"Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know."
Ernest Hemingway.
Darkness attacks the sky, the auburn orange which was once present fading away. Street lamps emit their light over the sidewalks and buildings glow reds, yellows and purples from their windows. People loiter in front of pubs and clubs, the music causing slight vibrations. Wind enters through the living room window. Immediately, I close it.
Mother sets out the table, arranging the knives, forks and spoons, folding and re-folding the smoothest, softest napkins she could find. Father grows anxious, dusting the walls, straightening out the portraits hung around the room, yelling at me to vacuum the carpet, put the pillows in the right place, asking me to apply more makeup on or asking me why I didn't choose a different dress.
Helping out the best way I can, I stay out of the way and head upstairs. My boots almost cause me to trip as I throw one more look over my shoulder, observing my parents. They clean and work and the pots and pans sizzle, steam travelling from the kitchen, cups clinging together as they are carried in my mother's hands.
She's wearing a wine-red dress which ends just below the knees, black heels and a silver necklace. Her hair is done up into a neat bun and her lips are a dark pink. She's has dark eyeliner on, which makes her eyes look stunning and has several rings on her fingers.
My father is wearing a black suit and tie, his hair gelled back, teeth whitened to perfection and shoes polished to the point where you can even see your own reflection. His white shirt is bright and ironed, not a single crease visible. His wrinkles seem to have vanished because for some reason, he looks younger.
I am wearing ink-black boots with a small heel, a navy blue dress which fades into white and ends mid-knee. My short hair is slightly curled and I'm even wearing dark blue glasses to match. I applied a little I shadow and as I look in the mirror, I wonder:
"Will Wyatt like it?"
Gosh, I really need to stop thinking about Wyatt so much! I just wish I had a piece of jewellery to go with my outfit.
After this thought occurs, there's a knock on the door.
"Valentina!" my mother screams. "Get the damn door! Our guests are here!"
Rushing downstairs whilst being careful not to trip, I answer the door and I am instantly taken aback by the sight in front of me. I stop in the middle of a hello, surprised by how beautiful Wyatt's parents look.
His mum wears a purple, long neck dress and her hair is wavy, brushing against her rosy cheeks. She has several bracelets on and her eyebrows are styled into a perfect arch. Her lips are a different shade of red and her black heels sparkle under the lighting of the house.
Wyatt's father, is also wearing the same thing as my father, only he suits the look a lot more, his grin as vibrant as his suit, his eyes looking around in amusement.
Both adults shake my hand and kiss my check, quickly moving onto my parents as they compliment each one of us, uttering their appreciation.
Then, I see Wyatt.
He has on a dark blue suit and tie and his hair is cut a bit at the top. He has a few gold chains under his shirt and a ring, which has his initials. He smiles at me and instead of going in for a kiss on the cheek, he goes in for a hug.
"Thank you for inviting us," he whispers.
I internally scream, my stomach doing back and front flips. I feel my eyes widen and I feel eight pair of eyes on us.
"N-no p-problem," I stutter.
"I got you a gift," he mumbles nervously.
"Really?"
He nods, handing me a black box.
"What is this?"
"Open it," Wyatt demands, his voice as soft as cotton.
Following his order, I am taken aback for the second time tonight.
Inside the black box, is a bracelet with several charms. All of them are mini paint brushes. All except one.
And this one charm, which I'm guessing is an open sketch book, has two names carved into it.
Wyatt and Valentina.