PART OF THE BETROTHAL

Minutes later!


The one hour flickers so fast for someone engrossed in a zillion thoughts and swimming in a quagmire of unanswered questions. In a blink, my father is lifting the oxygen cup off his nose and kicking it aside, and in the next minute, he is stumbling to sit down. I try to stop him, but he waves me off.

"I am not that weak, my dear." He faintly murmurs as I adjust the pillows to support his back for him.

I don't know if he should be doing this but he is one stubborn patient. And I know he will argue for his points even when he knows they are wrong until he wins. "You are not. But you will be if you keep being stubborn like this," I say as I crouch on the seat beside him, resting my hands on his.


"At least you know where you got your stubbornness from. And I am proud that you at least carry some of my character traits," he says with a weak smile.

Really now? "I see. So, what else did I take from you apart from my stubbornness, huh, Mr. Riccaford?" I ask.


"The smart brain. Ooh, and the arrogance. That could not have come from your sweet, noble mother."

Well, I did not know I was arrogant. But I also knew I was not soft from the beginning. "No doubt about that. But I had to take after Mama's beauty."

He scans my face for a while as if mastering my features. "I see her in you every time I look at you. The aqua eyes are an exact portrayal of hers. And your face, too, and your good heart. Those are some of the things that have kept me strong since she left—seeing her in you and feeling her presence through you. Somehow, it gives me so much peace and strength to know that a part of her is still with me."

I remain mute for a word, allowing his words to sink in while his eyes are cruising around my face. It never occurred to me that I remind him so much of my mother. Or that he still misses her this much. I thought he replaced her.

I am that important to him, yet I took that away from him when I abandoned him. No wonder he couldn't handle the loss because he didn't just lose a daughter, but his whole family. His whole life, perhaps, because I doubt he cares about the two witches downstairs. He wouldn't be missing my mother this much if that woman meant anything to him. He would have been content with them being beside him when I left, even during this difficult time.

Come to think of it, why didn't Gracia rush here even after the conversation a while ago when Dad went hysterical looking for me? Why has none of those black souls shown any concern to check on my father ever since I got here this morning?

"I loved her so much, even if you don't hear me say it, Ellie." My father's voice startles me, and I look at him, speaking with so much sadness amidst the pain but still trying to keep a weak smile as he talks about the love of his life. 'I just had to remain strong for you—you and everything that she and I built together. That was the best way I saw fit to honor her memories, and one more thing that I haven't been able to accomplish yet," he adds after a little silence, taking my hands in his and caressing them gently.

Something that he has not been able to fulfill? What could that be? "What is that, if I may ask, Dad?" I ask, curiosity getting the best of me.

"The story you loathe the most," he says.

His words hang in my head like a cloud, making me tense. This has never been a simple topic for me, and it still is not. However, I don't have a choice. And I believe it is high time we settle this score, hoping it will favor me and Damian.

Fingers crossed for the little hope that I have!

"Talk to me, Papa. I am willing to listen," I say calmly, banking all my attention on this.

"I am sorry that I subjected you to this, my dear. If I could, I would back down. I can terminate the contract and bear the consequences, whatever the Riccafortes might decide after. But my dear, I know I have never told you this part of the agreement, and perhaps you will understand me better if I disclose it to you."

This sounds so intense. What else didn't I know about this betrothal? 'What else do I need to know, Dad? I am all ears. And you can say just anything. Everything you want to. I am listening," I say.

He clears his faint voice, taking a moment to just breathe before speaking again: 'Your mother's plea will haunt me even in my grave if I don't honor her last plea. She wavers, and I pour him a glass of water, which he appreciates. After taking two sips, he continues again, 'She made me vow to see to it that I get married to the son of my best friend at whatever cost."

I am drowning in more confusion here. If these words had come to me before, I don't think I would have believed any of them. I would have thought that it was another angle that my father was using to bend me to that betrothal. But right now, seeing the intensity with which he is saying it, I know he cannot be making up stories.

A plea? From my mother? I thought my mother understood my point all along. Why do I now feel like she wanted this betrothal more than my father did?

"I am lost, Father," I say in bewilderment. What secrets lay behind this son of the Riccafortes that made my mother make such a vow? 'Why would my mother make you make such a promise? I mean, she knew I didn't like this from the start. Why would she want me and that man to get married so badly?"