Chapter 2 No Longer at Her Beck and Call

There was an unmistakable note of conciliation in Jillian's slow, measured voice. "Don't be upset. I just got so worked up at the time that I said some harsh things. Don't worry. The wedding's still on."

The wedding that should have taken place a year ago had been postponed over and over again. She had strung me along like a fool, turning me into the butt of the joke among our family and friends.

When she saw that I said nothing, she assumed that I had forgiven her unconditionally just like I always had. So, she reached out to touch me.

However, the scent of cedar filled my nose the instant she drew close.

It was Charles' scent.

The image of the two of them wrapped around each other that day flashed through my mind, and a wave of nausea surged up my throat. I immediately shoved her away and rushed into the bathroom.

Jillian stumbled back several steps. Her face darkened as she glared at the bathroom. Then, she curled her lips into a sneer, slammed the door behind her, and left.

Still, I no longer felt anything now that she pulled an altogether familiar card, the silent treatment. In fact, I picked up the suit she'd given me, threw it into the trash, and went back to my room to sleep.

…

The next day, I met up with a friend for dinner after work.

Someone carrying a wine glass crashed into me the moment I walked into the restaurant. Red wine splashed across both of us, quickly drenching our clothes red.

When Charles realized it was me, he let out a cold laugh and stood there sullenly, refusing to apologize for barging into me.

Jillian, who rushed over in a panic, was momentarily stumped before she took off Charles' jacket and tossed it at me. "Look what you did! You upset him. Go and wash his jacket."

Charles suppressed a smile and murmured softly, "We really shouldn't, Jillian… Josh's a grown man."

Jillian smiled, took his hand, and teased, "And you think these hands of yours are meant for doing laundry?"

I lowered my gaze to my hands upon hearing her words. My eyes fell upon calloused hands. My hands were the hands of someone who had spent years doing chores.

Most of Jillian's clothes had to be washed by hand because they were delicate. I'd done her laundry for the past five years, never once complaining about it. In the end, all it earned me was scorn, as though I was born to be her servant.

The thought made me shake my head.

I handed the jacket back. "You should take it to a dry cleaner."

Jillian froze.

I had never refused a single request in all the years she'd known me. So, she had simply assumed I would do as she ordered. As a result, my refusal was a direct blow to her pride, and her expression darkened as she glared at me.

The stress and constant running around over the past few days had weakened my immune system.

When I started coughing, she frowned, her voice dripping with mockery. "Josh Clancy, stop pretending to be some pitiful lamb. You're perfectly healthy. You're just being lazy."

She didn't take the jacket. Instead, she led the smug-looking Charles toward the exit. "Forget that one. I'll buy you a new jacket."

As I watched the two of them walk away, I casually draped the jacket over a nearby chair. When I turned around, I ran into my friend Rick, who had just come looking for me.

"What happened? Why's your shirt soaked?" he asked, surprised by how I looked.

I didn't want to ruin the mood, so I slung an arm over his shoulder and dragged him along with me into the restaurant. "It's nothing. I bumped into someone by accident."

"You should head home and change into something dry," he replied with concern.

I waved him off. "It'll dry soon enough. We haven't gotten together in ages. Let's eat first."

…

It was already 9 p.m. by the time Rick and I finished dinner and caught up. When I got home, the damp clothes that had clung to my body were completely dry.

I reached up and touched my face, only then realizing how feverish I felt. When I checked my temperature, I wasn't surprised to find 103 degrees staring right back at me.