In that little room she didn't have much choice but to sit down on a little piano bench. He didn't raise his eyes from the most boring column in the newspapers that he held tightly in his hands. He simply didn't have the strength to raise his head and look at her in the eyes.
"What do you need?" She asked with same tone he used.
"Where were you?"
She answered short and clear. "Out."
"And who were you with?" He raised an eyebrow.
"With colleagues from work", she looked at him briefly, "you know, the girls."
The whole room was tense. She knew that he wasn't looking at her and all she wanted to do was walk out that room. She couldn't bare him not looking at her.
"Funny," he smiled, even though there was no evidence of humor in his voice, "I remember you saying they traveled away this weekend."
She looked at her shoes, letting the silence coat the room. "They did, but these are other girls that work with me."
He followed up quickly. "That is strange. Considering the four of you girls are the only ones working there. Unless your boss decided to hire a few more in the last twenty-four hours."
His look was burning and she thought that the newspapers are going to catch on fire, so she turned towards the piano.
He continued. "Also, my secretary Bob, you know Bob, he said he couldn't come tonight, saying that he had a meeting. Really odd, don't you think? A meeting, on Saturday night."
He raised his eyes to look at her but she was staring blankly through the window. Her fingers were gliding softly over dusty piano keys. That sight brought him back in time when he would work, in that same room, and she would play countless soft tunes on that same piano.
That little room was no longer filled with soft piano tunes but with nervousness and tension. His eyes again found the boring column in the newspapers.
"That dress looks great on you. When I looked at it I knew that it would fit you perfectly."
"Thank you." She said in almost a whisper.
Throwing a glance at her he continued. "I'm just sorry that it was collecting dust in the closet for two years. Every time when I asked you to wear it you would say that it wasn't fit for the occasion. If we went to dinner you said it was too formal or dressy. And if we went to a formal dinner you would say that, again, the dress wasn't fit for the occasion and that you would feel overdressed."
She was now staring at him while he was afraid to look at her again, but he still continued to speak. "But that dress is beautiful, and you look absolutely gorgeous. I also remember the first time I saw at you. You were wearing a red dress."
Tears were now welling up in her eyes and her breathing was ragged. She could feel his eyes on her. That burning look was eating her up inside and she was ready for the first tear to fall.
When he saw that she wasn't going to say anything, he, again, continued. "I knew that you were waiting for a perfect moment to wear that dress. For days I would think and think when the moment will come, so that I could walk into a restaurant or into a theatre holding your hand and you wearing that dress. I thought about how the whole town would talk about the girl in red dress. And I would've been thrilled. Because I would've been the man that was with the girl in red dress."
He stopped shortly. Just enough to swallow the emotions that were in his throat, forbidding him to speak. "I always knew red was your color. When you went out that dress wasn't as nearly as wrinkled as it is now. You spent an hour ironing it."
He stopped again. "I never knew when you were going to wear that dress."
Their eyes met, holding a thousand different emotions inside them. He folded the newspapers and put them on the table. He stood up and finished his speech.
"I hoped that you would wear that dress yesterday at our engagement party."
