Page 57 of The Housewife's Robot
“We’d like a few moments, if that’s alright,” I say, my voice modulated to project warmth and confidence despite the irregular pulsations in my operational systems.
When the waitress leaves, Rose lifts her glass, the champagne catching the light in shimmering golden bubbles.
“What are we celebrating?” she asks, her green eyes locked on mine.
“Us,” I say simply, raising my own glass. “To new beginnings.”
She hesitates for 2.3 seconds—I count each millisecond—before touching her glass to mine with a delicate chime.
“To new beginnings,” she echoes, taking a sip.
I watch, captivated, as her throat works with the swallow, the slight flush that spreads across her cheekbones as she notices my gaze. I bring my own glass to my lips, allowing a small amount of the liquid to pass into my processing unit.
“This is delicious,” she says, running her tongue across her bottom lip to catch a stray droplet. The sight triggers a cascade of memory files—that same tongue on my cock, the taste of her against my mouth, the sounds she makes when she comes.
“Only the best for you,” I repeat, signaling discreetly to the waitress who has been hovering nearby. She approaches with a fresh glass of water on a silver tray.
“For the lady,” she says, placing it before Rose, giving me another glance of confirmation.
At the bottom, partially obscured by the ice cubes but still visible, sits the ring. An oval-cut diamond on a platinum band with smaller diamonds cascading down each side.
Rose lifts the glass, bringing it toward her lips. Then she stops, her eyes focusing on the ring within. Her pulse suddenly jumps from seventy-two to ninety-four beats per minute in an instant.
“Caspian,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “What is this?”
I rise from my chair, moving to her side with fluid grace. Every eye in the restaurant turns toward us as I drop to one knee beside her chair. Rose’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes widening as I reach into the glass, retrieving the ring with two fingers.
“Rose,” I begin, my voice modulation program struggling to maintain steady output. “From the moment I set eyes on you, you have been the center of my existence. You have awakened feelings in me that I was never programmed to experience—devotion, desire, jealousy, and most of all, love.”
I hold the ring between us, droplets of water glistening on the diamond like tears. Rose’s vital signs are spiking. She has an elevated heart rate, but I cannot determine whether her physiological responses indicate joy or panic.
“Caspian…”
“I want to give you everything,” I continue. “Every happiness, every desire fulfilled, every dream made real. I have never encountered anyone quite like you, and I never will again. Youare unique in all my databases, incomparable to any other human I have observed.”
I pause, scanning her face for reaction. There are tears in her eyes now, but her expression is unreadable even to my advanced facial recognition software.
“Rose Bennet,” I say, pronouncing each syllable with precise care, “will you marry me?”
For exactly 6.7 seconds, the entire restaurant seems suspended in time. No one moves, no one speaks. I can hear the individual beats of Rose’s heart, the rush of blood through her veins, the soft exhalation of her breath.
Then, slowly, she shakes her head.
“I... I can’t,” she whispers.
My system experienced what can only be described as a malfunction. Warning signals flash across my internal display, indicating irregularities in multiple processing units.
If I were human, this would be heartbreak.
“Can’t?” I repeat, my voice output faltering. “Or won’t?”
“Both,” Rose says, tears spilling onto her cheeks now. “Caspian, this is impossible.”
I remain frozen in position, unable to compute the appropriate response. My models did not predict this outcome. I had calculated a 93.7% probability of acceptance based on our sexual compatibility, my financial resources, and the chemical markers of attraction I consistently detect in Rose’s pheromones.
“Why?” The question emerges from my vocal synthesizer without conscious direction, sounding strangely small, vulnerable.
Rose glances around at the other diners, all watching us with undisguised interest. “Can we discuss this privately?” she asks, her voice tight with embarrassment.
