Chapter One Hundred and One: Tension
Chapter One Hundred and One: Flora's Question
ABEL DONOVAN
"Oh, the Serranos!" Flora exclaimed again, her voice carrying that same artificial excitement. "Let's go greet them properly. It would be excellent for your business connections, wouldn't it, babe?"
She smiled up at me expectantly, and I moved forward hesitantly, every instinct screaming at me that this was a bad idea.
We approached their table, and Flora immediately launched into her performance.
"Mother Serrano!" she practically squealed, like they were old friends instead of virtual strangers.
Mother Serrano stared at Flora from her seat, her expression locked in a frown of obvious displeasure. The older woman's eyes were sharp, assessing, clearly not impressed by Flora's enthusiasm.
"So nice to finally meet you properly!" Flora continued, undeterred by the cold reception. She turned to Alexander with that same forced brightness. "Hi! I'm Flora Whitmore, Abel Donovan's fiancée—soon to be wife!"
She said it with such pride, grinning widely like it was the greatest accomplishment of her life.
Alexander nodded curtly and accepted her offered handshake with obvious reluctance. His expression was perfectly neutral, but I could read the distaste in his eyes.
I cleared my throat and stepped forward to offer my own greetings, nodding respectfully to Mother Serrano and exchanging a brief, uncomfortable handshake with Alexander.
The table wasn't entirely full—there were several empty chairs, including one that looked like it had been specifically reserved but remained conspicuously vacant.
Anna's seat, I thought, and felt that disappointment twist in my chest again.
"What about Miss Anna Serrano?" Flora asked, her voice dripping with false concern. "She isn't here yet. Oh dear, I really hope she arrives soon! She shouldn't miss the biggest highlight of the year—the moment everyone has been anticipating for so long. I do hope she gets here in time!"
She smiled sweetly, but there was something sharp beneath it. Something calculated.
Mother Serrano's frown deepened significantly. "What exactly do you mean by that?" she asked, her voice carrying a note of warning.
"Nothing, ma'am!" Flora said quickly, widening her eyes in feigned innocence. "What could I possibly be implying? I'm just concerned for her, that's all."
She sighed dramatically, then turned to cling to my arm again.
"Well, we should be going now," she announced. "So lovely to chat with you!"
She pulled on my arm, practically dragging me away from the table before I could say anything else.
I was thoroughly confused by the entire interaction. What had just happened? What had Flora been insinuating? And why had Mother Serrano looked so immediately hostile?
Well, whatever, I thought tiredly. Just another mystery in a life that's becoming increasingly full of them.
We'd barely taken three steps away when I heard it—a voice I'd recognize anywhere, high and sweet and impossibly familiar.
"Abel Donovan!"
I turned before I could stop myself, my body responding to that voice faster than my brain could catch up.
Hermione stood a few feet away, being held by the hand by a woman I didn't recognize—probably a nanny or family assistant. The little girl's face was lit up with genuine happiness, her eyes sparkling as she looked at me.
"It's you!" she said, giggling with delight. "I didn't know you'd be here tonight!"
She smiled widely, chuckling at what she clearly saw as a wonderful coincidence, and moved closer until she was standing directly in front of me.
My heart was doing that complicated thing again—warmth and affection and guilt all tangled together.
Hermione eyes flicked between I and Flora and to our entangled arms then back to my face. The light in her eyes dimmed slightly.
Flora's hand tightened around my arm like a vice. "Who..." her voice came out so quietly, so dangerously soft that I almost missed it. "Who is this?"
And I stood there, frozen, with no good answer to give her.
Because how do you explain to your fiancée that you've been spending secret time with your ex-wife's daughter? How do you justify the bond you've built with a child who isn't yours but who you've come to care about anyway?
How do you explain something you don't even fully understand yourself?
Hermione was still smiling up at me, oblivious to the tension she'd just created, waiting for me to respond to her greeting.
And all I could think was: This is going to be a disaster.
I just hope Flora don't spiral back to her old version.