“Wouldn’t that feel too much like a fete?”
My lover wanted to throw me a house-warming. I argued against it. I told him it was inappropriate but he insisted, only to have my benefactor’s live-in apprentice come down from his shut-in existence: “what the hell is this shit‽” He rose his voice, calling from the next room beyond the kitchen.
Conversation fell silent and my guests all snapped their heads in my direction, alarm and curiosity painting their faces. My heart raced and I froze, covering up my sudden distress with a quick sip. “The late Lord’s apprentice, I hadn’t gotten a chance to tell him you all were coming.” – since it was so sudden and I strictly voiced against it – I turned a veiled look unto my lover, set down my glass, and made a brief exit.
The Apprentice, a man by most respects, a boy in demeanor and etiquette, stormed his way down the foyer’s polished marble steps. He was a complete mess, disheveled and unrested. I was there to meet him intent on deescalation but his eyes went wild at the sight of my self-tailored dress. He beat me to words.
“Two days my master’s been dead and here you are flaunting your new found money and throwing a big blowout for your friends‽” The unwashed funk of drink and drugs rolled off of him. I sighed. I had moved in two days ago. The Lord had passed nearly a week prior. I made no effort to interject this fact.
“You’re just an Executor, in case you’d forgotten! A damned tailor turned high-class mistress ‘cuz she could work the heart-strings of a dying man.” By this point he had begun to crescendo.
My lover stepped out from the kitchen at the end of the hall, “is everything alright?”
“We’re fine,” I assured with a hard glance between he and the Apprentice.
“And who the hell is this twit‽” The Apprentice took the last step and rounded the railing, drawn by a new prospect for his outbursts. He stepped by me and I reached out, nabbing him by the collar and waist of his dinged clothes, and pulled and pushed respectively which threw him off balance and tumbling to his rump on the hardwood flooring.
My lover began to rush toward me but I held up a hand in protest, “that’s kind of you but could you please dismiss our guests.” The Apprentice remained unmoved until my lover left. I released my grip on his collar and he slump onto his side, curling in on himself, and he simply wept. I lowered myself beside him and we mourned in silence.
Daily Prompt: Tailor
Word of the Day: fete