Chapter 193 062
THE restaurant was softly lit, the golden chandeliers casting a warm glow over the polished wooden tables. It was one of those places Amelia and Charles had grown used to, a place quiet enough for intimate conversations and classy enough to feel like an escape from routine. Their usual weekend spot.
They sat opposite each other in a secluded corner booth. Amelia looked relaxed, elegant in a fitted wine-colored dress, her hair falling effortlessly over her shoulders. Charles, in a neatly pressed navy shirt, leaned back comfortably in his seat, his eyes fixed on her with that familiar fondness.
“I still don’t understand how you manage to look this composed after the week you had,” Charles said, shaking his head lightly.
Amelia chuckled.
“Composed? You should have seen me on Wednesday. I nearly lost my mind at the office.”
“Oh?” He leaned forward with interest. “What happened?”
“One of the new managers tried to question my restructuring plan. In front of everyone.”
Charles raised a brow. “Bold.”
“Very bold,” Amelia agreed. “I let him finish. Then I asked him to present an alternative solution. He couldn’t.”
Charles laughed heartily.
“And that is why I don’t argue with you.”
“Smart man,” she teased.
Just then, two waitresses approached their table, both smiling politely.
“Good evening, ma’am, sir,” one of them greeted.
“Good evening,” Amelia responded warmly.
They placed their meals on the table carefully— grilled salmon and sautéed vegetables for Amelia, steak and roasted potatoes for Charles. The aroma rose immediately, rich and inviting.
“Would you like anything else?” the second waitress asked.
“We are fine for now, thank you,” Charles replied.
As the waitresses left, Amelia picked up her cutlery.
“I’m starving.”
“That makes two of us,” Charles said, already slicing into his steak.
For a few moments, they ate quietly, savoring the food.
“So,” Charles began between bites, “how are the twins? Still plotting world domination?”
Amelia laughed softly.
“Gabriel and Gaddiel? Always. Yesterday they tried to convince me that bedtime at nine is ‘oppression.’”
Charles burst into laughter.
“Oppression? At seven?”
“They are dramatic, my love. I wonder where they get it from.”
“Not you, obviously,” he said playfully.
She smirked. “Of course not.”
“And Hazel?” he asked carefully.
Amelia’s smile thinned just a little.
“Hazel is… Hazel.”
“That bad?”
“She has been pushing boundaries lately.”
Charles nodded slowly, though he didn’t press further.
They continued eating, the conversation drifting to lighter topics, Charles’ workload at his firm, a funny incident involving one of his junior colleagues, and a brief debate about whether they should take a short trip next month.
“I need a break,” Amelia admitted. “Somewhere quiet.”
“Beach or mountains?” Charles asked.
“Beach,” she answered immediately. “I need to hear waves. Somewhere in The Bahamas.”
“I will make it happen,” he said confidently.
Amelia smiled appreciatively.
They were midway through their meal when Amelia suddenly placed her fork down gently.
“There is something I need to tell you,” she said.
Charles looked up, chewing thoughtfully.
“That sounds serious.”
“It is not dramatic,” she replied. “Just… important.”
He swallowed.
“Alright.”
Amelia inhaled softly.
“Hazel will be moving to the boarding section of her school by Monday. She will only be coming home on weekends.”
Charles froze.
The words barely settled before he choked violently on his food.
“Oh!” Amelia exclaimed quickly, grabbing his glass of water and handing it to him. “Sorry, here.”
Charles coughed, taking the glass and drinking hurriedly.
“It’s fine. I’m fine,” he said after a moment, clearing his throat. “You were saying?”
Amelia repeated calmly, “Hazel will become a weekly boarder in her school, starting Monday.”
Charles stared at her.
“Huh? That is a hard decision you made there.”
“I know,” she admitted. “But it’s for the best. She has been snooping too much and it has gotten up to here.” She gestured at her neck.
Charles leaned back slowly, absorbing the information.
“Boarding school is… big, Amelia.”
“She will still come home on weekends,” Amelia said evenly.
“I know, but…” He paused. “She is used to being around. She helps with the boys. Whether she admits it or not.”
Amelia gave a short shrug.
“She will survive.”
“And the twins adore her,” Charles added carefully. “Despite how mean she is to me.”
Amelia’s lips curved slightly.
“Yeah. It is… noticeable.”
“Oh, I notice,” he said with a faint smile. “Every sarcastic remark. Every eye roll.”
“And yet you are still here,” she teased.
Charles smiled, though there was something thoughtful behind it.
“Kids push back when they feel cornered.”
Amelia’s gaze sharpened slightly.
“Are you implying something?”
“No,” he said quickly. “I just mean… change is hard at that age.”
“She crossed lines,” Amelia replied firmly. “And I won’t tolerate it.”
Charles studied her face.
“Have you spoken to Adrian about it?”
Her expression tightened for a split second.
“It’s already decided.”
He nodded slowly, though worry lingered in his eyes.
“She may act difficult,” he said gently, “but she is protective. Of you. Of the boys.”
Amelia’s fork hovered mid-air.
“Protective?”
Charles hesitated.
The restaurant noise hummed faintly around them, cutlery clinking, low conversations blending into background ambience.
Amelia tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing just a fraction.
“Is there something you want to tell me, Charles?” she asked.
Charles blinked.
“Something?” he repeated, his voice climbing half an octave. “Like what?”
Amelia didn’t break eye contact. She lifted her glass slowly, took a small sip of water, and set it down with deliberate calm.
“I don’t know,” she said lightly. “Anything.”
Charles forced a laugh. It came out slightly strained.
“Amelia, you are scaring me,” he said. “Should there be something?”
She shrugged.
“That is what I’m asking you.”
He wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin, buying time.
“There is nothing. Absolutely nothing. Why would there be something?”
She tilted her head.
“You choked like I told you Hazel was joining the army.”
“I choked because you dropped a bomb between bites,” he defended. “Boarding school is not small talk.”
Her lips twitched faintly.
“So there is nothing you want to share?”
Charles leaned forward, lowering his voice theatrically.
“Unless you are secretly expecting me to confess to eating the last slice of your cheesecake last Sunday, I have nothing to confess.”
Amelia watched him for two seconds longer than necessary.
Then she smiled.
“Relax, Charles. I was only asking.”
He let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.
“You do that thing with your eyes.”
“What thing?”
“That interrogation thing.”
She chuckled softly.
“If you feel interrogated, maybe that is your conscience.”
“My conscience is very clean, thank you.”
“Mm-hmm.”
They resumed eating, though Charles took noticeably smaller bites now, as if afraid any sudden movement might trigger another question.
The conversation drifted back into safer territory— an upcoming charity gala, a mutual acquaintance who had recently gotten engaged for the third time, and Charles’ ongoing battle with his gym instructor.
“That man hates me,” Charles complained.
“He is trying to help you,” Amelia corrected.
“By attempting murder?”
“You signed up for strength training.”
“I didn’t sign up for humiliation. Do you know he called my push-ups ‘emotional attempts’?”
Amelia laughed, the sound light and unrestrained.
“Maybe you should take me along one day,” she teased. “I will supervise.”
“Oh no,” he said immediately. “You will join him.”
“Possibly.”
They finished their meals gradually, the plates nearly spotless. Amelia dabbed her lips with her napkin, satisfied.
“That was good,” she said.
“Very,” Charles agreed, though his mind seemed momentarily elsewhere.
The waitress approached with a polite smile, placing the small leather bill folder on the table between them.
“Whenever you are ready,” she said.
“Thank you,” Amelia replied sweetly.
The moment the waitress stepped away, Charles straightened.
Here it comes.
He patted his chest pocket.
Then his trouser pockets.
Then his other chest pocket.
A pause.
He frowned thoughtfully, as though something had deeply offended him.
He checked his jacket pocket.
Nothing.
He leaned sideways, pretending to check the seat beside him.
He patted his back pocket.
Then the front again.
Amelia, meanwhile, had calmly picked up her phone.
Her face lit up.
She burst into soft laughter.
“Oh my God,” she muttered to herself, eyes glued to the screen.
Charles glanced at her.
Nothing.
No movement toward her purse.
No subtle “Oh, don’t worry, I will take care of it.”
He cleared his throat dramatically.
“Ahem.”
Amelia scrolled.
Another small laugh.
Charles coughed lightly.
She adjusted her sitting position, still smiling at whatever was on her phone.
Charles shifted tactics.
He leaned forward and opened the bill folder, peering inside as though expecting it to contain emergency funding.
He checked his inner jacket pocket again.
Then his wallet— except he didn’t actually pull it out yet.
He patted himself once more for good measure.
“Strange,” he muttered.
“Mmm?” Amelia hummed absentmindedly, not looking up.
“I could have sworn…” he began vaguely.
She laughed again at her screen.
“Men on the internet are something else.”
Charles blinked.
He looked at her.
Then at the bill.
Then at her again.
Realization dawned slowly.
She wasn’t rescuing him.
Not today.
He swallowed.
Carefully and reluctantly, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He opened it with the gravity of someone surrendering national secrets.
He flipped through compartments.
Receipts.
More receipts.
A loyalty card for a coffee shop.
Finally—
His credit card.
He held it between his fingers for a second, staring at it like it had betrayed him.
The waitress returned, polite and patient.
“Will that be card, sir?” she asked.
Charles forced a smile that could only be described as heroic.
“Yes,” he said. “Card.”
He handed it over.
Amelia finally looked up from her phone.
“Oh, are we paying already?” she asked innocently.
Charles stared at her.
“Yes,” he said tightly. “We are.”
“Oh good,” she said, returning to her phone.
The waitress walked away with the card machine.
Charles leaned closer to Amelia and lowered his voice.
“You noticed.”
She blinked up at him.
“Noticed what?”
“The… searching.”
“What searching?”
He exhaled slowly.
“You usually—”
“Usually what?”
He stopped.
She smiled sweetly, but said nothing.
The waitress returned with the POS machine.
Charles took it like a man accepting his fate. He inserted his card. The machine beeped ominously. He typed his PIN carefully, shielding it like a secret code.
Processing…
Processing…
For one horrifying second, Charles imagined the words Insufficient Funds flashing across the screen.
Approved.
He nearly sagged with relief.
The receipt printed out.
He signed quickly, perhaps a little too quickly.
“Thank you, sir,” the waitress said cheerfully before walking away.
Charles slipped his card back into his wallet, sliding it into his pocket with a new sense of responsibility.
Amelia finally put her phone down and leaned back.
“That was lovely,” she said brightly.
“Yes,” Charles replied, still recovering. “Lovely.”
She studied him.
“You look tense.”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Perfectly.”
She reached for her purse now and stood up gracefully.
“Shall we?” she asked.
Charles rose too, adjusting his jacket.
As they walked toward the exit, Amelia slipped her arm through his.
And for the first time that evening, Charles wondered if he had just paid for more than dinner.