by F. F. John
Putting down the rest of my toast, I rub my thumb over the rest of my dirty fingers to remove crumbs. “I am, but not as excited as I thought I’d be.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” It’s a blatant lie, but I have to say that. Bel wouldn’t understand if I explained the real reason behind the way I feel. Invier.
She takes a sip of her star fruit juice. “You’ve always wanted to turn seventeen so you can be paired and get married. That’s always been a dream of yours.” She wipes at the corners of her mouth with a silver napkin. “You can’t get cold feet now.”
I have been looking forward to this day. For years. However, the thought of a pairing with anyone other than Invier is frightening. He’s the first boy I’ve fallen in love with. No other boy has affected me the way he has. From buckled knees to caring about everything he thinks and of course, having him on my mind all the time. I’m yet to tell him how I feel, though I’m desperate to do so. However, I hear Bel in my head yelling, “Don’t ever tell a boy how you feel first. Let him say it and make sure he shows it.”
My thoughts stray to images of an idyllic future with him. Strolls in the park, frolicking on the beach and quiet evenings at home together. All I have to do is figure out how to make that happen. First, I’ll have to convince Father that a pairing with Invier will be beneficial to our Nome. Second, I’ll have to find a way to convince the other nomes to respect our union or else they’ll dismiss it and both our families will suffer for it. I think back to lessons from Portan about the importance of not marrying too far beneath one’s standing. Actually, he’d repeatedly mentioned, “the danger of such situations.” Certain nomes see that as a sign of weakness and will use it to cut another family at its knees. Father would string me up before he’d let me risk our nome’s powerful position or profitability. He always reminds me of the hard work it took to take Nome Reffour up to second position in the Group of Twenty.
“Err, wake up!”
Bel’s voice yanks me from my thoughts. I pick up my toast ask, “What about you? Your birthday is in two days. Are you looking forward to your party?”
She shrugs and pushes her seat back from the floating table, which now has all four of its metallic legs planted firmly on the room’s Oakwood floor. “Unlike you, I don’t care about my party and that’s why mom, Olia and Kilali are planning it.”
She takes a bowl of fruit and returns to her seat. “You should be planning it with them …”
“I know, but I’ve been busy working on mine. I’m sorry.” My eyes fall on the cold eggs on my plate. They must be gummy by now.
“You’ve been busy with yours and something else you’ve held close to your chest.” She says and then purses her lips.
Bel must somehow know about Invier and I despite my attempt to keep our relationship secret. She has that look on her face. How did she find out? I can’t admit to anything or I’ll never hear the end of it. And today of all days. I couldn’t deal with it.
“What … what are you talking about?” I ask.
“I’m talking about the secret you’re keeping from me.” She peers at me with a raised eyebrow and I look away. “I’m impressed.”
“Don’t change the subject, Belly,” I say, using a nickname she hates. “We’re talking about your birthday party.”
She picks at some fruit on her plate. “There’s nothing much to say. I don’t plan on getting paired before I turn twenty-four and with the type of boys that are available right now, I probably won’t ever get paired. They’re all so disgusting.”
“Not all of them,” I say much quicker than I should and she stares at me, an unasked question paints her features.
“Oh, really? Which boys do you know that aren’t disgusting, hmm?”
I toss a slice of star fruit at her and it hits her on the forehead.
She retaliates with a pineapple piece that I dodge just in time but when I put my head back up, I’m met with an apple core.
“Eww!”
Bel chortles, tipping her head backwards. She doesn’t anticipate the apple slices I toss her way in rapid succession. In an attempt to avoid the flying fruit, she leans too far and her chair topples back. She reaches out to keep from falling but flails with her arms and legs in the air. Tears stream from my eyes as I laugh.
Today may not be so bad after all.
Chapter Six
Hundreds of hover lights shine like stars above us as they rearrange themselves into a likeness of my face, “Happy Birthday, Neith,” my nome’s insignia and other images they’ve been formatted to gather into. Everyone who’s anyone is at my birthday party, which is taking place under a warm evening’s sky. They gather at blue-linnened tables arranged around a white marble dance floor. The marble has thin blue striations that travel its length and breadth like veins filled with azure-hued blood.
Each table has crystal vases filled with floating Kadupul Blossoms. Tonight the white blossoms have been dyed with a hint of blue and their delicate perfume covers us all like a sweet-fragranced cloud. Candelabras line the periphery of our gathering. They feature mock candles and floral arrangements that sport white, pink, purple, green, red and blue petals.
Guests approach my seat on a raised platform. They bear gifts of all sizes plus well-wishes for the rest of my year. Some express hope that I have a lovely Premiere. Others mention prayers of a profitable pairing. Many wish me prosperity. And on and on. I receive so many presents from so many people that I can’t keep track.
Almost every single nome is represented today and there are even guests from the Lower Houses. Father’s idea. Members of the Sixty aren’t typically invited to nome occasions but Father tends to invite the most powerful of them to our events. According to him, one never knows when you’ll need the assistance of a family from the Sixty. That, plus, “we do business with many of them, best to feed those relationships when you can.”
And so, House Sarkin is represented by Lady Shina Sarkin. Her tall height, flowing blond locks and silver chainmail dress make for a grand entrance when she makes her way over to me with her gift. She’s alone, explaining that her children are quite young and she preferred that they remain at home. I thanked her and wish her a fun night then watch her go sit at a table where some other people from the Sixty have congregated.
House Johnson presents me with their gifts when Lord Rolle Johnson comes up to me accompanied by his red-haired wife and children. Like Lady Sarkin who stunned the crowd in her chain mail, the Johnson’s also caused quiet ripples to spread out across the guests. Except for Lord Johnson, the rest of his family have red irises. I’d heard of this unique genetic trait before and am surprised to see it in person. However, that’s not what truly catches my attention. It’s the number of children he has. Fifteen of them. Nome families tend to sire far less children with Bel’s family having the most at five. I fight the urge to stare slack-jawed as red-irised children stroll in behind their father and mother.
Theirs is a long introduction, with me speaking to each and every family member. Fortunately, each child gives me a gift, so that makes up for the time it takes to meet them all. I accept their presents, handing them to Bel, who pass them off to Olia and Kilali. They stack the boxes neatly to the side of the platform.
And so it continues for what seems like hours. Me being approached by guests, shaking their hands and exchanging pleasantries before I accept their gift. Most are in large boxes, wrapped in colorful wrapping paper that I will rip into later. The whole process is mundane and mind-numbingly boring.
That is until Invier walks up to my table with a small, rectangular black box. My body comes alive and I sit up expectantly.
“Happy birthday, Scioness. May all the stars in the universe be yours to hold.” His words send sparks across my skin. He’s standing meters from me, brown eyes staring into mine and he can still have this effect on me.
“Thank you.” My voice sounds small as I place the gift in my lap instead of passing it to Bel. He dips his h
ead at me with a small smile on his thick lips and then leaves to join his mother and sister. Just as he lowers himself into his seat, Scioness Xana Sirou pulls a chair next to him. She gives him a sickly-sweet grin and flutters her lids.
“Is there something going on between you two?” Bel whispers and I give her my best feigned-awe expression.
“What?”
She looks at Invier and turns back to study me. “There’s something going on between you two.”
“Come on, Bel, you haven’t asked if there was anything going on between myself and the countless other people who gave me gifts this evening.” I roll my eyes for effect and she huffs, backing away.
“Who’s the handsome guy that gave you the box?” Olia asks.
“Can you explain why you think other guys are handsome? I thought your heart was for Hogan alone?” Kilali teases.
I’m not blind, little sister.” Is Olia’s reply.
Kilali is about to say something else when Bel puts a finger to her lips and pointedly looks past us.
Father stands and taps a fork on his wine glass. A hush settles over those gathered and all turn to him. In a deep baritone, he mentions his appreciation that so many nomes are here to welcome me into adulthood and then moves on to the importance of community. While he gives his speech, I try my best to keep my eyes off Invier but they soon land on him.
Xana Sirou interrupts my gaze when she departs their table and his sister whispers something to him. Their mother fans herself, with a white fan that matches her dress and today, she wears a small tiara. It’s too much for my taste, but I can admit it compliments her outfit. I realize that her children are also in white, making for a nice familial touch. They’re a good-looking bunch.
Invier’s gift.
It’s a keepsake box and there must be something inside. Stroking the silken surface, my fingers make their way to a slight depression on its left side. It gives way when my finger puts pressure and the top lifts before sliding open. There’s a folded sheet of paper within. The sight of which makes my pulse quicken.
Looking around, I notice that all eyes remain on Father. Including the ever observant Bel’s. I open the note but keep it close to the box so no one else will see what I’m doing.
Invier’s handwriting is just as attractive as he is. Bold, masculine strokes that have a slight slant to them. As handwritten notes aren’t common, I know he had to put effort into finding the black ink he used. My face warms at the thought of what it took to produce this simple yet heartfelt token for me. As much as I want to read the contents of the note, I hold back in order to revel in the moment. This is so romantic. He remembers my love for antiquated touches. I’ve never met anyone who’s paid this much attention to me and the realization makes my heart swell in affection.
Unable to resist any longer, I concentrate on his message at last.
My dearest darling:
These last months spent with you have been the best of my life. Yet, in spite of how close we have become, I don’t think I can find the words to truly verbalize my feelings for you. I thought it best to express my emotions in a note. Something tells me you won’t mind.
That last line makes me chuckle. I surely don’t mind at all.
No other woman has ever captivated my heart the way you have. I confess that I’m scared by how hard it is for me to focus whenever you are around. I’m frightened by the fact that you’re always on my mind. I can’t imagine a future without you in it and I hope I will have the privilege of spending my life with you.
With all my love,
Invier Nuele Floran
The world around me comes to a halt as if someone pushed a button and got rid of everything else. My eyes pore over the note again and I have to take a quick gulp of air. My heart’s beating so fast. He loves me. He loves me. He wants to spend his life with me. My chest is bursting in joy. An involuntary tear weighs down my lower right eyelash. I discreetly wipe it away so that anyone watching me would think I was removing an errant lash.
I sniff to ward off any waterworks. Crying right now would draw attention to me and that’s something I can’t have right now. Not if I’m going to find a way to go somewhere private with Invier. All I want to do is kiss him and tell him I love him as well. I mustn’t distract from Father’s speech if I want some alone time with Invier.
My gaze returns to him and several seconds go by before he looks my way. Even with the distance between us, I’m captivated and can’t look away. He must know by now that I’ve read his note. We stay like that: staring at one another for what seems an eternity.
I’m still watching Invier when a melodious soprano grabs my attention. It’s Cawat Yost, my favorite singer. Like everyone else, I spring to my feet and watch her approach my seat. She serenades me with a medley of hits that I know every word to. I dance and sing along, doing my utmost best to have a good time, when all I want to do is go the boy I love. The boy who loves me.
When she’s done, the tent erupts into applause and music pumps through speakers. The marble floor is soon littered with dancing feet.
This is my chance to get away.
I search for Invier through the gyrating bodies and spot him standing away from the festivities next to a stunted flamboyant tree. He jerks his head, beckoning me to follow and my feet do his bidding.
We walk away from the revelers and I take his hand leading him through the estate’s gardens. I pull him under a canopy of leaves, bougainvillea flowers and small light bulbs to usher him into my oasis. It’s a secret garden that my father constructed as a surprise for my mother when she was pregnant with me. There’s a pond surrounded by small daisies that look shine in the moonlight. The water is sable, reflecting the inky canvas above but slivers of it sparkle under the night sky.
Hover lights activate upon our presence, turning on and then rising into the air to illuminate from above.
“Thanks for coming,” I say, trying to keep my cool, as we sit on a bench by the water’s edge.
“There’s no way I’d miss your special day.” He clears his throat. “Did you read my note?”
I let go of all pretense and press my lips to his. It’s as if we’re drifting on a soft cloud that will never come down. His scent overwhelms me and I sink into bliss. We’re both panting when we finally pull away from each other, leaving our foreheads to touch.
“I love you, Neith.”
“I love you too.”
“Good.” There’s relief and happiness in his voice.
I need to find a way to ensure a pairing between our nomes. Given my Father’s stance on the priority of profit and the nomes attitude towards relationships with someone too far down in the rankings, it’s going to be a difficult task. Still, I’m comforted by the knowledge that I’ve pulled off some schemes that others would deem impossible. I want to be with Invier and I just need to think up a way to make it happen.
That can’t be too hard.
The voice in my head is confident, but doubt lingers in my heart. Trying to douse the concern, I tell myself I want to be with him and I will be with him.
He throws an arm around me and we watch the placid water as my heart races.
Chapter Seven
“Neith Tamunoba Reffour!”
My name being screamed by Bel brings my rendezvous with Invier to a brusque end.
“If you don’t show yourself this minute I’m going to tell Uncle Nabo your missing! This place will be covered in guards and drones in thirty seconds.”
Her shrieking shatters the still and hurts my ears. Its coming from the east section of the garden, which allows me to yank Invier up and push him out through the flower tunnel we came through.
“Your middle name’s Tamunoba? What does that mean?” He asks.
“You’ve got to get out of here. Head back to the party, we’ll talk tomorrow.” I kiss his lips and we linger longer than we should.
“I love you,” he says but I don’t have any time to reply before Bel storms into
the secret garden through its eastern entrance. Luckily, Invier is out of sight by then.
“What are you doing here?” Her tone conveys her suspicion.
I arrange my features to appear innocent before I turn to face her. “I needed some air so -”
She waves away whatever I’m about to say. “That doesn’t matter right now. Uncle Nabo wants to present you with your birthday present.”
“Ah, my new living quarters.”
“Living quarters? Is that what we’re calling your mansion?” She clasps my right hand with hers and we leave the secret garden, our hands swinging in unison.
“It isn’t a mansion, Bel.”
“Sure. It’s a quaint little cottage with barely enough room for a bed.”