The city isn't at all what I imagined. I can hardly believe I'm going there—it's so exciting! I thought about taking Kalindi and Nia with me for a moment, but I know that's impossible.
Maybe..., he isn't as bad as I thought. After all, he's taking me to the city, knowing full well that I've never been there before.
When my father found out about the plan, he tried to stop. I couldn't understand why—was it because he didn't want me to enjoy myself? Or was it something else?
But the moment he realized that it was Damian taking me to the city, he fell silent.
My hand clutched the piece of cloth in excitement I had draped over my skirt and across my left shoulder. I don't usually wear this kind of attire in the village—it's considered normal here. But now that I'm going to the city, I want to look my best.
Maybe Damian could see my not-so-well-hidden nervousness and excitement—that's probably why he kept glancing at me while driving. I still couldn't believe I was going to the city for the first time, and with my future husband, no less. This isn't how I had imagined my first trip to the city. I always thought I'd go with my friends. But in the end, what matters is that I'm finally going to the city.
As the city gates came into view, my eyes darted around, searching for the brothel where Grace works. Maybe I could meet her here. Everyone says the brothel is on the outskirts of the city, but since I've never been here before, I'm not sure where to look. Maybe I could ask Damian about it. But what would he think of me if I asked about a brothel?
"What would you like to see first?" Damian's question pulled my gaze away from the view and back to him. He looked so good. His side profile was sharp and effortlessly attractive. Now that I was in his car, his scent seemed to linger everywhere, intoxicating and impossible to ignore.
His eyes stayed focused on the road, one hand gripping the wheel while the other rested casually on his thigh. He looked so delicious, every detail of him holding my attention.
As if sensing my lingering gaze, he turned his head slightly and caught me staring. A sly smirk curved his lips.
"Like what you see?"
I quickly looked ahead, trying to mask my flustered expression. "I don't know… anywhere. Maybe somewhere to eat," I blurted out.
Wait, what? Why did I say that?
"Okay, there's a very good restaurant nearby, and the reviews are excellent," he said, his tone even and surprisingly free of the teasing edge I had almost come to expect from him.
I nodded, clutching my skirt a little tighter to steady my jittering nerves. My eyes darted out the window, taking in the streets of the city. It was bustling and alive, so different from the quiet of the village. Everything felt larger—more overwhelming—and I wasn't sure if I should feel thrilled or terrified.
Damien's car turned down a narrower street lined with quaint little shops, glowing signs, and the kind of people who looked like they belonged here—polished, elegant, confident. I couldn't help but fidget in my seat, smoothing the fabric of my skirt.
When the car rolled to a stop in front of the restaurant with a glass façade, I swallowed hard. Damien got out first, his movements so fluid and graceful. He came around to open my door, and for a moment, as he extended his hand, I hesitated.
"Are you just going to sit there staring at me, or are you coming out?" he asked, one brow arched, the teasing finally slipping back into his tone.
I sighed and placed my hand in his. "Don't rush me," I muttered, but my voice lacked bite.
As I stepped out, the city's noises and energy surrounded me like a wave. The faint clinking of plates and glasses could be heard from the restaurant, mingling with the soft hum of music playing inside.
"This place looks… fancy," I said quietly, glancing up at the sleek sign above the restaurant.
"It's not as fancy as it looks," Damien assured me, his hand hovering near my lower back but not quite touching me. The gesture felt protective, though he made no actual contact. "You'll like it. Trust me."
I bit my lip. "We'll see."
As we walked inside, I couldn't shake the feeling that everyone was watching us—or more specifically, me.
A host greeted us with a warm smile and led us to a table near the window. I sat down carefully, still hyper-aware of my surroundings, while Damien settled in like he owned the place.
As I glanced over the menu, trying to decipher the unfamiliar dish names, I felt Damien's gaze on me again. When I finally looked up, he was smiling—softly this time, not teasing.
"You don't have to be so nervous, you know," he said, his voice low enough that only I could hear.
"I'm not nervous," I lied, avoiding his eyes.
He chuckled lightly, leaning back in his seat. "Sure, you're not."
I hated how easily he could read me, but a tiny part of me found it comforting, too.
I looked around the restaurant and couldn't help but notice the stark contrast between my clothing and the women from the city. Their sleek dresses and polished jewelry shimmered under the soft lighting, while I sat there in my carefully chosen outfit that now seemed too plain, too out of place. I shifted uncomfortably, my bangles jingling softly with the motion.
Damien ordered for both of us—a dish he confidently claimed was "delicious" and something he was sure I would love. I didn't object, partly because I didn't know what half the menu meant, and partly because I trusted his judgment.
As I sat there, the weight of the city pressed in on me. The differences between Damien and me suddenly felt magnified. His watch, with its sleek silver band, gleamed against his wrist—a wrist that looked entirely out of place next to mine, adorned with colourful bangles that now seemed too loud, too unrefined.
I caught myself spiralling into comparison, my thoughts threatening to unravel my excitement about this trip. I clenched my hands under the table, silently scolding myself. Stop it. Don't demean yourself.
But telling myself not to compare was one thing. Stopping it was another, especially when I was surrounded by so many unfamiliar things all at once.
The waiter arrived, carefully placing two plates of food in front of us. The smell was heavenly, and my stomach grumbled softly in anticipation. It was strange to be served, though. At home, I was the one who always made sure others were taken care of. Sitting here, being catered to, felt… unsettling.
"So," I said, breaking the silence as I watched as he picked up his fork. "What type of business do you do? And where do you live?
his eyes lit up, his excitement unmistakable as he realized I was asking about him. "we have a family business" he said, his tone carrying an unmistakable note of pride. "I run a real estate venture. Buying, selling, developing properties... it's something I've worked hard to build."
His chest puffed up slightly, his expression almost boyish, as though he was waiting for me to be proud of him.
"It's good," I said, laughing at his boyish expression, which softened his usually confident demeanour. He caught on instantly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he scratched the back of his neck.
"I know, I know," he chuckled, his laughter light and genuine. "It's just, I don't usually get asked about myself like this. I guess I'm not used to talking about it." I grinned, enjoying.
"Ah, the business... yes, in a way, it's brought me here," he said, shifting slightly in his seat. "Real estate keeps me moving, always checking on different properties, meeting clients. That's why I'm usually all over the place".
"As for where I live," he continued, his voice quieter, almost thoughtful, "I have a mansion in the city of Riverton " He looked at me after telling me, waiting to see my reaction. His gaze lingered on me for a moment, as though he was gauging what my next question would be.
"So, how many siblings do you have? You have a mansion, but do you live alone there, or is there someone else with you, like a family member, except your mom?" I was initially thinking of teasing him with my questions, but now I was genuinely curious about his life in the city—or just his life in general.
He looked at me with a teasing glint in his eyes and said, "You're so curious about me. You must be desperate to marry me, huh?"
I looked at him, trying to appear angry, but I knew I was lying to myself because I was fighting the urge to laugh at his response. He just leaned back in his chair, one hand resting on the table, and said, "I can't even blame you, you know? Just look at me."
Then we both laughed. As the laughter died down, he appeared to get serious. "I have my mother only, and we're a small family. I'm an only child," he said quietly.
"What about your father?" I asked, my voice low. Why did I even ask such a question? But it felt important to know about my soon-to-be husband.
"He died when I was younger," he replied, a shadow passing over his face. "After him, I took over his business."
"Doesn't it feel lonely, though? I mean, the mansion is big, and it's just you and your mom," I asked, knowing I was digging deeper into a wound, but I had to know.
"It used to feel that way, but not anymore," he replied, his voice soft but firm.
"Why not now?" I asked, genuinely curious.
He looked into my eyes, and for a moment, there was a quiet intensity in his gaze. "Because we're going to have our family."
His words lingered in the air, and my heart sank as I processed what he said. "We're going to have our family" — it was clear now that he was thinking of having children, of getting me pregnant after marriage.
I tried to keep my voice steady, but it was hard. "I don't like the idea of having kids," I said, my mind racing. I had started to believe he was different.