. A cobblestone bridge stands in the distance, partially covered by beautiful green vines and English ivy. Occasional bird calls fill the silence as I look around to make sure that everything is perfect: the late afternoon sun surrounds us like a golden fog; gnats of negligible size dart between the ryegrass like specks of dust.

I laugh. "Okay. You can look now." I uncover her eyes and step away. I make a signal to workers peeking out from over the bridge. They give me a thumbs up. Seconds later, doves fly out over the ledge in an organized fleet across the river towards us.

As planned, the photographer crawls from behind the willow tree and snaps a picture of the moment just as they fly past us.

Alice jumps, exclaiming, "Wait, I think I've seen this place in a picture!" She looks around. Then up at the doves that are soaring over our heads.

Even though my stomach churns anxiously, a wide smile stretches my lips without any conscious thought. I watch her face the sun and stare in utter shock as the birds dissolve into the sky.

My eyes melt at the sight of her: the way the golden light washes over her skin, her irresistibly plump lips that form a perfectly shaped 'o', the way her dress drags against her hips as the wind picks up, the lovely gap between her teeth that feels like joy personified.

"Oh my gosh," she breaths, "oh my gosh." Her eyes are wide with alarm. The photographer jogs closer to us and kneels to snap our picture in the grass. Alice flinches and looks over, startled at seeing them for the first time.

"Ah? Where did they come from?!" She exclaims as she points at the photographer.  Instead of replying, I smirk and begin walking toward the bridge.

"Alice!" I wave my hand over. But she's too busy yelling unintelligible things in French and what I've come to understand as "Alish" (Alice's interpretation of English). I snicker; she's still pointing at the photographer—who is also laughing, now—and then at the sky where the doves disappeared.

"Waou! Massa... Incroyable, juste incroyable." When she sees me leaving she quickly follows and reaches to slide her hand into mine. I swing our arms as we walk. Inside I feel relieved. So far, things seem to be going well: Alice seems to love the surprise. That tells me that going through the hassle of preparing for today was worth it.

But we haven't yet reached the heart of my master plan. My hands still feel sweaty; I hope she doesn't notice.

Heat rushes to my cheeks. Of course she would notice. She's just not saying anything about it right now. She knows that would hurt my pride. Alice must sense this is a really important moment for me.

We reach the bridge. By now, the people I hired to arrange the decorations are gone. A breathtaking display of cherry brandy roses line it's walls. A blanket is set up on the path with a basket and an assortment of meals.

I had gotten up early this morning to call a West African restaurant near here. It was tough since they didn't sell that many food items that were specific to Cameroon. But I had tried my best to pick ones that were as close as possible to what Alice liked to eat. Down to the last detail.