We all make their way to the front door. Mum gently pushes me forward, encouraging me to open the door.
Breathing deeply, I unlock it. Place my hand atop the knob. Turn it.
God.
He’s stunning. Beautiful.
He’s every written word that poets have ever professed about beauty. I’m rendered speechless by the sheer force of him.
He’s donned in a white button down top that’s unbuttoned the slightest, dipping subtly toward a hint of his chest, his hair gelled and neat, with a few strays falling against his eyelids. In his hands, he holds a bright bouquet of red roses.
Marlon looks every part the prince. He’s always looked the part of the prince, I think. Of course he does, with his easy, dimpled smile. With those warm, sunkissed chocolate eyes.
My heart could be safe with him.
“Hi,” he says.
His gaze explore my face, eyes flickering from my eyes, to my nose, to my lips. They trail down my dress, before settling back on my gaze.
“Hi,” I reply.
“You’re breathtaking.”
A blush spills over my cheeks.
“I - you’re - Thank you.”
“Ohgross, you’re both cheesy as hell.”
Ria’s voice strikes the moment, breaking the bubble. As always, she hauls me back to reality. Tugs me back toward thesurface. I glance over my shoulder, back at my family, who I’d forgotten was standing there the entire time.
They’re all grinning at me.
I hadn’t noticed before, but Ria has that glint in her eyes now. The exact same as Mum’s and Tita Regina’s
“Let me take a photo of you two!” Mum exclaims.
Clumsily, I grab the bouquet of flowers, holding it close to my chest. I settle myself beside Marlon, and he places his hand at my lower back.
“Smile!” Dad calls as he positions his phone.
They shoot a few photos, and all I can feel is Marlon’s fingers, pressing against my back.
“Okay, you both enjoy,” Mum says, voice dripping with affection as her eyes dart between us, “And happy anniversary.”
“Thank you, Tita,” Marlon replies.
I hand the bouquet to Mum, before Marlon’s fingers enclose around my free hand. He’s tugging me toward his car, his hand soft around mine. Were they always this soft? I remember them being sweaty before.
I turn to Marlon, my pulse thrumming sporadically. He’s starting up the car.
He’s so handsome. How hadn’t I ever noticed it?
“Thank you for all this,” I say, after a moment, “I didn’t expect you to actually take me out for our fake anniversary.”
I attempt to pull us back to reality, to pull us from this wave of illusion. Except, Marlon meets my eyes, and there’s no hint of mischief there. There’s only genuinity.
“There won’t be anything fake about today, Garcia,” he informs, a smile spreading across his mouth, “Today, I’m taking you on the real date that you deserve.”
