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Flowers For A Wife

مؤلف: Sharon Bliss
last update تاريخ النشر: 2026-11-08 04:33:20

CHAPTER FORTY

FLOWERS FOR A WIFE

VICTOR

I ordered flowers for the first time since the divorce, and I cancelled the order twice.

The first time was at ten past nine, in the office, with the telephone receiver in my hand and the florist’s cheerful voice in my ear asking whether I would like roses.

“Roses,” I said quietly.

“Red?” she asked.

“No,” I answered.

“White?” she offered.

“No.” Something tightened in my chest. “Not white,” I said.

I did not know why I had said it. It was only that white s
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  • Forbidden To Love You    Wrong Reasons

    CHAPTER FORTY-TWOWRONG REASONSELENAI told myself I wasn’t going to the library, and then I put on my shoes.It was ten past eleven, I had been sitting on the edge of my bed for forty minutes, in my dressing gown, with my hands folded in my lap like a woman waiting for a verdict.I looked at the nightstand a white rose drooped in a glass, then on the dressing table a pink peony stood in a china cup, and a cream card lay beside it, written in a hand that had torn through the paper.I looked from one to the other. “You’re not going,” I said aloud to the empty room.The room seemed to agree with me. My feet were already cold on the floorboards.I made a list of reasons, it was an old habit.Reasons to stay. “He lied to you about the phone call,” I whispered. That was the first one, and it was a good one.I had stood on a balcony in a midnight dress and watched Adrian turn a phone face down as if it were something that might bite, and I had heard him say “Nobody” in a voice that had bee

  • Forbidden To Love You    Two Bouquets

    CHAPTER FORTY-ONETWO BOUQUETSELENAOne bouquet, one rose, two men, and a husband I was supposed to be pretending to love. That was the arithmetic of my morning.I came down the great staircase at eight o’clock in a grey cardigan, with my hair still damp, and I stopped on the fourth step from the bottom because the whole of the front hall had turned pink.They stood on the marble table beneath the mirror, in a tall glass vase, a great soft cloud of peonies. They were pink at the edges and cream at the heart.The scent reached me before the sight did, sweet and cool and slightly peppery, like a letter from a summer I had not yet had.I stood very still. “Oh,” I breathed. It came out as a soft sound though, nobody was there to hear it.Mrs. Collins’s cleaning trolley sat against the far wall, abandoned, with a duster balanced on top.I came down the last steps slowly and crossed the floor. I touched one petal with the tip of my finger, it was cold and plump and utterly real.I looked f

  • Forbidden To Love You    Flowers For A Wife

    CHAPTER FORTYFLOWERS FOR A WIFEVICTORI ordered flowers for the first time since the divorce, and I cancelled the order twice.The first time was at ten past nine, in the office, with the telephone receiver in my hand and the florist’s cheerful voice in my ear asking whether I would like roses.“Roses,” I said quietly.“Red?” she asked.“No,” I answered.“White?” she offered.“No.” Something tightened in my chest. “Not white,” I said.I did not know why I had said it. It was only that white seemed a colour for funerals and for brides, and I could not decide which I was afraid of.“Pink?” said the florist helpfully.“I will call you back,” I told her, and put down the receiver.I stared at it.I was fifty years old. I reminded myself and I had negotiated a merger across three time zones on four hours’ sleep.I could not choose a flower.“Sir?” Harriet said from the doorway, a leather folder under her arm and the particular blank expression she wore when she was trying very hard not t

  • Forbidden To Love You    Clara Keeps A List

    CHAPTER THIRTY-NINECLARA KEEPS A LISTCLARAI had started a list on my phone, and I had titled it “Things That Don’t Add Up.”I made it at two in the morning, sitting on the floor of my bedroom with my back against the locked door and a cold cup of tea beside my knee.I did not make lists to be dramatic, I simply made them because a list is a thing you can look at without crying.My father taught me that, back when he still taught me things.Item one. “Elena blushes.”She blushes at breakfast. She blushes when anyone says “library.” She blushed last Thursday when Mrs. Collins asked whether she had slept well, and I watched her go from cream to scarlet in the time it takes to butter toast.Nobody blushes at “did you sleep well.”, not unless they have something to hide.Item two. “Adrian is in a good mood.”Adrian is never in a good mood. He is charming, which is different, he is pleasant, and clever, and he laughs at the right moments, and he has never once in eighteen years looked as

  • Forbidden To Love You    Avoidance

    CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHTAVOIDANCEELENAFor two days I treated the house like a map with a hole in it, and the hole was Adrian. I knew exactly where the hole was at any hour.The library, mornings and late evenings, in the greenhouse, after lunch, in the long gallery on the east side, where the light was best and he liked to stand with a coffee, pretending to look at paintings.I drew my route around those places the way you draw a path around a pond you cannot swim.Though exhausting, it was also the cleverest I had ever been.On the first morning I took breakfast in my room. “You’re hiding,” Vivienne said, appearing in my doorway without knocking, in pyjamas covered in small cartoon avocados.“I’m not,” I answered, looking down at the tray.“There’s toast on your pillow,” she said, tilting her head.“I like toast,” I muttered.“On the pillow,” she repeated, raising an eyebrow.“I’m very tired,” I whispered.She came in and sat on the end of my bed, tucking her feet up under her. She st

  • Forbidden To Love You    What I Admitted At 3am

    CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN WHAT I ADMITTED AT 3 A.M.ELENAAt three in the morning, I admitted something worse than guilt.I lay on my back in the great cold bed with my eyes open and the ceiling very white above me, and I said it out loud, in a whisper, to nobody.“I’m not sorry,” I whispered into the dark.The words sat in the dark like a stone dropped into a well. I waited for them to echo. They did not, they simply stayed there, true and heavy and impossible to take back.I had tried to be sorry, I had tried all evening.I had sat through dinner with Victor’s hand brushing mine as he passed the bread, and I had felt guilty.I had gone up the stairs past the library door and felt guilty about that too. I had brushed my teeth and looked at my own face in the mirror, and I had waited for the shame to come, the big, clean, righteous kind that would let me be punished and finished. It had not come.What came instead was a small, shameless warmth. It sat under my ribs like a coal.I turned o

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