Walking A Tightrope With No Safety Net

~Author's POV 

“Pamela?”

Camilla froze, holding her breath. Her twin sister's name was like a death sentence to her ears. She quickly turned off her phone and lifted her gaze.

The golden emission from the crystal chandeliers caught Arthur's imposing figure as he stood across the table in the opulent restaurant. From his black hair perfectly styled in waves to his fitted shirt: his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing muscled arms, and his open collar buttons flaunting a hairy chest, his commanding aura carried easily through the space, almost snatching her already ragged breath completely.

The lights caught his hazel eyes making them shimmer dangerously while studying her. 

“A‐Arthur,” 

The name aired from her lips before she could stop herself.

His gaze swept over her like ice, sending a chill down her spine.

“You look stunning as always,”

“T-thank you,” She murmured, hoping her voice didn't quiver and quickly masked her agitation with a smile that felt awkward enough.

Arthur didn't smile back, not that she expected him to. Men like him never smiled. His brows furrowed slightly at her flat response, unlike the Pamela he knew but his expression never gave away his thoughts. He sat across from her, golden light catching his wristwatch expensive enough to buy her entire life if only he knew she wasn't her sister.

“Pamela, are you alright?” His voice was low yet carried an undercurrent of his usual authority.

“Of course! I'm alright,” Trying to sound like her sister felt wrong. “How was your day?” She changed the topic.

But Arthur's sharp gaze held mysteries that tightened her gut. He seemed to notice the shift…everything.

“Thought you were coming to pick me up yourself,” She pressed on cautiously.

“Pick you up,” He scoffed and leaned forward, resting both elbows on the ornate table. 

“Pamela,” He said and paused briefly, his gaze glowing gold as it held hers with a scrutinising intensity. “Since our wedding day, you seem different…strange.”

Camilla blinked. Her lips parted as though to speak but she couldn't find her voice or knew what to say.

“You've been…distant lately,” He continued, his words measured.

Before she formed words the Maitre d’ had walked over, smiling apologetically as she noticed their discussion, “My bad, Mr. Bellingham. Perhaps I should return later?”

“You can bring our food now,” He said curtly without sparing Camilla a glance.

The maitre d’ nodded politely and walked off.

Wait. What? No manual to select what she'd like to eat? Camilla's stomach churned with excitement. They have known Pamela so well, and Arthur was obviously acquainted with Pamela's choices. She let out an almost imperceptible sigh, knowing better than to question him.

Arthur's gaze snapped to his phone as it chimed on the table. He picked it up, instantly engrossed, his expression shifting effortlessly to his usual aloof yet authoritative business mood, which he was known for, and she stole the chance to look at him properly, half relieved at the distraction. 

Silence stretched between them with a suffocating intensity that made her feel awkward. For the first time since their wedding, her eyes lingered on the man she'd married—impersonating her sister, drinking in his striking features as his fingers flew across his phone's screen in rapid fluid motion. He was more charming than she'd ever imagined—she observed, feeling drawn despite the impending tension awaiting her. 

The sleek tray glittered, caught by gold lights spilling graciously through the restaurant as the maitre d reappeared. 

While the lady served them, Arthur didn't spare her a glance, his brows knitted in strict concentration on his business.

The spicy aroma wafting into her nostrils was like venom—she adjusted uneasily in her seat, her eyes darting over the expensive food and wines; something she'd neither seen nor tasted her whole life, something her sister would've cherished. She stole a nervous glance at Arthur but he wasn't looking.

The meal seemed to glare back at her and she was tempted to ask for the name of this poison.

“Dissatisfied?” 

Camilla's eyes snapped up at the lady—she'd forgotten the lady was still present.

“Of course not,” Camilla smiled. “Everything is perfect!” She lied, heart in her throat.

The lady nodded with a polite smile, "I've always known what you like, Mrs. Bellingham. But, I was thinking you probably wanted to…change your choice?”

Arthur lifted his gaze as though drawn by the question and Camilla knew she was walking a tightrope.

Instinctively, she glanced at Arthur whose gaze was already locked on hers.

“Urrm” She muttered, shifting subtly on her seat in masked discomfort.

Arthur raised a brow at her hesitation, his gaze crisp and cold, gleaming with curiosity.

“I'd like lobster linguine instead,” Camilla said despite herself. 

Arthur's eyes narrowed.

“Oh,” The maitre d’ said, glancing at Arthur, but he didn’t look back.

“I'd get that for you then” The maitre d ’ said.

She wanted to take Camilla's tray away.

“Don't!” Arthur retorted, his voice carrying that authority everyone was familiar with—both ladies flinched.

The maitre d’ paused.

“Just get her what she wants,” He instructed curtly without looking away from Camilla.

Camilla lowered her gaze, coiling under his leverage.

“Look at me, Pamela,” He murmured, his voice surprisingly soft—a stark contrast to his overwhelming facade.

She looked up slowly, uneasiness simmering beneath her skin.

He leaned forward, resting both elbows on the table, vapour steaming from the large tray of untouched meal before them. His hot gaze swept over her once again, his brows knitting in a frown.

“Pamela,” He drawled, his voice thicker than intended and paused briefly, studying her intently, her slightest micro move never escaping his notice. 

“I recall vividly before our wedding,” He continued with a measured tone. “When we came here…you made me promise to bring you back after we've wedded—and I've fulfilled my promise, yet you act like a different person in the same skin.”

A different person in the same skin—the words resounded in her head. 

Chills swirled down her spine and she shivered. She blinked, inwardly fighting the urge to look away—cheeks burning, blushing pink.

That was definitely who she was—a different person in the same skin was an understatement. She was a totally different person, an imposter. Was she ruining this before it even started? Their marriage was barely three days old. And, Pamela had already planned the dinner reservation before the wedding?

Overwhelmed, Camilla felt like she was balancing on a knife-edge—she lowered her gaze instinctively, shrinking under Arthur's unyielding calm, which shook her more than any physical blow could.

“Look at me when I'm talking to you!” He commanded, his voice icy, dangerously low. “What's going on with you, really? Did you switch your diet overnight?”

The maitre d’ returned with Camilla's meal, sensing the tension settling in the air between them. With practiced ease she maintained a neutral countenance, carefully shifting the large tray of untouched meals and wines and kept the fresh order quickly but cautiously.

“T-thank you,” Camilla murmured, her voice barely audible.

The lady nodded with a smile and left.

Arthur's gaze lingered on the hot Lobster Linguine before lifting his gaze to her. The silence that followed was suffocating as he watched her closely, firmly keeping his thoughts under lock and key.

“Camilla?!” 

Camilla flinched, pulse accelerating to its maximum thunder. She held her breath, her wide eyes snapping toward the direction of whoever had said her name.