Page 2 of David's Proposal

Her eyes stall on the mane of hair tumbling down my back.

“Oh. You did it. You died your hair,” she says, studying the result of an entire night's effort.

It took three bottles of red hair dye and a lot of testing before finally picking up the luscious dark red beautifully coating my hair now.

The pigment is dense and vibrant. It doesn’t scream, yet doesn’t go unnoticed either.

“Your eyes…” she says, going over the changes I have made.

“I used a thickening mascara and brushed my eyebrows.”

Narrowing her eyes, she studies the sophisticated arch of my eyebrows.

“Did you use a new brush?”

“Nope. I used an old toothbrush.”

The corners of her lips move up, her eyes capturing the entire sun.

“You’re kidding me…” she says, laughing.

“No. I discovered this little known secret last night when I put on my makeup.”

“Last night? Where did you go last night?”

Spontaneous, her question is not lined with morbid curiosity, yet it makes me feel like I’ve given myself away somehow.

My cheeks burn as I push down the lump in my throat.

“Nowhere, of course. I’m just getting ready for your wedding.”

The spin works.

Her eyes glint with a smile, and the tension in my chest decreases. Lying through omission has been my favorite pastime lately.

“Oh… My wedding. Yes. Of course.”

She loops her arm through mine, ready to move to a different topic.

“Have you had anything to eat today? I’m famished. Skipped the lunch to finish my day early,” she says, eager to leave the campus and walk down the street.

“I could grab a bite,” I say. “Pizza?”

“Pizza it is.”

We set ourselves in motion.

“It’s like the good old times,” I comment, and she agrees, smiling. “How come your chauffeur isn’t here?” I ask.

She tips her eyes down while I study her profile.

A pink fuzzy jacket highlights her complexion.

She wears lipgloss and diamond earrings, and a starched white collar peeks from underneath.

Short boots and white wool pants complete her look.

“He’s here,” she says. “You just don’t see him.”

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