Wisdom’s POV
We have finally arrived in the Paraiso de Rojos or the “Red Paradise”, the abode of Denver’s parents.
Well, it’s obvious why it is called that: the iron gate is painted in a vibrant red color.
Denver drove the car inside and the either side of the pathway is adorned with red flowers. I can see red roses, red lilies, red orchids, and other red flora.
Though the main mansion is not entirely red, some parts of it, especially the roof, are accentuated with the red color.
The white fountain in the center is adorned with a statuesque ivory queen-like sculpture, the ruby in its crown gleaming as soon as the sun casts its light.
The place is, generally, jaw-dropping. Beautiful. Stunning.
I could hear the bird chirping. The wind is singing gently, it’s cool but not so cold. This is indeed a perfect place for aged people to live because nature surrounds you.
“It’s so serene…” I declared as I opened the car’s window. Passing to the pathway in which the red flowers served as the red carpet as we arrived. A purple butterfly landed on my fingers and then bounced from the red rose to another flower.
The last time I had been surrounded by nature was when I was young—too young that I couldn’t remember when or where.
But one thing I can recall is that nature is always soothing, inviting, and peaceful. And a place like Paraiso de Rojos is indeed worthy to be called home.
“There you are, my pumpkin pie!”
Ergh, I hate pumpkin to be honest.
A kind-looking woman, probably in her early forties, whose onyx eyes smiled as she looked at me, greeted us as Denver went down the car.
I was still staring at the red blanket of flowers behind us and was still left in the back seat.
“Wisdom!” There, that was my cue to come down. But when I jerked my head, it wasn’t Denver who called me.
“Verity Giordano, your soon-to-be mother-in-law.
An “Ohh…” was all I said as I shook the lovely woman’s aged hands.
Well, she’s not really that old because you can still see the beauty of her when she smiles.
“You’re just in time, honey.” She glanced at her own son and gave him a soft kiss on the cheeks. Then Verity hugged me.
It was not a hug from a stranger. It was so warm and comforting that I thought it was from my mom.
My mother, the late and one and only.
Even from here, I can already smell the aromatic scent of grilled pork belly and cheesy lobster as well as the scent of roasted prawns with butter and rosemary.
“Have you already had your lunch?” Verity asked.
Though Denver and I already bought from a drive-through of a fast food chain, in fact our litters are still in the back of the car, I shook my head. “No. No, we haven’t yet eaten.”
Denver eyed me. And instead of countering my words, he smiled—a joyous and uplifting one.
My eyes turned to the man behind Verity, who had been giving me an unpleasant look since I came down from our car.
“Oh, you haven’t yet met my husband, Wisdom,” said Verity as she nudged the forty-something-year-old man.
“This is my husband, Ezra, and Denver’s father.” I extended my hand for a handshake but he just glared at me.
“You were once married, right?” Ezra said that to me straight in the eye as if it was a knife that candidly stabbed me in the throat.
“Dad…” Denver tried to take him away from my sight.
“Answer me, woman.” Ezra’s voice was firm, along with his words, especially when he addressed me as ‘woman’.
“Yes, but I’m divorced, sir.”
“Sir?” he sneered. “That’s what you should address me from now on.”
Verity yielded a merciful look at my direction but I just brushed it off and smiled at her then to Verity’s husband.
“Of course, sir. If that pleases you.”
Denver’s look is…he just shook his head and mouthed an “I’m sorry” voicelessly.
Even when I’m already seated across Mr. Ezra Giordano, I didn’t cease beaming at him, making him feel that not all women who were once married are gold diggers.
For some have been the victims of love and the witnesses of how lust and a simple form of betrayal can ruin a ten-year-old friendship and a four-year-old marriage.
***
Denver’s POV
The barbeque party is going well, thanks to my white lie that me and Wisdom had long been entangled with each other.
“Are you ready for your bridal shower?” My mother asked upon putting a spoonful of mash potato and an oven-baked beef wellington on her plate.
Wisdom blinked, and I know it was an astonished kind of blink. “Ye-yes, Mrs. Verity.”
“Ma’am Verity,” Dad corrected.
Thankfully, mom gently elbowed dad. “You can call me just Verity, dearest Wisdom.”
“Her name sounds so beautiful; I hope it doesn’t stop with her face and body only….” My dad seems to hate that I brought home a once married woman.
“She is beautiful holistically, father. You don’t have to worry.” He raised his chin towards Wisdom’s direction. He seems to be bothered on why, of all the women I have been with, I’ve chosen Wisdom to take my surname.
“She’s my highschool sweetheart, dad.” I ignored Wisdom’s eyes and face.
“But you two didn’t go to the same school.” I can really see that dad had an identity check and lifestyle assessment on my fiancée.
“Ezra…Can’t you see our little Denver here is very enamored with sweet Wisdom? Just leave the two love birds alone.” Dad just rolled his eyes. I often wonder if he really is my dad since the moment I told him that I’ve been dating Wisdom, he’s very much the number one person to protest with our relationship.
He doesn’t know yet our apparent relationship—with Wisdom as my hired wife and me as his dominant employer—prior to me bending my knee at the park yesterday.
I hope he will never know.
I peeked at Wisdom, who was clemently eating a lobster tail with butter and lemon sauce. To be frank, the notion that she may be pregnant crossed my mind since she’d been eating a huge amount of food for the past few weeks.
Even our drive-through earlier…she was ravishing. She ate at the parking area and ate again thirty minutes later. And now, she devoured and left clean a seafood platter and two T-bone steaks.
Or maybe she was just hungry because of the long ride.
Anyway, I’ll be more elated if she ever proved to be in a delicate condition. That will give me—us—a more solid reason to marry and to not let my father turn down our sacred union.
“Oh, here he is!” Dad exclaimed.
When I turned around, it’s as if the dormant fury inside me erupted like an active volcano. My anger simmered to its boiling point.
Gerry Grace, my former employee, is casually traversing to our table, to where we are having our lunch in a form of a barbeque party.