Chapter 2
Sophia's face went from ashen to red and back again. She probably never imagined that her so-called language advantage would backfire on her and make her look ridiculous right in front of me.
She took a deep breath, quickly pulled herself together, and put on a polite smile, but her eyes stayed cold.
"Mrs. Grant, you sure know how to joke," she switched back to Amerish, but her tone still had that obvious superiority. "I was messing around with Charles. Didn't think you'd take it so personally. In Francia, friends talk like that all the time."
With one offhand remark, she waved off her nasty comment as a joke, acting as if I was making a big deal out of nothing and didn't get Francian humor.
The others at the table quickly jumped in to smooth things over.
"Yeah, Sophia just got back, and she's always been blunt. Victoria, don't take it to heart," someone said.
"Exactly, Charles, you should keep your wife in check. She almost scared Sophia," another one added.
All of a sudden, everyone was pointing fingers at me, as if I was the one who ruined the vibe.
Charles's face turned sour. He lowered his voice, sounding annoyed and a bit harsh. "Victoria, are you done causing trouble? This is supposed to be Sophia's welcome party. Don't make everyone uncomfortable."
I looked at him and suddenly found it utterly ridiculous.
He thought I was the one making him look bad. But he never considered how humiliating it was for me when Sophia called me an idiot right in front of everyone.
I ignored him and turned back to Sophia, still smiling politely. "Come on, Miss White, you're joking, right? Why would I get upset? I just think, since we're in Ameria and everyone here is Amerian, we should probably stick to Amerish, don't you think?"
"After all," I paused, then added slowly, "not everyone here happens to understand Miss White's so-called 'Francian humor' the way I do."
I deliberately stressed the words "Francian humor."
Sophia's smile totally cracked.
My words ripped off her "joke" mask, exposing her real malice for everyone to see.
Everyone at the table was sharp enough to read between the lines. The tension in the room was off the charts.
Michael Reed, Charles's best buddy, jumped in to break the ice. "Alright, let's chill out. The food's getting cold. Come on, let's toast Sophia. Welcome home."
Everyone raised their glasses, using the toast as an excuse to move past the awkwardness.
Charles shot me a fierce glare, the warning and anger in his eyes cutting me like knives.
I ignored him, sat down, and quietly started eating.
For the rest of the night, Sophia didn't speak in Francian again, but she kept showing off, making sure everyone knew how impressive she was.
She talked about the art exhibitions she had seen at the Grand Gallery, her shopping spree on Royal Avenue, and being friends with the head chef at a three-star Michelin restaurant.
Charles, like her biggest fan, kept his eyes fixed on her throughout and let out admiring exclamations from time to time.
They reminisced about the past, from their childhood days as playmates to their teenage years when they first felt the stirrings of romance.
I was never part of those memories. I felt like a total outsider, sitting there quietly, watching my husband and another woman relive their good old days together.
"Charles, remember back in senior year? You lied to your mom about going to the library, so you could take me to see the meteor shower. You got caught and almost got your butt kicked," Sophia said with a smile, her gaze lingering on him.
Charles flashed a nostalgic grin. "How could I forget? I was such a fool back then."
"No, you were brave," Sophia replied, her eyes soft and full of meaning as she looked at him.
Under the table, I couldn't help but clench my fist.
I remembered that first year we got married. On my birthday, I wanted him to go with me to a late-night movie.
He said he was too tired and had a meeting the next day, telling me to stop acting spoiled.
It turned out that he wasn't clueless about romance after all. He just wasn't romantic with me.
Just then, Sophia's phone rang.
She glanced at the screen, her face lit up, and she answered, slipping right back into that flawless Francian.
She either forgot the lesson from earlier, or maybe she was so used to putting herself on display that it came naturally.
She chatted on the phone, her tone affectionate and excited, and after a few sentences, she suddenly mentioned a name. "Mr. Dupont? Yes, I'm hoping to make this collaboration happen."
When I heard the name "Dupont," my fork froze for a moment.