Oh, Ophelia | Tom Riddle

Fiance

"My love," said Carl, gesturing for her to sit next to him on the couch. "When are you going to quit that job of yours?" He asked as she sank down next to him and relaxed into his embrace.

"What? So I can spend all my time with you?" She asked in the airy American accent she had grown so used to.

He rubbed her shoulder, and smiled, "Yes, precisely. I am going to the studio tomorrow, I thought I might treat you to lunch in the cafeteria. All the stars eat there."

"English, I don't want to be an actress." She repeated for what felt like the umpteenth time. He was insistent that she would simply make the best actress.

She almost laughed at the irony.

"I just want to show my fiancé off a little bit. Or people may think that I just made you up." He said, and she smiled up at him,

"You are a writer. What if I am just a figment of your imagination?" She asked, and he pulled her closer,

"I could never come up with anything as perfect as you, my love." He said, practically drinking in the scent of honey that surrounded him. "How's wedding planning going?"

"Full of surprises." She muttered, if there was one thing she actually did feel with Carl, it was safe.

But I mean with a name like Carl what did she expect?

"They Really nickel and dime you at those wedding shops." She said,

He kissed her head and almost smiled, suppressing it, "You know money isn't an object."

"I always forget you're loaded, English." She said, and then he smiled, thinking wow, she really does love me for me. "Like Mister Rockefeller."

"You'll quit your job once we're married." He stated plainly and she fought a frown.

She rather liked her coworkers Marje was even going to be her maid of honour, Lolita was to pose as her friend from home and bridesmaid, her brother would be giving her away since he was the only family she had shown Carl. Henry was very good in his role. Simple. Concise.

He made the character Poppy Amara real.

"I like my job," she said,

"You can still visit I just don't want you on your feet all day." He said, already dreaming up domestic dreams of house wife child.

And of course his red carpets, with her on his arm. He could see her sitting next to him at the oscars, in a golden dress, to match those beautiful golden eyes. They would smile for the cameras, and she would give him that look, that priceless smile that made him feel on top of the world.

He could practically envision the article they'd write about he and his leading lady. She would come around he just knew it.

Then when the time was right it would be all over the tabloids that she was on baby bump watch. He glanced at her stomach and imagined a neatly placed bump. He sighed contentedly, she would be such a great wife, a great mother,

Little did he fucking know.

He didn't even know her god damn name.

"Then what do you suggest I do all day while you're at work?" She asked lightly, and then the oven dinged and she hopped up, "Oh, that'll be the cookies,"

She walked to the kitchen, she could swear the final nail in the coffin of her plans to make him fall in love had been those cookies. She could make a mean chocolate chip caramel cookie. She never made them too sweet either.

She pulled them out of the oven and placed the trays on the stove top, he walked over and leant on the counter beside her,

"You could always stay home." He suggested and her insides recoiled, like he had just announced that the plague had come to America.