The Lying Smile

Iosef Ladokis was not the richest man in Laokeia. In fact, if one asked the wealthiest men what they thought of him, few would recognize his name. Persephone wasn’t sure she cared. After all, he was wealthier than her father, though of a slightly lower rank. And he was said to be a kind man, at least by the less wealthy yet well-respected people who were lucky enough to cross his path. Her father’s match might not have made her happy, but she saw the practicality of it. Perhaps she could manage indifference.

Persephone ran a brush through her hair, smoothing out the tangles. Then, she braided a small segment at the front, pinning it back behind her face. She looked into the mirror and practiced her smile. Small. Composed. Relaxed.

Satisfied, she left her room.

Perikles waited for her outside, “Hey Pers, you ready?”

His smile was tight. Obviously forced. Her younger brother had never been good at feigning joy. It always came out sort of sad. But he’d grow into it. They all would, in time.

Persephone walked past him, “Ready as I will ever be.”

He followed her down the hall, “I hear he is…nice?”

“I have heard that too.”

Perikles grabbed her arm, “I do not like like this, Pers, it feels wrong.”

She looked back at him, smiling, “It is what it is.”

“That is your lying smile, you are not really happy.”

“It is not my lying smile,” Persephone lied.

They continued down the hallway.

Persephone opened the door to the dining room, finding Ptolemy and Polyxena already seated at the table. Persephone sat one seat down from where her mother used to sit, Polyxena to her right. Perikles took his seat beside Ptolemy.

“You two look nice,” Persephone noted.

Her younger siblings mumbled their thanks. It was true. They looked Polyxena’s hair was woven into a seemingly intricate braid–though Persephone knew it was quite simple in actuality–and tied with a red ribbon. Ptolemy’s clothes were new. At least, his shirt was. And he’d washed his face for once.

They waited for their father.

Polyxena sighed, “This is horrible.”

“How so?” Persephone asked.

“Father is practically selling you,” she muttered.

“Perhaps I want to be married,” Persephone argued, “Some people do, you know.”

She smiled.

Ptolemy groaned, “That is your lying smile.”

“That is not a thing.”

“Yes it is,” Polyxena argued.

“We should call off the marriage,” Ptolemy added, slamming his hand against the table.

Perikles grabbed Ptolemy’s arm, shaking his head.

“He is right,” Polyxena interjected, “It should be your choice, Pers.”

Ptolemy stood, “Exactly. This is an outrage. We need to–”

Perikles cut him off, “Emy. Sit down. Please.”

Ptolemy sat down, “Alright, what do we do then?”

Persephone took a breath, “In a couple days, you are going to attend a wedding. I am going to marry a nice, wealthy man. And nobody is going to throw a tantrum about it,” she shot Ptolemy a pointed look.

“It is not right,” said Polyxena.

“Yes, it is,” Persephone grabbed her hand.

“But–”

“It will be good for the family.”

Polyxena looked down at the table, “Mother would not approve of this.”

“I know, but–”

The door opened, and their father entered. He took his place at the head of the table. Perikles, Ptolemy, and Polyxena straightened, and Persephone adjusted her own posture.

Her father smiled warmly, “Are you ready to meet him?”

Persephone smiled back, “I am.”

Polyxena squeezed her hand.

Her father nodded, “Polyxena, Ptolemy, Perikles, you may be excused. You will have a chance to formally meet Iosef later.”

They left quietly, and quickly.

Her father turned back to her, “Are you nervous?”

She nodded, “I am.”

That was normal for brides, right?

“You do not have to be. He is a good man. You are a good woman. It will work out.”

Persephone smiled, “I know.”

After a couple moments, a man entered.

The man wasn’t short, though he couldn’t be described as tall either. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, and in his hands he held a hat. There was a nervous smile on his face. Persephone assumed he was Iosef.

He lingered in the doorway.

Her father gestured to the room, “You may come in,”

The young man entered fully, then stood near the table awkwardly. Other than his hair, he was pretty well put together. Pale orange shirt. Dark grey pants.

Her father laughed, “You may also sit.”

He sat down in Ptolemy’s seat, just across from her, “Thank you,” he addressed Persephone, “Sorry, I am a bit nervous. I have never been married before.”

He smiled that nervous smile.

Persephone smiled back, “I, too, have never been married before, so I will not be offering any advice.”

He laughed.

Her father stood, “I will leave now. Get to know each other, just, not too well.”

Persephone nodded, smiling. Calm. Composed.

“Yes sir,” the man replied.

Her father left.

The man turned his attention fully to her, “Your name is Persephone, right?’

She nodded, “It is.”

He exhaled, “That is a relief, I was almost afraid you would say no. And I was told I cannot be an idiot until after we are married.”

“How come?”

“Because then you are stuck with Iosef Ladokis. In all of his glory.”

Persephone smiled. Small. Gentle. Relaxed. Composed.

His smile waned slightly, and he fiddled with his hat, “You do not want to marry me, do you?”

She tilted her head, “What kind of question is that?”

Iosef stood, “I knew it.”

Persephone sighed, “I have not even answered you yet.”

“Exactly. If you wanted to marry me you would have said ‘of course I do’ or something of the sort, and then asked about the question.”

“I am just nervous,” she lied.

Iosef shook his head, “You do not look nervous.”

She shrugged, “I am good at hiding my nerves.”

“You are sure?”

Persephone nodded.

He sat back down, “Okay.”

Iosef paused for a moment, “What is your favorite type of flower?”

“My favorite flower?”

He nodded.

She thought about it, then spoke, “Crocus.”

“Really?”

“You sound surprised,” she tilted her head, “Are you?”

“Only a bit.”

“What is your favorite flower?”

He seemed to think for a moment, tapping lightly on his hat, “It has to be oleander.”

They carried on like this for about an hour. Each one asking the other questions. About flowers. About colors. About foods. Music. Dancing. Their families.

“Is your mother as kind as your father is?”

“Even kinder,” Persephone answered.

“Really?” Iosef remarked, “I can’t wait to meet her.”

“I sincerely hope you do not meet her anytime soon.”

“Oh?” he questioned, smile falling, “How come?”

“Because she is dead,” Persephone remarked.

His expression shifted slowly to horror, “I am so sorry. I did not mean to–”

Her father entered the room, “How are you two doing?”

“Well, thank you,” she answered, smile painted on her features.

Her father looked to Iosef, and his smile faltered, “Is something wrong?”

Iosef opened his mouth, then closed it.

Persephone answered for him, “He just admitted that his favorite color is yellow.”

“Oh. Odd choice for a man.”

Iosef shot Persephone an offended look. To be fair, yellow was his favorite color. Had he expected her to keep that a secret?

“It is a respectable choice,” her father reassured, “Just, a peculiar one.”

There was silence as Iosef stared at his hat, cheeks reddening. Persephone almost giggled.

“If you like, you can meet her siblings now.”

Iosef nodded, “Yes please, sir.”

After three more days of visiting, came the wedding. Persephone stood before her mirror as Polyxena helped her adjust her dress. Her dark hair glistened with oil, woven into a braid which had been twisted into a bun. She wrapped a pale yellow ribbon around that bun, pinning the ends together near the nape of her neck. Small. Composed. Perfect.

Persephone took a step back, turning to Polyxena, “How do I look?”

“Beautiful,” Polyxena affirmed, “But you still have that lying smile on your face.”

“I do not,” Persephone lied.

“You do,” Polyxena argued, “You do not want to marry him.”

Persephone opened a cabinet, putting her brush away, “He is a good man.”

“But you do not want to marry him.”

“Maybe I do not,” she admitted, “But what do you suppose I do about it?”

“You could run away.”

Persephone gawked at her.

“Follow Mother’s minstrel route,” Polyxena’s eyes lit with passion, “Explore the world. Discover yourself.”

“No.”

“But wh–”

“I made my choice, Xe. I will fulfill my duty. The family needs this.”

Polyxena embraced her, “But I need you.”

“So you ask me to run away? You know marriage is not death, right?”

“It might as well be.”

A knock came at her door.

Persephone looked from Polyxena, to the door, and back to her sister, “You have not hired an assassin, correct?”

“No?”

“Peculiar. I figured you would, considering that you think marriage is worse than death.”

Persephone pulled away, striding across the room to open the door. Iosef stood in the doorway, Perikles and Ptolemy flanking him. In his hands he held the same hat he’d worn five days earlier–though it now sported a pale blue ribbon which matched her dress–and a purple crocus blossom.

Iosef offered it to her, “It is for you.”

She accepted it, “Thank you.”

He smiled for a moment, then his expression turned serious, “May I have a word with you?”

Persephone nodded, “Of course, is something wrong?”

Iosef shook his head, “I mean, may I have a word with you, without your siblings present?”

Her eyes flicked to Perikles, who was shaking his head slowly.

She spoke, “This is not traditional.”

“Please.”

Persephone nodded, “Alright, all of you, out.”

Her siblings left, slowly. Perikles was the last of them to leave, watching Persephone until the door closed behind him.

Persephone sighed, “What is it?”

Iosef fiddled with his hat, “I need you to be honest with me.”

She nodded, “Of course.”

He met her eyes, “Do you want me to call off the wedding?”

She stared at him, “What? Of course not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He steadied his hands, “Then what is wrong?”

“Nothing.”

He shook his head, “That is not true.”

Persephone sighed, “Forget about that. This is supposed to be a happy day.”

“You do not look happy.”

“I am smiling.”

“Not with your eyes,” he studied her, “I have seen you happy. Your eyes light up, and they crinkle at the edges. That is not what you look like now.”

“I am just nervous.”

“Perhaps that is true, but if it is, and if we are going to go through with this, I need you to look me in the eyes, and tell me that you want to marry me. Not that you are content with it. Not that you have to. That you want to. Alright?”

“Does what I want really matter that much to you?”

His eyes widened, “Of course it does.”

“Then it matters more to you than it does to me.”

He put his hat on his head, then grabbed her hand–which was certainly not traditional, “That was not an answer.”

She didn’t meet his gaze.

“Persephone, do you wish to marry me?”

“I…I do not know.”

He said nothing for a moment. She looked up at him.

“You do not know?” an expression of worry crossed his face, “Have I done something wrong?”

“No, you have been wonderful. That is why I do not know. I have not known you very long,” she squeezed his hand, “I have only known you long enough to find that you are a wonderful person, not long enough to know if you are the wonderful person I want to marry.”

Iosef nodded, “I understand. We are moving too quickly. Perhaps we could call off the wedding today. Take our time?”

“I do not have time.”

He tilted his head, “I do not understand.”

“My family is in debt. Quite a bit of it, really. We need the dachamri you would pay to my father.”

He released her hand, “You are only marrying me for money?”

“No. I have to marry someone for money,” Persephone corrected, “I do not want to.”

He took a step away, “That does not make it any better.”

“Iosef, if I did not like you, I would not be unsure whether I want to marry you. I would be entirely sure that I do not want to.”

Iosef though for a moment, “If you need the money, what if I just pay your father now? And we decide whether to get married afterwards?”

“He would not accept that. Besides, I am not sure it is possible to get out of debt by borrowing more money.”

“It would not be borrowing,” he argued.

“He would consider it so.”

They stood in silence for a moment.

Then, Iosef spoke, “We could get a divorce.”

Persephone shook her head, “Then we would have to return the dachamri.”

“Not if we wait the fourteen months.”

She blinked, “I did not think of that.”

They were married that night.