Chapter Two: Giving Up My Room

Alice’s POV

“David, please don’t argue with my sister because of me,” Lily smoothly interrupted. “Perhaps my coming back has made her feel uncomfortable. I can stay at a hotel.”

“No, it’s okay, Lily. Of course you can stay in the master suite,” I hurried to say. After all, it was only for one night.

After her bath, I heard Lilly approaching me in the salon. Unhurried footsteps, like she was already comfortable in my home.

I looked up and swallowed a gasp. She was wearing a deep, wine-red silk robe. It screamed luxury and sensuality.

I knew that robe. Last year, on our anniversary, I wandered into a lingerie boutique I’d never dared enter before. Under the clerk’s knowing smile, I’d bought it — heart racing. Would he like it?

But I’ve never worn it.

I used to imagine maybe one night, if I was brave enough, I’d put it on. Maybe I could awaken something that had gone cold too long ago.

Now it was on Lily. The neckline dipped low, exposing smooth skin and delicate collarbones. The belt was loosely tied, silk shimmering with every step she took. Through the slit at her thigh, long legs appeared and disappeared.

It fit her perfectly. As if it had always been hers. And she smelled like cedar and amber — my body wash!

I used it once and David said it was, “too strong.” He didn’t like it.

Now that ‘too strong’ scent clung to Lily, soft and intimate. A quiet declaration of territory.

I rose from the couch. “I’ll get the guest room ready. I’ll sleep there, tonight,” I said. My voice sounded scraped raw. I stepped sideways, trying to pass her.

She shifted slightly, blocking my way.

“Oh, don’t worry, your housekeeper already took care of that,” Lily said with a flawless, apologetic smile. “No need to trouble yourself, sis.”

She paused, fingers idly brushing the belt of the robe. Her gaze flickered with something almost affectionate.

“You don’t need to bother with chores like that. After all, you’re a McCutchen. That’s what domestic staff are for,” she added sweetly.

My hands clenched at my sides. Now she was organizing my household!

“David can be so thoughtless,” Lily went on, the familiarity in her tone coated in honey. Her words sounded gentle but every sentence landed like a needle.

“Excuse me,” I said, trying to brush past.

“Oh?” She leaned closer, instead.

We stood so near I could feel the warmth of her breath. The scent of my soap turned sharp in my throat.

“Are you bothered because I’m wearing your robe?” she asked softly. She looked down, pinching the silk between her fingers. “I’m really sorry. I haven’t unpacked but I thought you wouldn’t mind lending it to me, just for one night.”

She looked back at me, eyes clear and innocent, like a deer that had wandered into the wrong clearing. But beneath that clarity was ice.

“If you do mind,” she said, voice dropping, sweetened with something dangerous, “I can take it off and give it back. Right now.”

She reached for the belt.

“Lily.” David’s voice cut in. Low. Even.

He joined us in the salon. His gaze passed over me without stopping and settled on her hand — on the loosened tie, on the neckline slipping open.

Lily froze. She turned to him, the belt already halfway undone, the silk parting just enough to flash more pale skin.

“It’s okay, David,” she said, her voice instantly softer, faintly husky. “It really is.”

His gaze flickered across my face — just for a second. There was irritation there. Evaluation. A trace of something I couldn’t name.

Then he looked back at Lily. “I thought you would be resting by now. You said you were tired,” he stated.

“I was just about to go to bed,” Lily said, pulling the robe closer, though the disarray only made her look more fragile. “It’s just… I think Alice is upset that I’m wearing her robe.”

Her voice trembled slightly. A hint of tears. Perfectly measured. “It’s my fault. I should’ve thought it through. Alice, don’t be angry. I’ll change right away.” She looked like she’d been wounded.

David frowned. He turned to me, his voice calm, final. “It’s just a robe. Let it go.”

Just a robe? Something inside my chest quietly shattered. I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Because it wasn’t just a robe.

It was the courage I’d scraped together after years of wanting him. The last fragile hope I’d hidden away in ruby silk and maybe… it was my final attempt at closeness. At warmth. At being seen.

But under David’s impatient gaze, all of that collapsed into something small and valueless.

My humiliation was nearly complete, yet still I tried. “It’s mine,” I said weakly. “She didn’t ask —”

“Alice?” He cut me off, his impatience no longer disguised. “Lily is our guest. She just lost her husband. She needs compassion and understanding, not this nonsense over a robe.”

Then, coolly, “Remember to mind your manners. You’re Mrs. Newcombe.”

Manners. That word again.

Since the day Lily rolled her suitcase into this house with nowhere else to go, everything I was asked to surrender came wrapped in that word.

The bedroom. The boundaries. My place beside my daughter. My husband’s attention.

Now, even my private things — my space, my dignity — could be taken, worn, displayed as silent conquests.

And I was still expected to smile graciously, to play the welcoming hostess.