They could all hear Elodie’s tone during the phone call.
Sylvie frowned slightly, saying nothing.
Maurice let out a short laugh. “Seriously, is she pulling that damsel–in–distress act for attention again?”
“Maybe she’s actually sick this time.” Sylvie set down her cards, her voice Cool and even.
Maurice shrugged. “Well, she could at least respect some boundaries, especially with you still here.” He wasn’t surprised–Elodie was never one to stay quiet for long.
Jarrod glanced at his watch. It was just after eight in the evening.
“I’ll go check on her.”
Maurice caught on immediately. “Right, if you ignore her and she complains to your grandmother later, this’ll be a mess to clean up.”
Sylvie pressed her lips together but didn’t comment.
Jarrod’s eyes remained as cold and unreadable as ever. “You two keep playing. I’ll be back in a bit.”
Sylvie’s posture eased a little. “Alright.”
Maurice grinned. “Got it. I know what you mean–just don’t let her rope you into anything.”
When Jarrod arrived, Elodie opened the door. He stood in the hallway, one hand in his pocket, looking down at her with a measured gaze before stepping inside. “Where are you feeling unwell?”
She stepped aside to let him in.
As he passed, there was a faint trace of women’s perfume clinging to him.
He must’ve been with Sylvie the whole evening.
Elodie discreetly covered her nose, replying in a calm voice, “My throat.”
Jarrod glanced at her, noticing how drained she looked.
She wasn’t faking.
He narrowed his eyes, then went to boil some water, his tone neutral. “There are three kinds of medicine–one for bronchitis, something for the fever, and some throat lozenges.”
Elodie frowned at him, a bit surprised he was taking care of her at all.
“…Thank you.”
Jarrod turned and looked at her, his eyes deep and distant. After a moment, he asked, “Are you planning to go back to sleep soon?”
Elodie climbed back into bed, her head foggy and heavy, her whole body aching for rest. “Yeah.”
The kettle was still heating up.
She decided she’d take her medicine once the water was ready.
Just as she was thinking this, she opened her eyes and saw Jarrod still standing there, watching her as if lost in thought.
Elodie hesitated. “You’re… still here?”
Jarrod glanced at her, letting out a faint, ironic laugh. “You’re quick to cut ties when you’re done getting what
you want.”
Despite the remark, he didn’t linger. He set the medicine on the bedside table and left.”
20:53
Chapter su
Elodie didn’t dwell on it.
She drifted in and out of sleep until the doorbell rang.
It was room service with dinner.
A bowl of soup and some sides–light and simple.
“I didn’t order this. Is there a mistake?” she asked.
The server replied, “Mr. Silverstein requested it be brought up to your room.”
Elodie realized what happened and let them in.
Jarrod was a complicated man–aloof, yet considerate when it suited him. If he weren’t, she wouldn’t have spent so many years lost and uncertain in their marriage.
But right now, she was truly hungry. She’d been lying in bed since she got back, and now her stomach felt painfully empty.
She lifted the lid off the tray.
Inside was a bowl of vegetable soup, the broth clear and dotted with crisp green spinach, a sprinkle of fresh herbs on top–visually appealing, at least.
But there was a catch.
She was allergic to chives.
Whenever she cooked for Jarrod, she’d always add them to suit his taste, but she never ate the dishes with chives herself. If she had no choice, she’d pick them out carefully.
After sharing so many meals with him, Jarrod should have noticed. He was smart and had a good memory. He always remembered Sylvie’s preferences, after all, but Elodie’s never seemed to matter.
Maybe he did notice, but just didn’t care.
Just like now.
This meal, once again, was something she’d have to pick through before she could eat. But she was done forcing herself to accommodate anyone.
Elodie calmly replaced the lid, picked up the phone, and ordered dinner for herself instead.
