Painting Paper Hearts | ✔

Chapter 15 - That Sunday I Saw the Real You

*********

Please show your support by voting/comment/sharing this chapter.

*********

You're a fly stuck in a sticky pie, Emerald.

Of course there was no way out. After all, I was already in the meet-my-parents-because-that's-how-serious-I-am-with-you kind of situation. Truth be told, I was a nervous-wreck inside, but Thomas Don Valentine made my nervousness ease a bit with his enthusiastic demeanor as he teased Marcus with his corny yet heart-warming introduction of me.

He seemed to be more sensible than Ruth in terms of Marcus "dating" outside the circle. You know, that particular circle that a commoner could barely step into. Marcus also contributed by keeping close attention to me even during the small awkward situation around his mother.

Awkward? Well, I think that was an understatement when the quiet and apathetic Ruth Don Valentine kept staring me down as she sipped on her porcelain tea cup. Her steely deep amber eyes darted cold gazes. She exuded a strict matriarchal aura within her, and just her presence alone could easily make someone feel small.

This woman was giving us the silent treatment and she was downright scary that I could shit my pants. Not literally though. That'd be embarrassing.

My point was—she was scarier than my own mom. I wouldn't want a mother-in-law scarier than my own mother.

Nope. No thank you.

But brunch was a great experience nonetheless. The food was exquisite! I shouldn't be this surprised from the fact that they had a chef that prepped and cooked for them. I mean, they were a family of billionaires. They could afford it. No wonder Marcus didn't know how to cook or even beat an egg. He grew up with a five-star chef beating his eggs and whipping his pancake mix.

The chef served a delicious egg benedict with hollandaise coating on top. I was pretty sure I virtually drooled the moment it was presented to me and had a taste of it. The table was full of colorful fruits and a festive array English and Continental breakfast. It could feed an army, in my opinion.

After brunch, we proceeded to the same living room Marcus and I passed by not too long ago. We found Marcus's little sister sitting by the piano with what seemed to be her piano teacher. They were playing a familiar classic by Ludwig Beethoven called Fur Elise. My mom used to teach me the same piano piece when I was about ten years old.

Marcus and I sat on an onyx royal style couch which faced the piano while Thomas and Ruth sat on the opposite chesterfield. I let my eyes wander the living room some more, taking in the beauty of the place. The gigantic chandelier hung on top of our heads like an enormous meteorite ready to touch the ground and its crystals emitted flashing lights from the sun, dancing on the pasty white walls of the room. It was as if the lights were dancing with the music.

Ah. Listening to a classical music on a warm, peaceful Sunday really sounded like one of the millions ways of a rich person's pastime.

Madison was really good. Every stroke of the white and black keys mixed together in a roller coaster emotion of the piece, she created a vibrant music despite the melancholic tune of the piece.

My mother had told me that Fur Elise was a romantic music composed by Ludwig Beethoven. But no matter how many times I listen to it, all I could sense was heartbreak, especially when played in a slow tempo.