Chapter 12
The table was still buried in seafood. Wearing a guilty smile, Adaline beckoned Elena to sit while instructing Mrs. Woods to add several more dishes.
Lawrence cleared his throat. “All right, we haven’t lived together for a year. It’s normal I forgot your allergy. Come, sit and eat.”
Elena said nothing. She simply sat where they pointed, rose when they dismissed her-like an empty shell that had long since surrendered its soul.
Mrs. Woods emerged from the kitchen, looking troubled. “Madam, there’s nothing left in the pantry. Only the pickled greens from this morning’s porridge
remain.”
Because Annabelle insisted on fresh dishes every meal, the household never kept even a single extra cut of meat.
Adaline’s face tightened; she forced an awkward smile. “Then…?”
Elena interjected softly, “Please, don’t trouble yourselves. The pickled greens are fine-far better than what I had at the prison.”
Annabelle scoffed, “What nonsense! You act as though they tortured you in there.
“You had meat at every meal, pastries in the morning, afternoon tea, French dinners at night-life more pampered than any heiress. Listening to you, one would think it was prison!”
Julian glared at her. “If you don’t want to eat, then don’t! Who exactly are you performing for?”
Adaline hastily cut in, “Julian, that’s enough! Ellie, this is Mom’s fault-I didn’t think things through. Tomorrow I’ll make all your favorites, all right?”
Elena pressed her lips together, her voice distant. “Thank you, but there’s really no need.”
Lawrence then announced that a date would soon be set for the engagement banquet. Laughter and chatter filled the table once more, and Elena faded back into invisibility.
After supper, Annabelle accompanied Victor to a gown boutique, while Elena returned alone to the servant quarters.
She had not slept in a real bed for an entire year; lying on one felt unreal, and insomnia kept her awake until the small hours.
True to her word, Adaline prepared a special lunch for Elena the next day; by noon the table overflowed with dishes Elena had once adored.
Elena’s eyes misted as she gazed at the braised pork belly and sweet-and-sour ribs-things she had tasted only in her dreams over the past year.
A sudden stab of painful memory flashed across her mind, and her brows knitted hard.
Adaline encouraged her warmly, “Ellie, these are all your favorites-dig in!”
This time Adaline heaped her bowl with meat, piling it into a miniature mountain without hesitation.
Elena swallowed reflexively; the sheen of fat made her stomach churn, saliva flooding her mouth with acid.
Annabelle urged, “Come on, Sis, everything here is what you love. Don’t waste Mom’s effort.”
Elena raised her chopsticks, but the moment the meat neared her lips her stomach cramped violently. She set the chopsticks down and gulped a full glass of water.
To Julian, the gesture looked staged; he snatched the cup from her hand.
Julian barked, “What’s your problem? Mom makes your favorite dishes and it’s still wrong? Do you expect us to enshrine you like some saint? Elena Bennett, enough with the theatrics-stop making Mom upset!”
