My last week in Eauville flies by. It went so fast, I nearly forget about the reason why it was so packed with social activities. I visit the Wilt sisters and Agnes Bullard, who also enjoyed tutoring with me, at the Wilt's home, my sister Irene and my aunt Mabel. I offically announce my departure to the personnel of Mcgoldnick Trade. As a Mcgoldnick, I was born to help around in the company. The evening before my guests would arrive, the debutantes threw me a party in my honor as we had done with the other debutantes of our year.

Still weary from last nights events, I shut my eyes to avoid the burning sunlight. My mum was busy ordering Frea and Judy around, so the latter comes to seek refuge in my room.

"Are you still in bed?" She says shocked. With hasty steps, she approaches me and sits down on the duvets. Judy's hand runs through the mess that is my hair. "You forgot to take of your makeup again." She informs me, but at this ungodly hour she only receives a grunt as response.

I sit up, my mind fully awake once mum bursts into the room and nearly gets a fit when she notices I'm still undressed. She nearly heaves me into the bathroom and orders Frea to bring me a kettle of cold water to refresh myself. I squint to the mirror. Judy was right. I did forget to take of my makeup and like always the black kohl was smeared around my eyes giving me permanent bags underneath them.

I sigh and freeze when my hand touches the cold water that Frea had brought. I curse and immediately my mum responds.

"Don't you ever use that language around the Whitacres, young lady!"

As soon as I am somewhat presentable and changed into a simple green skirt and white blouse, I dare to come downstairs. Papa seems to be out of the house which makes me sigh in relief. I can handle a stressed mum, but a stressed papa is a whole different story.

I sneak into the kitchen. My eyes form giant platters and my stomach loudly groans at the sight of deliciously prepared food waiting for me at the kitchen table. But before I can take a bite, Frea returns to the kitchen and sternly shows me the way out.

Fur dances between my bare legs and tiny feet tap on my bare ones. The grey Rosie dances between my feet, lifting her tail to trail my calves. Her tiny paws are playing with my toes. I jokingly roll my eyes before I bend over to fetch Judy's cat. However, the creature doesn't want to be caught yet and sneaks her way through my hands. She disappears underneath the lace tablecloth in the dining room.

I smirk. No animal is too fast for me. I fall on my knees and crawl under the table. There's she sitting, lazily licking one of her paws. She looks up and sees me. Rosie freezes.

"Here, kitty." I whisper, making a ticking noise with my tongue. I lunge for the feline and fail to hear footsteps approaching the dining room. As soon as I see three pair of foreign shoes coming my way, I hesitate. Do I dug under the table entirely or do I show myself in this remarkable state?

The decision is made for me when I hear my father thunder my name. Blushing heavily and holding Rosie tight in my embrace I scramble from underneath my hiding spot. I smile weakly to my father who seems embarassed to say the least. The Whitacres stare at me and the Mrs clearly has to make an effort not to gawk. With as much grace I can possibly fathom, I place Rosie back onto the ground and the cat scurries away as a lightning bolt.

I focus back on the family in front of me. "Goodday, Sir. Ma'am." I nod stiffly to the parents, folding my hands behind my back. 

Mr. Whitacre stares me down as he's holding his hat in his hand. I wonder if he's trying to decide if retreating is still possible. He's a tall man and exactly like how I imagined a man from New Paris would be dressed. Cladded in stiff trousers and a buttoned up vest, he offers me the image of a wealthy businessman. Mrs. Whitacre shakes off her previous state of speechlesness and invites me for a simple kiss on the cheek. 

As she nears, a strong flowery scent I can't place drifts towards me. "You must be Annabelle. It is so nice to meet you, child. I'm Amelia Whitacre. This is my husband Roger and my son Reed."

It's the first time I see the man that I am supposed to share the rest of my life with. His eyes are burning on me. The urge to do the same to him pulls my gaze towards his face. I immediately notice the warm color of his eyes, the thick eyebrows under which they hide. He has a strong jawline but the only line that really captures my attention is the scar that pulls at the corner of his mouth. The frayed line reaches to somewhere beneath his left eye, splitting his cheek in two uneven parts. Before I know it, his eyes lock with mine and I wonder if he can see the nervous beating of my heart through my irises.

Perhaps I look shocked or maybe I am turning into stone but until my papa orders me to quickly get changed, my muscles are tensed. This man, Reed, will be my husband.

A little dumbfounded I stumble up the stairs, glancing one last time at Reed. He watches me go, his eyes hiding some joke in between their darkness. I see he smiles, but the scar does its outmost best to prevent that from happening.

Back in my room, I catch myself in the mirror. My skirt and shirt are creased and covered with dull grey hair. Somehow my hair looks even wilder than it usually does. I shrug myself out of my shirt and pull my skirt off. In my underwear I quickly skit over to my wardrobe. Mum would probably want to see me in a dress, I think and immediately roam through the fabrics. Being this close to Mcgoldnick Trade offers the privilege of having an abundance of dresses in all kinds of colors and materials.

When I look somewhat presentable in a deep blue wrap dress, my chestnut hair sort of pinned at the back of my head, I dare to go back downstairs.

The Whitacres are sitting in the living room, pulled into a lively conversation with my mum. Before I can even descend the staircase, I notice Reed looking at me. He must've noticed the movements on the landing, I think as I manage to smile and come down the staircase as graceful as possible. I've changed my bare feet for some wedges and almost immediately regret my decision. If I stumble down these stairs, I doubt Mrs. Whitacre would forgive me another outburst of awkwardness. After all, a daughter in law ought to be a lady, and although I am against this entire tradition I do not want to disappoint my parents again. This time it's serious.

I somehow make it down without as much of a nervous smile. At the sight of Judy, sitting on the window sill, grinning from ear to ear, I shake of my doubts. In front of her, it's easier to play the part of a blunt and charismatic person. My mum looks pleased as I step inside the living room, clearly approving of my outfit change. Mr. and Mrs. Whitacre pin me down with their attentive examination. An approval nod from Mrs. Whitacre who then glances at her son, gives me the courage to sit down in the only stand alone seat of the living room.

The soft fabric tickles the back of my calves but I focus on my posture and shoot my guests my most honest and sincere smile. Luckily papa continues their conversation about Mcgoldnick Trade, the family business he informs. For a few moments I can just breath and settle myself. Without realizing it I tap my feet up and down after I cross my legs. Mrs. Mcgoldnick throws me a sideways glance as she's speaking with my mum. Almost immediately I put my feet back down and cross my ancles instead. The nostalgic feeling of being tutored at the Wilt's sisters' makes me inwardly roll my eyes.

For years we were thought the basic material but most importantly ettiquette. This had to be shown off at our debutante ball of course, and the Wilt sisters and I did a fair enough job at passing for decent ladies. Agnes, however, was the ultimate example of how a lady ought to behave, but unfortunately she couldn't even master needle and thread without the result looking as if a cat had been playing with it.

In the corner of my eyes, I notice Reed's attentive stare. Although he muses along and feigns interest in the conversation, I see he sometimes glances my way. I wonder if he's pleased with me. I stiffle a chuckle. Of course, he probably never expected me to be covered in cat hair when we would meet at last.

When the conversation suddenly turns towards Reed and I, I quickly straighten the posture I was lacking. Reed investigates my behavior and it turns me even more nervous. If it isn't bad enough to have these three strangers in my home, under the questioning eye of my mum and papa, one of them decides to keep a close eye on me the entire time. It makes me feel as if I truly am traded to this man.

"Annabelle, honey, tell us a bit more about yourself." Mrs. Whitacre asks me and she folds her hands in her lap, scrunching the delicate soft rose fabric of her dress. Her round face awaits my response.

Judy's glancing mischievously towards me, but I manage to ignore the dangerous flicker in her eyes. I look at my mother and know what she wants me to say.

"Well," I start, before I quickly wet my lips tumbling over the words that are supposed to follow "I had the luck to enjoy my education along three great friends and two years ago I was a debutante."

Mr. and Mrs. Whitacre remain silent, and I know they of course wanted to know what took me so long to finally agree upon a marriage offer. I can't tell that I didn't intend to leave home, that I was perfectly happy all by myself surrounded with my friends and family. I couldn't tell that I didn't believe in the entire Act that was solely created to guarantee the population of the Sacred Dry and avoid inheritated deceases to spread in our small communities.

"I help around the Mcgoldnick Trade whenever I can," I continue and Mrs. Whitacre lets herself sink a little deeper in the leather. She crosses her ankles and folds her hands together once more.

"And what exactly do you do at the Trade?" Mr. Whitacre asks.

"Oh, well,..." I glance at my father and mother. "I take care of the administration and the correspondence with our clients." My father seems rather proud at my reveals. It is true, I do my bit at the Trade as was expected from me.

Mrs. Whitacre shakes her head "When you two are married, you won't have to worry about work no more, dear. You will be able to focus solely on your duties as a wife." She means it encouragingly but it has the complete opposite effect on me.

"Let's hope our dear Reed isn't boring then." I manage to say within a single breath. The elder around us stiffen. I shoot my gaze to Reed, hoping to come off as defiant as I feel. He simply smirks and lets his finger caress his lower lip before he reaches for his cup of tea.

"Let's hope so indeed." He says and I get the shivers when he directly looks back at me, from underneath his dark eyebrows. I can't do anything else than to stare at his handsome face graced with that intriguing jagged line. It seems to compliment all the other parts of his face and it leaves me wondering how that could be. Without it, he would without doubt be even more gorgeous. Instead I feel a nervous pull at the corner of my lip and bow down to take a sip of my tea myself.

The conversation continues, this time evolving around Reed's occupations. He's in charge of the distribution in one of the bigger plantations in Pays-en-haute but he isn't very specific about his exact tasks. He charms my family and even Judy seems to lose her initial distrust as he jokes and compliments the entire afternoon. I myself, try to figure out the man casually lounging in the seat in front of me.

When Frea enters the room to clear the table and prepare the dining room for dinner, I don't hesitate to stand up and help around. Judy and my mum soon join me. It gives me the chance to occupy my hands whilst I can throw one longing look through the window that separates me from the sunlit day that has passed me by.

In our kitchen, the strong scent of freshly made food is accompanied by the chatter of three women about a man. I shake my head as I hear my mum gushing about Reed when I walk through the door, my hands loaded with empty tea cups.

"I truly think he's magnificent."

"But not as magnificent as Ralph." Judy shoots back, jumping on the counter and managing to stick a finger in the hot sauce that will accompany the chicken later on. Frea gives her a stern tap against her hand.

"Well, it is hard to compete against the mayor's son." My mum admits. Frea and Judy giggle at the reveal. I shake my head.

"He doesn't seem too bad, right Anna?" My mum says, shooting me a hopeful glance. I feel a little giddy about the whole situation but manage to remain calm.

"Worse than the last one is nearly impossible." I state before I continue "He didn't even manage to finish his proposal to me with all that shaking and quivering the poor man did."

Frea decides to wisely shut her mouth. She didn't have to tell my mother that perhaps Judy and I had dared him to take a swim in the swamps late at night as a harmless sign of affection and dedication. We might have honestly forgotten about the dangers of the swamp but the poor man was constantly thinking about them as he tried to lower himself in the water. I bet he soon came to the conclusion that a life at my side wasn't worth the risk of being shredded to piece by a 'gator.

My mum decides this tiny private conversation should be ended and guides us through the door towards the kitchen, our hands filled with delicious meals prepared by herself and Frea. The chicken is steaming hot and the herbs soon fill the entire room leaving our guests staring in delight.

Before dinner starts my family takes each others hands and unites in prayer. Our guests look quite uncomfortable but decide to join in. I remember someone told me, people in New Paris aren't as religious as the citizens of Curker County. At least, for that I am glad.

As my father preaches about the luck and chances life is giving us, thanking theLord for the magnificent food, I feel Reed's hand burning in mine. His hand is rough and not at all like someone who's been doing paper work for most of his life.His thumb is nervously tapping on the top of my hand, making me restless as well. Before we need to let go, he squeezes softly, making me wonder about the meaning of that small gesture.  

After all, Reed Whitacre is a complete stranger to me.      

*Reed Whitacre*