CHAPTER SIX

A flash of irritation moved through me.

What the hell was Charlotte even thinking? Leaving without considering how it would affect Genevieve? Even if she was angry at me, she should have considered her daughter.

She was supposed to be a mother!

Did she want our daughter to be humiliated at the recital, unable to perform because she hadn’t practiced?

Just then, one of the maids knocked softly on the doorframe. “Mr. Wellington, I’m sorry to bother you, but there’s a household matter that needs your attention.”

“What attention?”

“The monthly payment for the landscaping service was declined. I tried to process it, but there seems to be an issue with the account that Madam usually handles these expenses from.”

“Why didn’t you just handle it yourself?”

Maria looked uncomfortable. “Sir, Madam always manages all the household vendors and service contracts. She negotiates the rates, sets up the payment schedules, handles any disputes. I… I don’t have access to those accounts or the contract details.”

I stared at her for a moment. Then I reached for my phone.

A message was already waiting. My grandmother's name on the screen and as I read, it says;

Family dinner this weekend. 7 PM. Bring Charlotte.

I wanted to throw the phone across the room as I saw the name Charlotte again.

Charlotte.

Charlotte.

Charlotte.

Why is everything just about Charlotte? Why couldn’t anyone function without her?

I was already developing a headache when I heard Flora’s voice,

“Be careful with those bags! Some of them have fragile items!”

She swept into the room a moment later, three maids trailing behind her carrying what appeared to be the better part of a department store. Designer labels on every bag. She looked radiant and entirely unbothered, and for reasons I couldn't immediately account for, the sight of her irritated me.

Seriously?

"Momma!" Genevieve lit up and ran to her.

Flora dropped her purse and opened her arms, pulling Genevieve in with a bright laugh.

“There’s my favorite girl!” She pulled off from the hug, “Do you know what? I got you something special. Want to see?” Genevieve nodded happily.

Then she pulled out a wrapped box, and Genevieve’s eyes lit up. “For me?”

“Of course! Go open it in your room.”

Genevieve gasped and grabbed it with both hands, already running out of the room. Flora watched her go with a satisfied smile, and then turned to me and the smile shifted when she caught my expression.

She came closer, her hand reaching up toward my face. "What's wrong, honey? Did something happen?”

I stepped back as if her touch would burn me.

“What’s wrong?” I snapped. “What’s wrong is that you should be helping Genevieve with her music practice. You should be handling things around the house. Instead, you’ve been out shopping?”

Flora blinked, taken aback. "I beg your pardon? I'm not your housekeeper, Clyde. Have you forgotten that? That bitch Charlotte can…"

“Don’t call her that. Her name is Charlotte. Just Charlotte!” I snapped, not even knowing why I suddenly grew defensive of her.

Flora stared at me. I stared back at her, equally confused by myself.

"What?" she said softly.

Fuck, what was that about?

I had never once corrected anyone before. I had never had any reason to. I had called Charlotte worse things in my own head and felt nothing.

So what was this?

I exhaled and turned away, running a hand through my hair. “I mean it’s not right when you keep calling her names.

“Well, it was right when she stole you from me.” Flora said flatly. "And I think I've earned the right to call her whatever I like."

"She didn't steal anything. And thanks to that arrangement, I'm the one sitting at the head of Wellington Enterprises instead of my cousin. So." I said it more sharply than I intended.

"So now you're defending her." Flora's voice rose, "You're actually defending her now."

“I am not. Just trying to tell you that calling her names doesn’t help anything. I have a lot on my plate right now, and I expected you to be here handling things while Charlotte’s gone but instead you are out..”

“To get what I need to wear for tomorrow’s party! To dress well for you.” Then her eyes glistened, her lower lip trembling as tears lacing her eye.

"Clyde, I came back for you. I left everything for you. And now you're standing here taking her side because she's been gone for just a few days? What is happening to you?" A tear slipped down her cheek. "If I had known — if I had even suspected you had feelings for her I never would have come back. I never would have…"

“I don’t have any feelings for her.”

“Then why are you acting this way just because you haven’t seen or heard from her for just a week? Why are you making me feel like the other woman here?”

"Hey." I stepped toward her, catching her shoulders. I didn't have the energy for this. "I don't have feelings for her, okay? I never did. You're the one who matters to me. And you know that."

“Maybe not. Because I could see how she is already affecting you.”

“She is not. I promise you. I was just a bit edgy because of tomorrow. You know how that contract means a lot to me and I need to be there with her tomorrow and she’s nowhere to be seen.”

“Is that just it?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

She sniffled, still blinking through tears. "You sure?"

"Yes I am." I managed a small, steadying smile. "I've just got a lot on my plate. I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I'm really sor…” before I could complete my words, her smile returned and she tiptoed, planting a kiss on my lips. Her arm curled around my neck as she deepened the kiss, her finger moving rapidly to undress me.

One would hardly believe this was the same woman that was just crying because I yelled at her.

“Now let’s stop talking about your spectacular wife for just one freaking minute?”

Her hands were already working at my belt, and despite everything—despite the stress and the disaster of the day and I felt myself responding to her touch.

“Come on,” she whispered. “Let’s clear all that shit off your head.”

In a blink of an eye, both of us started to undress—my shirt dragged over my head, her dress pushed down and she stepped out of it, fabric abandoned in a trail behind us and by the time I pushed the bathroom door open, we’re both naked.

She laughed as she launched herself up at me and I caught her without thinking, both hands going to her waist as her legs locked around me and her arms hooked behind my neck as I carried her into the shower.

My mouth claimed hers again — slower this time, deeper. My hands moved on instinct, gripping her waist, pulling her flush against me. She gasped softly as my hand reached for her ass and gave a light squeeze.

“Naughty,” she murmured against my lip and I chuckled.

By the time she leaned past me to turn on the shower, we were both breathing hard.

The cold spray hit first.

Flora gasped, laughing against my mouth as the water splashed over us. “God…”

I didn’t let her finish before I kissed her again, tasting the water on her lips.

She arched into me, her nails dragging lightly over my shoulders as the water warmed and steam began to rise around us.

Heat replaced the chill.

I set her down and turned her gently — her back against my chest, my hands sliding over her stomach as I bent to kiss the sensitive curve beneath her ear. She shivered — not from the water anymore. One of her hands reached back to grip my hip rocking my dick against her fat ass; the other braced against the tiled wall as her head tilted to give me better access.

She left out a soft moan that undid something tight inside me and for the first time all day, my mind emptied.

The headache dissolved.

And the weight in my chest loosened.

There was only steam. Skin. Breath. And the steady rush of water.

Not able to hold it any longer, I gripped her shoulder and turned her back to face me, stroking my dick at the same time, ready to position it at her entrance but just as I glanced up at her face, water running in line down her face… then she shifted.

And froze.

The face staring back at me wasn’t Flora’s.

It was Charlotte.

Charlotte’s dark eyes.

Charlotte’s parted lips.

Charlotte’s flushed expression — tilted back exactly the way Flora’s was now.

The illusion was so sharp it stole the air from my lungs.

My hands went still.

My heart slammed against my ribs, hard enough to hurt.

"Hey." In Flora's voice, and I blinked very hard. And then her face came back back where it belonged, watching me with mild concern. "Where did you go just now?"

"Nowhere." I stepped back from her. My chest was still rising and falling too fast as I turned away so she wouldn't see it. "I can't tonight. My head's not in it. I'm sorry."

“But I thought we are doing good? I….”

She said something but I barely heard it. I was already moving, pulling on a dry robe around my shoulder and heading out of the bathroom.

I found myself sitting on the edge of the bed for a minute to stabilize myself, my elbows on my knees and my face in my hands.

Flora came out a few minutes later, and trying to avoid the topic of what just happened, I stood and changed into my pajamas and got into bed. She later curled wordlessly against my side and fell asleep quickly. While I just lay there in the dark and stared at the ceiling.

I didn't understand what had just happened. I had been with Flora. I had been completely present, right up until the moment I wasn't. And then, for one fractured second, my mind had simply... replaced her with Charlotte. The wife I had resented every single day of eight years.

Was Flora right?

Have I really fallen in love with her?

No, that’s not possible.

I pressed the back of my hand against my mouth and stared at the ceiling and did not have an answer.

I checked my phone again for the uphundredth times today, and still there was no message from Charlotte.

I must have finally drifted off somewhere around two in the morning, because the next thing I was aware of was darkness and a parched throat and the clock on the nightstand reading 7:47 AM.

I eased myself out from under Flora's arm, careful not to wake her, and padded downstairs in just my pajama pants.

And then I smelled it.

Something warm and rich — my favourite breakfast, the exact combination I had never once had to ask for because she had simply always known. The aroma reached me at the foot of the stairs and stopped me where I stood.

None of the staff should have been here. The live-in maid didn't start until eight. And Flora had never cooked a meal in her life.

I followed the smell through the entrance hall, through the corridor, until the dining room opened up before me…

And there she was.

Charlotte stood at the head of the dining table in a soft blue dress and a pristine white apron, her hair twisted up in a loose bun with a few strands slipping down around her face. The table was set the way she always set it — fresh flowers at the center, everything precisely where it belonged, my favourite mug already at my usual chair and plates of food arranged like something from a magazine spread.

She looked up as I crossed the threshold.

And then smiled.

"Good morning, honey," she said, her voice warm and bright."How was your night?"