A Marriage Proposal

Chapter 2

"Where are you, bastard?"

Francis did not reply immediately. Arthur suspected that a call from him was unthinkable, especially after the way he asked him to leave his house. Also, Francis's visit was in the morning. Maybe he decided later to go back to his own territory or wander by himself around London like a miserable man. Thinking about Francis drowning his sorrows in the chaotic and gray London's ambiance provoked an empty feeling in his stomach, and Arthur did not know—he did not want to know— to identify its origin.

He was wasting his time having those thoughts. Probably, after being rejected, Francis kept living like nothing had happened between the two of them, planning the next way to disturb his old enemy. Francis did not ask to marry him because he was dying to be Arthur's spouse. That bastard that talked about love every time he opened his mouth handled marriage like a monetary transaction.

"How?" Francis said, finally, like he did not understand Arthur's simple question.

It was an insult that other countries thought about them as rivals, among other things.

"I said: Where are you? I am looking for you," Arthur sighed, irritated due to his initiative. "I am pondering your stupid offer, but first, I need to see you. We have to discuss it."

He refused to be explicit about what they needed to talk about each other. The reasons were in the air. Besides, his words would not come out from his throat. He liked to lie to himself from time to time—or always when he needed it to face difficult subjects—, but Arthur could guess his behavior under certain circumstances.  

"But you..." Francis went silent like his eloquence decided to take some vacation. Arthur heard him sighing over the phone and then gave him his address with a quiet voice tone. Francis added he would send it by text message too. "It would take you forty-five minutes, maybe. I will wait for you in the cafe. See you"

Arthur ended the call without saying goodbye. He felt a tingling sensation in his fingers. His lips dried like an arid land under the sun. A part of him asked if he really wanted to continue his vengeance's act if it was absolutely necessary to waste his time. "But it is too late," he said to himself. "I called him. And he began everything."

Everything would be better if Francis had not arrived at Arthur's door that morning. If Arthur had not welcomed him, letting him in and allowing him to sit in his office. Even more, that morning was the perfect occasion to just lay in bed.

Arthur took his coat, his apartment's key, and his phone before leaving his home.

—

The new instrument was against the wall. Its color was an opaque yellow, less striking than the popular shades from the last years. The fingerboard was larger and thinner than the ones Arthur had seen before, and the rest of the body was full of curves that gave it a modern look, almost futuristic.

Although it was the same guitar as always.

Arthur never was a big enthusiast of them. Usually, Antonio was the one who use them to entertain his visits. Arthur had been in Antonio's performances and had decided the instrument was not made for him.

This guitar was different from anything else.

It belonged to Alfred first. Arthur saw it in one of his diplomatic travels around the United States. Previously, they agreed Arthur could stay in Alfred's house to save money during his stay, and even when it was not perfect, Arthur remembered the times living together like a family, so different from the rotten relationship Arthur had with his siblings.

"Ah, do you like this? You can take it," Alfred said. "I don't do anything with it."

He sat in a chair in the middle of his living room and accommodated the guitar between his hands. He had attended rock concerts before, so he saw artists playing like it was part of their arms. At first look, it seems easy and natural, but Arthur knew the years of practice required to reach that mastery level.