The Marriage Contract (PUBLISHED!)

Chapter Twenty Two

The layers of spaghetti, dangled off the large serving spoon, its silver hue glinting off the ceiling bulb, as Aunt Lucy placed a handful on Richard's plate. I glanced at him, noticing his eyes roam distastefully over the swirly food, before planting an artificial smile. His chocolate brown gaze met Aunt Lucy's, giving her a pleasant grin.

She blushed.

"This looks delicious," he said. "Thank you."

"Eat till' your gut explodes!" said Grandpa Ron, sitting across from him. "It's your first dinner at the Web house hold, boy. Don't hold back. Just chug it all in—"

"Ron, watch your language," Grandma scolded. "Do you like spaghetti, dear? I made it myself."

Uncle Jeffrey, who sat at the corner of the rectangular, wooden table, shot Richard a winning grin. His red curls were clipped in the back of his head, his bright green eyes lit with mirth, as he propped both elbows on the table.

"Now, what kind of question is that, mama?" Uncle Jeffrey teased. "Every man loves spaghetti! Isn't that right?—"

Aunt Lucy cleared her throat, placing a strand of light brown hair behind a pointy elf like ear. She stared at Richard's plate, and then back at him, giving her head a small shake.

"Oh, stop it, Jeff," she said. "He's probably not used to this kind of food. Just look at him! He doesn't look too happy."

Richard straightened against his chair, giving her a rigid smile.

"I'm just a bit tired from the flight," he explained. "The food looks...interesting...I mean...not interesting in the bad sense, but in the good sense. I'm excited to eat."

I bit my lower lip, holding back my laughter.

Why was he so nervous?

Charlene, who sat in a chair beside Aunt Lucy, poked a bony finger into my shoulder. I turned towards her, my brows raised. Her sandy brown hair rested in a ponytail over her shoulder- the polka dots of her sleeveless dress, matching the dots on the headband over her head.

"I think he's allergic to food," she whispered.

I smiled, tilting my head towards her.

"It's not that," I whispered. "Where he's from, they only serve snails."

She wrinkled her nose, as though something smelled bad, to which I smiled, squeezing her puffy cheek.

Glancing back at Richard, I noticed his Adams apple rise and fall. He stared into his plate of spaghetti, his eyes dancing over the cherry red sauce, before picking up his fork, and twisting it within the spaghetti strands.

Everyone watched, as he straightened his back against the chair, bringing the spaghetti to his lips, hesitating.

When he swallowed, his lashes lifted, staring around the table, before landing on me. I stared back at him, before looking away, concentrating on my plate of food. I ate three plates that night, but noticed, with faint curiosity, that Richard ate only one plate. His excuse was that he had an upset stomach, but I knew better.

He hated spaghetti.

**

Richard sat on the love seat, while I sat on the couch beside him, staring at a game show on TV. Grandfather sat on the couch opposite him, talking about his younger years- his ancient eyes drifting to the corner of the room, taking on a nostalgic glow.