Chapter 22 022
“ALL men cheat.”
That statement rang into Amelia’s head and stayed there for a while, like an echo refusing to fade. She looked at Clara, chills running down her spine as her friend’s words sank deeper. Clara wasn’t joking, she wasn’t exaggerating, she sounded like a woman who had already resigned herself to a bitter truth.
“I mean,” Clara continued, leaning back on the chair and crossing her legs, “you are lucky Adrian respects you enough to hide his misdeeds.” She shifted upright, her tone sharper now. “But let me tell you this, can you believe that one of Leonard’s mistresses called me on the phone and told me to stop claiming what isn’t mine? Me, Amelia. Me.”
Amelia’s jaw dropped. She had that look on her face, a blend of shock and rising anger.
“What?”
“Yes,” Clara said with a short, bitter nod.
Just then, a sales rep walked over, balancing a stack of folded shirts.
“Madam, should we display the new Ankara gowns by the entrance or at the far end?”
Amelia turned to her.
“Far end. People like to walk through first before settling for bold colors.”
“Yes, ma,” the girl said, walking off briskly.
Before Amelia could speak again, another customer approached. “Madam, can I get this in size 12?” she asked, holding up a black dinner gown.
“One moment,” Amelia said politely, snapping her fingers at one of her sales reps. “Check size 12 for madam.”
“Yes, ma,” the rep replied, rushing toward the stockroom.
“Clara… what did you do?” Amelia’s voice carried both curiosity and disbelief, automatically switching from the professionalism it carried.
Clara scoffed, almost too casually.
“What could I have done? Nothing. I just told Leonard about it and he said he would handle it. That is all.”
Amelia leaned forward, unsatisfied, her brows knitted.
“And that was it?”
“Mm,” Clara hummed, shrugging her shoulders. “What else?”
“Ahh!” Amelia lamented and looked away, pressing her palm to her forehead.
“Clara, you are really calm. That would never be me.”
Clara laughed, but it wasn’t a happy laugh, it was a sad, tired laugh, one that spoke of a woman who had long given up the fight.
“No,” Amelia said firmly, her voice low but cutting through the boutique chatter around them, “that lady isn’t mad. Because we would both run mad together.”
Clara’s laughter deepened, filling the small space where they sat.
“No, you can’t try that with me,” Amelia went on, shaking her head. “I will find you anywhere you are.” Her eyes glistened with a quiet fire, and she pointed at Clara playfully but with meaning.
“Oh! Ame!” Clara exclaimed between her laughter, holding her stomach.
Amelia joined in with a scoff, but her tone was still serious.
“No ooo, you are really, really calm, my dear.”
Clara wiped a tear of laughter from her cheek, still chuckling.
“Ah, Amelia, you don’t know what calm is until you are in my shoes.”
The sun was mellow that afternoon, casting a warm glow across the park. Children’s laughter floated through the air as Hazel darted toward the see-saw, her dress flaring with every step. Amelia’s eyes followed her instinctively, protective and loving, as she settled on a bench a few meters away. Beside her, Claire sank down, flipping her hair and crossing her legs with a practiced nonchalance.
Amelia’s gaze lingered on Hazel, smiling faintly at her daughter’s giggles as another child joined her at the see-saw.
“She loves this park,” Amelia murmured, her tone filled with maternal softness.
Claire leaned back, scanning the people passing by.
“Well, she gets it from you, you know. You always loved being outside. Remember how you used to drag me out here even when I didn’t want to come?”
Amelia chuckled softly.
“And you would sulk the entire time. Mom always said I was the patient one.”
At that, Claire’s jaw tightened just a little.
“Yeah. Mom always said a lot of things.”
Amelia glanced at her, sensing the shift in tone, but said nothing. Instead, she looked back at Hazel, who was now squealing with laughter as the see-saw bounced her up and down.
Claire was the one to break the silence. Her voice slipped into the air casually, though the weight behind it was anything but.
“So tell me,” she began, her lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile, “how sure are you that Adrian isn’t cheating over there?”
The question struck Amelia like a stone tossed into still water, rippling through her calm. Her head turned sharply to her sister. For a moment, she only stared, wide-eyed, then broke into a laugh, quick, dismissive, almost defensive.
“Claire, really? Adrian? No, Adrian can’t.” She shook her head, as if amused by the very suggestion.
Claire tilted her head, studying her sister closely.
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
Amelia frowned slightly.
“He wouldn’t. Adrian… he is not that kind of man. You don’t know him like I do. He is busy, yes, but he is faithful.”
“Busy,” Claire repeated, drawing the word out, rolling it on her tongue like it carried a secret flavor. She smirked faintly, her nails tapping against the bench’s wooden armrest.
“That is the word every woman uses right before the truth drops on her.”
Amelia’s lips pressed together, her gaze flicking back to Hazel.
“You have always been like this, Claire. Suspicious of everyone, cynical about love. Maybe it is because—”
“Because Mom always compared me to you?” Claire’s voice snapped sharper than intended. She exhaled quickly, then leaned in, lowering her tone. “You think I’m saying this because I’m bitter. But I have seen things, Amelia. I know how men can be. They are masters at pretending.”
Amelia gave a small shake of her head, her laugh this time edged with firmness.
“Adrian is not like other men. He is devoted. You should see how he is with Hazel. And with me… he loves me, Claire. I feel it.”
Claire’s lips curved, but her eyes didn’t warm.
“Love doesn’t always stop a man, sis. Sometimes it blinds a woman.”
For a moment, the only sound between them was Hazel’s carefree laughter echoing across the park. Amelia kept her eyes locked on her daughter, as if staring at Hazel could drown out her sister’s words.
Finally, Amelia said quietly,
“Claire, why would you even say something like that? Do you know something you are not telling me?”
Claire’s lashes lowered slightly, her smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
Amelia turned fully toward her sister now, her expression stiff.
“Claire…”
But Claire didn’t answer. She only leaned back on the bench, crossing her arms, and with a sly little tilt of her head said, “Let’s just say… you shouldn’t be too sure of anything.”
Amelia’s heart skipped.
“What do you mean by that?”
Claire glanced away, her gaze following Hazel at the see-saw, her smile unreadable.
“Nothing,” she said airily. Then she added, almost as an afterthought, “Or… maybe something.”
The words hung in the air like a storm cloud, leaving Amelia caught between disbelief and unease.