Christmas has fallen into a hush as Neva closes the Bible, curling deeper into the couch and pulling
the comforting, velvet blanket closer around her.
Her heart mirthful and at ease after spending time with her Father, she takes in the living room: a towering Christmas tree, fairy lights, and a sea of roses in a riot of color spilling out around her.
Today was perfect, although there may have been itsy-bitsy mishaps, like sleeping in, making a mess as she got ready, and arriving a little late to church.
The choir-led worship service, which is held before the sermon, was almost coming to an end when they reached the church. Thankfully, the distance isn't far.
After a heartwarming service and wishing strangers and some familiar churchgoers "Merry Christmas," off they went to a restaurant, for they were starving, having skipped breakfast in their hurry.
A sticky toffee pudding after the steak and mashed potatoes was the cherry on top before they went shopping and strolling through Vernellia's delightful, snow-draped Christmas wonderland.
It's been a couple of hours since they've been back home, and about the same time since he's been away, called to his workshop.
Seriously, she barely had him back after weeks of longing to end the agonizing act of waiting,
and yet the world seems determined to steal him from her, even on Christmas Eve.
Still, everything about today drifted past like a sweven.
If only Christmas could linger a little longer, just for them.
Maybe she should put on some Christmas carols as she waits for him to come back, and bid a hearty farewell to the most beautiful Christmas she has ever had.
She lifts her left hand, only to find it empty.
Panic crashes over her at once when she realises she has safely put the ring away in the locker, afraid she'll be too clumsy and careless with it.
It must have been worth a small fortune.
And with all the flowers, and the pretty swan-shaped pendant he brought her as a Christmas present, which she had not even thought of purchasing...
He's spoiling her too much, while she can barely offer him anything.
A quiet buzz pulls her gaze to the phone on the coffee table, resting next to the vase of red roses.
Emma squeals on the other end of the line, easily changing Neva's mood as she laughs at her friend.
"I can't believe it! I can't believe it! You're getting married!" Emma just about screams.
"I need to know everything. Every little detail!"
Neva giggles, a swarm of butterflies fluttering in her belly as her mind traces back to the man responsible for this rush of ecstasy flooding through her.
"Oh, darling, you're going to make the most beautiful bride!" Emma gushes. "But when did he propose?"
"Just this morning," Neva replies, unable to stop herself from smiling.
"And you're telling me now?" Emma complains. "You've just sent me a picture of your ring with the caption 'I'm engaged' and then nothing, without
even bothering about my emotional well-being here!"
Neva chuckles. "I'm sorry. And you'll be the perfect bridesmaid."
"I know!" Emma declares. "If not me, then who?! But, don't get me wrong, Neva, are you really sure you want to get married? I mean, you're only eighteen!"
"I am," Neva says quietly. "I've never been more sure about anything else."
"Aww, look at my lover girl," Emma sighs in a playfully exaggerated manner.
"By the way, are you hiding something from me?"
"Hiding something?" Neva subconsciously pulls the velvet wool from the blanket. "I don't think so."
"Girl, don't tell me you're actually pregnant?" Emma asks.
"What? No!" Neva's response is immediate, as is the heat flushing her cheeks.
How such an absurd idea could enter her friend's mind, she doesn't know at all.
Emma laughs delightedly. "Alright, girl. I was just guessing because you guys are moving so fast. 'Cause, look at me and Zedd,
we've been together for two years now, and we've barely talked about marriage. Although now I do want to get married, because my best friend is!"
"Then you should, Emma," Neva replies gently. "You're visiting tomorrow with Zedd, right?"
"Of course! I wouldn't miss your food for the best of master chefs in the world. By the way, do you have a secret ingredient for making your food so addictive?"
Neva laughs. "I don't. You flatter me."
"So, tell me, how were you proposed to, and where?"
"I'll send you the pictures. You'll figure it out yourself."
"Please do, and immediately!"
Neva scrolls through her gallery, selects the best pictures she's taken of the parlor, and presses send.
"I did, on WhatsApp."
"Oh, my heart," Emma sighs. "It's absolutely perfect. And now, I'm crying."
Neva chuckles. "I'm so glad to have you, Emma."
"Oh, come on, darling," Emma sniffles. "You know I'm always here for you. So, when is the wedding?"
Emma's voice overlaps with the chime of the doorbell. "Oh! I cannot wait for the wedding shopping and everything!"
Neva's gaze drifts toward the doorway, while her heart swells with excitement, fed by her friend's happiness for her. "We haven't decided on the date yet.
Emma, can I call you later? Someone's at the door."
"Alright, girl. Congratulations again, and Merry Christmas!" Emma chirps.
"Merry Christmas to you, too." With that, Neva ends the call.
Neva's heart flutters with eager anticipation as she crosses to the door, hoping to finally see her fiancé.
Beaming, she opens the door, only to freeze at the sight of the stranger.
"Neva," he whispers.
She wonders how he knows her name.
Neva tilts her head a little.
And did Rhett ever mention a brother, or a cousin?
For this devastatingly handsome man before her... kind of looks like her fiancé. Or is she hallucinating because she misses him so much?
"Do I know you, Mr?" she asks as silence stretches between them.
He says nothing, dark eyes only watching her.
On closer look, the resemblance is there, but it's thin at best. His hair is longer, enough to show the slight waves, too,
and her fiancé is undeniably more attractive.
His throat bobs as he swallows. "It's me, Ishmael."
She shakes her head. "I think you have the wrong person."
He only lingers, a complicated look crossing his face.
Just as she parts her lips to say something, he beats her to it, "Is... Is your name not Neva?"
"It is." A flicker of concern passes through her.
Silence again. Confused and a bit uncomfortable beneath the force of his gaze,
she bows her head. "Then, goodnight, sir."
As he remains quiet, she begins to close the door.
"Wait!" he exclaims, catching the door and startling her.
Her pulse quickens as he says, softer now, "Wait."
She instinctively steps back as he pushes the door wider.
"Come with me," he says. "Neva, I can help you remember."
Her breathing grows shallow as he steps into her home.
As she turns to escape, a hand clamps around her wrist.
"Please, Neva—" His voice cracks. "Come with me."
"Let go," she warns.
He doesn't budge.
"Let go or I'll scream."
She jerks her arm, but his grip only tightens.
"Help—" Her cry dies as he clamps her mouth shut.
A surge of panic drives her to act on instinct as she bites down hard on his hand.
He winces before she shoves him, sending him stumbling back.
Heart racing, she flees to her living room, nearly knocking over the flowers when she remembers her phone.
He follows her inside, halting in the foyer as his gaze sweeps over the sea of roses overflowing the parlor.
Limbs numbed, she fumbles through the blanket for her phone.
He stalks towards her, his eyes wounded, darkening.
Snatching the phone, she doesn't know how she's moving as she blindly rushes toward the room.
"Angel," Rhett's voice breaks through after two rings.
Before she can respond, a cry escapes her as Ishmael bursts through the door, catches her elbow and slams her against the wall with a painful thunk.
Dizzy with the ache spreading through her spine, Rhett's panicked voice reaches her ears in a haze as Ishmael picks up the phone and stares at it.
She tries to reply, but his voice goes silent as Ishmael ends the call.
"I mean you no harm." He drops the phone and lifts his gaze to meet hers.
She should shout for help. Push him away. Run.
But as he reaches behind him and draws a pistol, it's as if she's experiencing sleep paralysis, her body useless with fear.
He inspects the pistol and, with a quiet click, disengages the safety.
Tears slip down her cheeks as he forces the gun into her limp hand, guiding her finger to the trigger.
He closes the distance as she shudders, his hands enveloping around hers, as he presses the barrel of the gun to his chest.
"Kill me now," he says. "Because if you don't, I won't let go of you anymore."
A choked cry escapes her before she glimpses a flash of movement, and pain twists through her neck.
The next thing she knows, she's falling, caught in his arms as darkness consumes her.