K.A. Vandlyn
A crow cawed in the tree as a breeze rustled through the weeping branches.
A small honey cake. A box of chocolates. With great care, both were placed on a blanket spread below the willow tree.
Satisfied, Nicholai sat leaning by the base of the trunk, his fingers drumming against the grass. The branches brushed past him, gently enveloping him.
Minutes crawled by and he tore his eyes away from the fields surrounding him, pulling a velvet box out of his pocket. Opening just slightly, the jagged diamond, perched on a lusterless golden band stared back at him. It took him sacrificing his dignity with many negotiations and begging to procure it. He chuckled. It was worth more than his entire flat.
But Anya deserved far more. She deserved the world.
Nicholai’s heart warmed at the thought of the woman who had single-handedly captured his heart, whose smile would light up rooms and could soften the hearts of even the most stoic of soldiers. She deserved only the best of the best. It was a miracle she even looked his way- with his crooked nose and ragged clothes- on that late evening at the park. But he was thankful she did, for since that day, his life has never been brighter.
A hint of blue swirled in the corner of his eyes, obstructing his vision of the field. With a jolt, he slammed the box shut, cringing at the loud snap. Shoving it back into his pocket, he stumbled up to his feet.
Anya glided through the yellow carnation fields, her hat’s soft blue ribbon delicately tied at her chin and her chiffon dress curving over her slender figure. Her right hand was clasped over her left; a picture of collected elegance and poise.
He took his hat off and held it to his waist as he absently tugged down any wrinkles on his shirt. As she neared, he walked over, extending his hand.
“Anya,” he said, with a soft smile as he pressed his lips against her gloved hand. “You look beautiful, as always.”
He helped her up the hill to the willow tree.
“Come, come!” He waved her down. “Sit!”
“This is lovely, Nick,” Anya said, the brim of her hat curving down at her eyes. She kneeled down on the blanket, her hands balled into the ruffles of her dress.
Nicholai beamed, sitting apart from her. “All your favorites! I know how much you love honey.”
The crow cawed again in the tree before taking off into the sky.
“Anya, there is-”
“-Nick,” they started at the same time. They paused for a moment, each waiting for the other.
Eventually, she gestured to him with a slight smile. “You first.”
With a deep breath and silent prayer, he stood up on his knees and reached his hand into his pocket. She gasped. Her eyes now visible beneath the hat were wide and she cupped her mouth.
“Anya.” He held out the ring towards her. “You are my joy, my light, my everything,” he said, words escaping from his heart and tumbling out of his mouth. “I do not have mountains of gold or fancy mansions to offer you, but I promise you that through thick and thin, nothing- and I mean nothing- will diminish my everlasting love for you. My heart is yours. Will…will you give me the most highest of honors? Will you let me be your forever, loving husband?”
His arms trembled as he awaited her response and his heart hammered against his ribs, begging to explode.
“Nicholai…I-” Her face twisted, almost as if in pain. She stood up. Her mouth struggled to move, nothing coming out. “This won’t…”
Nicholai’s smile froze and a crease formed in between his eyebrows. Blood pumping in his ears, he let out a breathless laugh. “What-”
“I need to go,” she interrupted, turning away.
“Anya- wait!”
Frantically, Nicholai grabbed her hand. His fingers brushed over something smooth, something wrong. Everything came to a still as his eyes pinned to the gleaming diamond on her finger.
A ring, with arrays of diamonds welded around its band, glared back at him.
Taunting him.
The weeping branches whispered amongst themselves as another breeze swept through them.
“What’s this?” He shakily asked through a dry throat.
She tugged her hand out of his grasp, clutching it to her chest.
“I am so sorry,” was all she managed to whisper before she turned on her heels and fled.
The box rested cold and forgotten in his hands and with burning eyes, he watched her disappear into the yellow carnation fields; his own feet rooted to the ground.
There was a wedding that September.
Only the wedding wasn’t his.
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