Chapter 8
Phoebe softly replied and glanced back at me before turning away.
"It's windy out here. You should head inside soon," she said.
I nodded.
Not long after she left, the terrace door opened again.
This time, it was Matthew.
Suddenly, I felt a wave of exhaustion wash over me.
It felt like one act had barely ended before the next actor rushed onto the stage.
He walked up behind me and draped a jacket over my shoulders.
"Don't catch a cold," he said.
If this were before, I would've pulled it tighter around myself.
At this time, I took it off and handed it back to him.
"I don't need it," I said.
Matthew didn't take it.
"Monica," his voice was low, tinged with barely concealed annoyance, "how long are you going to keep this up?"
I looked up at him. "I just didn't wear your jacket."
"You know that's not what I'm talking about," Matthew replied.
He took a deep breath, like he was trying to keep his emotions in check.
"About what happened at dinner, that was my fault. I forgot you're allergic to shrimp. I'm sorry," Matthew said.
I looked up at him. "You don't have to apologize."
His frown deepened. "Do you get a kick out of acting like this?"
The cold wind made my eyes water, and they felt swollen.
But suddenly, I didn't feel like crying anymore.
When one's heart got cold enough, even his tears froze over.
"Matthew, you remember everything about Phoebe, but you forgot I'm allergic to shrimp?" I asked.
He stayed silent.
I pressed. "Did you forget, or did you never care at all?"
His face darkened. "Why do you always have to compare yourself to Phoebe?"
His words hit me like a punch to the gut.
"Why can't I compare myself to Phoebe?" I shot back.
He seemed to realize his words had stung, and his tone softened. "Monica, I didn't mean it like that.
"Phoebe's not well, so of course everyone tries to take care of her. Don't make it harder on yourself."
It was the same old story.
Every time I got upset, he thought it was me making a fuss.
Every time I felt wronged, he thought it was me taking things personally.
Every time I wanted answers, he thought I didn't know my place.
I looked at him quietly and then suddenly asked, "What about me?"
Matthew froze. "What?"
I said, "So, my health doesn't matter? I get allergies, I get hurt, and I feel sad, too."
My voice was barely above a whisper.
I asked, "Why is it always right to take care of her, but forgetting about me is something you do without a second thought?"
The wind howled in my ears.
Matthew's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.
After a while, he said softly, "I'll remember from now on."
Those words were almost laughable.
I waited for him to go public with us, and all I got was 'wait a little longer.'
I asked if he loved me, and all I got was Haven't I been good to you.'
About my allergies, he said he'd remember 'from now on.'
But suddenly, I didn't want that anymore.
I set his jacket down on the railing beside me.
"I don't need it," I said.
"Monica," he said.
His voice turned cold and heavy, almost like he'd made up his mind about something.
"You're acting strange tonight," he said.
I looked at him. "Maybe I'm finally being normal for once."
Matthew's gaze turned icy. "Is this all because Phoebe's back? Are you acting out on purpose?"
I froze.
So in his eyes, my pain wasn't because he hurt me.
No, it was all because Phoebe came back. I was jealous, overreacting, and acting irrationally for no reason.
Suddenly, it all felt meaningless.
"If that's what you want to believe, go ahead," I said.
I started to walk away.
But Matthew caught my wrist.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"Back to my room," I replied.
"Everyone's downstairs. If you leave like this, what do you think Regina will say?" Matthew said.
I turned back to look at him. "She'll think I'm being unreasonable."
Matthew pressed his lips together.
I added softly, "Isn't that what you think, too?"
His eyes were a storm of emotions, but his grip on my wrist didn't loosen.
Right then, a man's voice came from the patio door. "Mr. Payne."
It was chilly, with the right touch of detachment.
Matthew and I both turned to look.
A man was standing in the doorway.
He was tall and slender, dressed in a black coat, his gaze calm and steady, holding a pair of leather gloves.
His face looked familiar.
Then it clicked.
It was Leonard.
I wondered what he was doing there.
Matthew's expression turned stormy the second he saw Leonard.
"Leonard?" Matthew said, his voice tight with surprise.
Leonard glanced at Matthew's hand, still clutching my wrist.
"Guess I walked in at the wrong moment," Leonard said, sounding polite but not about to step aside.
He kept it civil, but we could tell he wasn't budging an inch.
Matthew let go of my wrist, his tone turning cold. "What are you doing here at the Shelton Manor?"
Leonard said in a calm, almost indifferent tone, "Mrs. Shelton invited me over to talk about the restoration project for the old house."
Then he turned to me. "Ms. Richardson."
That title caught me off guard.
In the Shelton household, everyone called me Monica.
It was affectionate, familiar, casual, and almost too easy.
It felt like I was a fixture in their home, always there, never leaving.
It had been ages since anyone called me by my name with seriousness.
Leonard's gaze landed on my wrist, still marked red from Matthew's grip, but his expression stayed calm.
"Will you be able to make it to the date tomorrow afternoon?" he asked.