Chapter 90
George's figure appeared in the doorway.
He was still wearing a well-tailored dark suit, his face stern and expression indifferent.
He gave Violet a slight nod, "Grandma."
Then his gaze landed on me, stayed for less than a second, and moved away without any emotion.
Without the slightest hesitation, he came in and pulled out the chair next to me, sitting down directly.
A faint scent of lily instantly invaded my nostrils.
That was the perfume Sarah always wore.
The scent clung to him like a silent declaration and provocation, making my stomach churn and nausea rise to my throat.
Almost instinctively, I wanted to get up and move to a seat far away from him.
"Grace, sit down." But Violet smiled and pressed down on my hand that was resting on the table, then turned to George with a reproachful look, "George, why didn't you come with Grace? Didn't you run into each other on the way? You just let her come here by herself."
Held down by Violet, I could only sit stiffly in my seat.
If I insisted on moving to sit across from him now, Violet would definitely be surprised and might even ask questions. This dinner, which she had carefully arranged to repair our relationship, would probably end badly.
I knew her too well. From last time at the Old Smith Mansion, when she deliberately tried to arrange for George and me to share a room, I could tell she always hoped we were doing well.
Hearing Violet's words, George turned his head, his gaze finally landing properly on my face. There was no apology in his eyes.
"I didn't know she would come first."
To my ears, these words clearly carried a tone of blame.
Blaming me for coming early, for not coordinating with his timing to arrive together, causing him to be scolded by Grandma.
In his logic, this was probably all trouble caused by my thoughtlessness.
I pressed my lips together tightly, didn't respond, and just felt even more nauseated.
Fortunately, the food came quickly.
Violet had obviously put a lot of thought into it. The table was full of dishes, mostly flavors I liked—light and fresh, without the heavy oil and salt George preferred, and without the sweet and cloying dishes Sarah liked.
Violet used the serving chopsticks to place a piece of steamed sea bass on the plate in front of me.
Then she looked at George and me, her tone tentative and concerned, "Have you two... been having some kind of disagreement lately? You seem much more distant. You haven't come back to the Old Smith Mansion together to see me in a long time, and I don't see you together in the news or business sections anymore."
As she spoke, her gaze turned to George with reproach, "George, you too. You're busy with work all day and haven't even noticed how bad Grace looks? She's gotten much thinner."
Hearing this, George's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.
He seemed to want to maintain surface harmony for this meal, and actually leaned slightly toward me.
The scent mixed with Sarah's perfume instantly became stronger, almost surrounding me.
My scalp tingled. I instinctively frowned, my body wanting to pull back and create distance from him.
However, George's arm was faster, wrapping around my waist and pulling me toward him. At the same time, his face moved closer, his gaze falling on my face as if examining it carefully.
"Didn't sleep well last night?" he asked, his voice still cold, but combined with this intimate posture and close movement, to Violet it probably looked like a husband showing concern for his wife.
I just felt goosebumps rise on the skin where he touched my waist, and the discomfort in my stomach grew stronger.
Looking at his handsome face so close, watching him perform this loving act so naturally in front of Grandma, what rose in my heart wasn't gratitude but deep irony and an urge to vomit.
He clearly found me so disgusting, felt forced even to touch me, yet now, to deal with Grandma, he was doing it so convincingly.
I forced down the urge to push him away and held my breath.
Until he finished his examination and released his arm from around my waist, sitting up straight again.
I immediately leaned back slightly against the chair back, finally feeling the suffocating sensation ease a bit.
I lowered my head and silently ate my food, avoiding any possible eye contact with him, to prevent him from thinking I was complaining to Grandma and prompting this performance.
Violet seemed fairly satisfied with George's performance just now, a hint of relief showing on her face.
Midway through the meal, the server brought out several portions of delicate desserts.
George glanced at them, then suddenly reached out and pushed the dessert in front of him—a bowl decorated with golden fruit pieces—toward me, saying in a flat voice, "Eat this, mango pudding. Should taste good."
I looked at the bowl of yellow dessert with clearly visible chunks of mango inside, then looked up at George's expressionless face, and suddenly felt it was incredibly ridiculous.
I pulled at the corners of my mouth in a very faint mocking smile, "I don't eat that."
George seemed not to have expected me to refuse directly. His eyebrow raised slightly as he looked at me.
Before he could speak, I continued in a calm, flat voice, "George, don't you know I'm allergic to mango?"
As my words fell, the air in the private room seemed to freeze instantly.
Violet's expression had already darkened slightly when she saw that bowl of mango pudding pushed in front of me.
Now hearing my words, she became even angrier.
She slammed down her chopsticks, her gaze sharp as she looked at George, her voice containing barely suppressed fury, "What's wrong with you? The wedding cake at the banquet on your wedding day was mango mousse. Grace said then that she was allergic to mango and didn't touch a single bite. How can you not remember at all? You don't even know what your own wife is allergic to. Have you ever actually cared about her?"
Under Violet's angry rebuke, George's face showed no great change in expression; only his eyes grew colder.
He didn't look at the furious Grandma, but instead turned to look at me, his gaze showing no apology, no realization, his voice low, "You're allergic to mango? Why didn't you say so earlier?"
I was truly amused by his righteous counter-question.
Unable to hide my mocking smile anymore, I met his cold gaze and said clearly, "I should have said earlier? Said to whom? To you? Have you ever given me a chance to say anything? Do you remember any of my birthdays? Have you ever been with me to eat birthday cake? I've never even seen a birthday gift from you, so how would I have had the chance to tell you the cake couldn't be mango-flavored?"
My words were like a small hammer, gently tapping open the tip of the iceberg beneath the calm surface.
Violet's expression became even worse, her eyes looking at George filled with disbelief.
Exposed by me in front of everyone, George's face finally showed a trace of barely perceptible stiffness, but his lips moved, and he ultimately didn't say anything to refute.
Perhaps because what I said was all true and couldn't be disputed.
Perhaps he felt that arguing about these things in front of me and Grandma was meaningless and even more embarrassing.
Violet sighed, looking at the cold, tense atmosphere between us, her eyes full of worry.
She waved her hand, signaling the server to take away that glaring bowl of mango dessert.
The meal approached its end in an extremely oppressive and awkward atmosphere.
Violet probably felt that continuing like this was pointless. She stood up and said to George, "George, come with me to the small tea room next door. I have something to say to you."
George stood up as told and followed Violet toward a small tea room attached to the side of the private room.
The door closed gently, separating the space outside.
Although I couldn't hear the specific conversation, Violet's voice, filled with anger and heartache, came through faintly.
I sat alone at the dining table, looking at the table full of dishes I used to love, feeling only that they were tasteless, physically and mentally exhausted.
Just then, the tea room door was pulled open.
George came out first, with Violet following behind him.
George's gaze crossed the dining table and landed directly on my face.