Chapter 328
The morning hadn't been kind to Evelyn Carter. Not only had she barely eaten, but Victoria Sinclair had nearly collided with her in the hallway, sending her breakfast tumbling to the floor.
Nathaniel Whitmore observed Evelyn's predicament with narrowed eyes before turning to Robert Chambers. "Have lunch delivered," he commanded.
Evelyn quickly raised a hand. "Wait."
Nathaniel's expression darkened. "Problem? Am I not allowed to buy you a meal?"
She cleared her throat delicately. "That's not it. I just prefer lighter options—maybe some soup and fresh fruit."
Silence stretched between them.
Straightening his tie, Nathaniel remarked, "You certainly have a way of making requests, Evelyn. Did I say I was treating you?"
Without missing a beat, Evelyn countered, "With guests visiting Eleanor Whitmore, isn't it your duty as her grandson to provide hospitality? Or has the Whitmore family forgotten its manners?"
Nathaniel's jaw tightened.
Was she seriously pinning this on him?
Soon, Robert returned with an elegant spread—delicate soups, crisp salads, and a trolley of assorted fruits.
Evelyn wasted no time picking up her fork.
The twins in her belly had been protesting all morning, leaving her no choice but to eat.
Nathaniel, who had little appetite, found himself eating more just watching her enjoy the food.
His gaze lingered on her face. "Evelyn, have you put on weight?"
She choked mid-bite.
"Ridiculous," she scoffed, dabbing her lips with a napkin. "Where exactly?"
Nathaniel smirked. "That second chin is new."
Self-consciously, Evelyn touched her jawline—it did feel softer. "It's called baby fat," she shot back. "Not that you're funding my meals anyway."
Nathaniel leaned back, unfazed. "You ate at the Whitmore estate for three years."
"Yes, and I didn't gain an ounce then. Funny how it happened right after I left—what does that say about your household?"
His eyes glinted. "Are you accusing me of mistreating you?"
"Whether you did or not," Evelyn said sweetly, "you know the answer."
Nathaniel exhaled sharply. "For three years, your living expenses were more than covered. I never shortchanged you."
Evelyn's laugh was icy. "Oh, the money was always there. But your mother made sure I knew spending it would burden you. 'Nathaniel works so hard,' she'd say. 'Don't be wasteful.'"
"And yet," Nathaniel mused, "you never struck me as someone who'd obey blindly."
Evelyn's fingers tightened around her fork.
"I was naive," she admitted. "If I had today's mindset back then? I'd have lived lavishly—spa days, designer boutiques, luxury vacations. I certainly wouldn't have been some meek little wife."
It had taken her too long to realize: compromising endlessly won no one's love—only her own resentment.
Nathaniel studied her, his gaze unreadable.
"That's how it should be," he said at last. "As Mrs. Whitmore, you should command respect. Who would dare slight you? If trouble comes, I'll handle it. What are you afraid of?"