Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
We sit in awkward silence until Ms. Evans serves us roasted chicken and vegetables. I wish she’d sit down and join us, but I already learned it isn’t the role she plays, and there are no exceptions.
“How are you adjusting?” She finally cuts the silence. “I’m sure living in such a large house compared to where you came from has to be… foreign.”
“You have a lovely house. I’ve walked around and really love all the artwork you have.”
“Yes, Christopher’s father, my late husband, was a collector.”
“Christopher told me that once I get a passport, we can travel to places with museums and galleries. I want to actually see all the art I’ve read about.”
Louisa places her glass on the table and finally takes her first—very dainty—bite of chicken. “Do you really see that happening?”
Confused by the question, I ask, “What do you mean?”
“Travel. With Christopher. Do you really think you will ever be ready to do such a… normal task?”
I don’t know if her question is meant to be an insult, but it certainly feels as if it’s one.
“I hope so,” I say, deciding to not make an issue of the question. “I know Christopher is busy with work right now, so I know it’s still a ways out. Plus, we need to start looking for a place to live. He told me last night that he’d arrange for us to meet with a real estate agent soon.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea? Who will take care of you when he’s at work? Ms. Evans and I won’t be present.”
“I don’t feel I need to be taken care of.” I look to the door leading to the kitchen. “The only reason I don’t cook for myself, and even for the entire household, is because Christopher told me it’s Ms. Evans’s domain, and I could upset her if I do.” Lowering my eyes to the dinner presentation, guilt attacks. Had I made a mistake in listening to Christopher? “I’d be more than happy to do more around the house if you’d like.”
“That won’t be necessary. It’s not about the housework. I’m referring to your mental state.”
“Excuse me?” I’m fighting back the urge to stand up and storm out of the room. Not only is the conversation attacking in nature, but it’s awkward and uncomfortable. I don’t know how to respond properly, nor am I sure if I’m just being overly sensitive and reading her questions the wrong way.
“Come now, Amber,” she says as she dabs the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin. “You are essentially a caged animal that has been released. It’s not natural or even expected for you to behave in normal society after the upbringing you’ve had.”
“Ember,” I correct, trying to ignore her calling me a caged animal.
“In my house, we go by our proper birth-given names.” Her face is emotionless, cold, and full of disgust. This woman doesn’t like me, and even a caged animal can see that.
I poke my fork into a carrot and try not to respond while anger bubbles from my stomach to the back of my throat.
“Let me ask you something,” she says after a few moments of silence.
“Yes?” I look at her, readying myself for a bullet to the heart. I can feel she’s going in for the kill.
“How was your wedding? I ask because it’s a mother’s dream to be part of her son’s wedding. To dance with him on his special night. To be part of the planning. To witness the vows to the new woman in his life. I had none of that. You stole that from me. So, tell me… how was your wedding?”
“I… I’m sorry.”
“Tell me. I’d like to know.”
“It was just Christopher, Papa Rich, me, and Scarecrow. It wasn’t really a wedding. No cake or anything.”
She gives a sickly smile. “No cake? Oh, what a shame.”
“Louisa—”
“Mrs. Davenport,” she snaps. “You have not earned the position to call me by my first name.”
Again, I’m only doing what Christopher said, but I decide it best to not argue or point out that her son disagrees.
“Mrs. Davenport,” I say evenly. “I’m sorry that my marriage to your son is upsetting. I completely understand why it would be. I wish things were different and that it didn’t happen the way it did.”
“Then end it,” she blurts. “It’s quite simple. It’s not legal, and my attorney doesn’t even have to draw up any papers to divorce. You simply have to walk away.” She raises her hand when I open my mouth to object. “I’m not expecting you to just walk out of my house with nothing. In fact, I can be very generous and will be if you choose to go. I can set you up in an apartment and give you a nice little bank account that allows you to live comfortably. All I will ask in return is that you stay away from Christopher. You don’t have any contact with him from this point on. I can have assistants here within the hour to take you away. I can make it very easy for you and have them handle it all.”