Chapter 16 She Blushed
The cinema was empty except for them, Armando having rented out the entire place just to take a few photos. Elizabeth couldn't help the wry thought that crossed her mind—money really could buy anything.
With the "movie date" box ticked, Armando led her to a restaurant. This time, there was only a private room, no full buyout. Elizabeth slipped easily into the role, posing for the camera as if it were second nature. The moment the last shot was taken, she grabbed her small leather bag and headed for the door.
Armando watched her retreating figure, the eagerness in her stride pulling a faint crease between his brows. He pocketed his phone, planning to send the photos to Bronte later, then followed her out. The untouched dishes on the table sat as silent witnesses to the charade.
Outside the private room, Elizabeth didn't expect to run into Timothy. He was dressed in a black suit, sharp and formal, the kind of presence that drew the eye. Beside him stood Mabel Simpson in a demure dress, her air soft and composed.
Timothy's gaze met Elizabeth's for a brief moment before shifting away as he noticed Armando behind her. Elizabeth curved her lips in a polite smile and turned toward the restroom.
When she stepped out, fate decided to play its little joke—Timothy emerged from the men's room at the same time. She greeted him with quiet propriety. "Mr. Robinson."
She moved to pass him, but his voice stopped her. "Elizabeth... your black lace underwear is showing."
The words were low, meant for her ears alone, yet they landed like a sudden clap of thunder. Instinctively, she glanced down. The snug denim she wore had a front zipper, and thanks to the soft flesh at her waist, the zipper hadn't stayed fully closed. It had slid just enough to reveal a sliver of lace.
Heat rushed to her ears. Without a word, she turned on her heel and darted back into the ladies' room, yanking the zipper up. She'd been indulging in richer meals lately, and the extra softness at her midsection had betrayed her in the most mortifying way.
By the time she emerged again, Timothy was gone. The sky outside had deepened into evening, streetlights casting their glow. At the restaurant's entrance, she spotted him leaning casually against a red sports car, eyes lowered to a cigarette between his fingers. Mabel was nowhere to be seen.
Elizabeth hesitated, then approached. "Mr. Robinson, let me buy you dinner sometime."
He looked up, his answer simple. "Alright."
She pulled a vintage lighter from her bag, flicking it open with a practiced motion. The flame danced, catching the glint of her pale nails. Timothy's brow lifted as he bent slightly toward her, the cigarette between his lips. Their shadows stretched across the pavement, merging for a moment as the tip caught fire.
"You smoke?" he asked, releasing a slow curl of smoke.
"I don't," she replied with a faint smile, offering no further explanation. The lighter had been meant as a gift for him when she left the hospital, but she'd never given it.
"Armando didn't wait for you?"
"He had something to do."
"Get in. I'll take you."
There was an edge of command in his tone, but he didn't force her—just opened the door. Elizabeth slid into the passenger seat, the curve of her body drawing his mind back to the glimpse of lace earlier. A hint of amusement touched his lips.
She caught it. "What's funny?"
"Just remembered a joke," he said, and she gave him a look that said she wasn't buying it.
As she reached for the seatbelt, her fingers brushed against two unopened condoms in the console. She held them up, her voice even. "You shouldn't leave these lying around. When you actually need them, you'll waste time looking for them."
Timothy's eyes flicked to her hand. "They're too small. Not mine. This car belongs to a friend."
Elizabeth's silence was eloquent. Not his? Fine. But the extra comment was unnecessary. Her mind flashed back to the reckless moment days ago when her hand had wandered over him, and she felt the heat rise in her ears again. She set the packets down in the console.
The drive was smooth, unhurried. He knew her tells—how her ears betrayed her even when her expression stayed composed.
"Where to?"
"Emerald Park."
They spoke no more until the car stopped. She thanked him and stepped out, disappearing through the gates. He watched until she was gone before turning the car around. He knew Emerald Park was where she had lived with Armando after their marriage.
Halfway back, his phone rang. He slipped in his earpiece. "What is it?"
"Can't I call without a reason?" Matthew's tone was teasing.
Timothy's mouth curved faintly. "No. I don't like men."
Matthew laughed, then shifted to business. "I've got a project I want you in on. I'll come by?"
"Fine." Timothy's gaze dropped to the condoms. "And don't leave small-size crap in my car again."
"That's standard size, thank you very much," Matthew shot back, indignant.
Elizabeth returned to Emerald Park, stepping into the apartment she and Armando had once shared. The thought of Bronte staying here now meant they couldn't sleep apart. She decided she'd make up a bed on the floor—there was plenty of space.
After unpacking, she showered quickly before heading down to dinner. Axel had prepared the meal. Halfway through, Armando walked in. She hadn't expected him to spend the night here.
He entered the bedroom later and noticed the dressing table was as it had been before—her skincare and makeup in place, the air subtly changed by her presence. In the bathroom, her preferred shampoo and body wash stood alongside his.
He paused, then turned on the water.
When he emerged, Elizabeth removed her earphones and looked at him steadily. "Tomorrow, we sign the divorce papers."
His gaze was cool, unreadable. "Alright."
He preferred Sherry. Ending this now suited him.