A C T O R S || OS 02

50. Daniel Bruhl/Helmut Zemo | An Honest Proposal

By : rumblelibrary | Tumblr 

Word count: 2k

Warnings: mention of losing a loved one

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You looked at him, you gulped down as he was proposing there, in that moment.

It wasn't like you weren't already on cloud nine when he brought you to Paris for a long weekend out, or when he told you that he booked the Palace of Versailles for the two of you to dine in the mirrored halls in your evening clothes.

Oh no.

He had to take your hand and give you a tour showing off his cultured self, how much he knew, all the trivia and the famous quotes and rules of the french court.

His charm was over pouring and you were feeling like a princess, like the world was made to unravel around you and develop from you.

Then he did it, he dropped onto his knee presenting you the finest piece of jewellery and craftsmanship that had ever been done on a ring.

"Would you give me the honour to become my wife?"

Those the words, and here you are now, staring at him, the lights of Versailles shining upon you, suddenly you couldn't hear any sound but the rhythmical beating of your heart.

"Yes, yes I do"

You said it or maybe you shouted it but then he took your hand and slipped that ring on your finger and you kissed him.

The world was perfect and you were the luckiest one in the world.

But then you couldn't sleep that night.

You kept rolling around in the sheets as your mind was a mess.

He promised you love forever, he swore to you time and time again you were his love, that he wanted to have a future with you, sometimes he even dropped a little hint of your future life together.

You usually smiled it off, you nodded and giggled or shut him up with a kiss.

But now the ring made it real, his honest smile making you feel guilty to the bone for the distrust you were giving in for him.

He did it all, he did it all perfectly, he was romantic, attentive, gentle, observant. He tried all his best to show you only the best side of himself and even when arguing he would be cold and try to detain the fiery nature of his character.

You sighed as you realised sleep was not coming to you, not even after the also amazing good night sex you had.

You slipped out of bed trying to be less noisy as possible, you had a luxurious suite to stay in Paris so you could let him rest. You wore your night gown and wrapped it safely around your body as you closed the door behind you going to the living room area turning on the tv to low volume as you sat on the comfortable couch.

Your eyes went down to your left hand, that ring so proportionate for your hand that it looked like made for it.

You inhaled deeply as you let out a soft sigh, tears started to surge from your eyes, a sense of loss taking over you.

A series of 'What if...?'s creeping into your mind like a snake into the little mouses's house.

You can't do it.

How could you?

It was not like he was divorced, he was a widower. He lost her, he lost his son.

Nothing you could ever do could replace her, nothing you could ever say. She was still alive for you, she was unbeatable like the art you saw tonight, she was perfect and idealised and you were human and flawed.