Hello every one! Thank you so much for reading my story and commenting on them. The third chapter is up and the sentences in bold are said or rather written by Micheal.
Let me know about any improvements I should make. This is not the instant sex kind of thing so if you are looking for something like that, this is not your thing.
Happy reading!!
*****
I have been told that grief comes in stages. Perhaps every strong emotion does? And if it does then mine had completed the three stage cycle- anger, reconciliation, bitterness.
I made a decision and I had to live with it. That didn't make me any less of a person or him any less responsible. Considering the fact that he did not deem it valuable to even glance in my direction, my reception was quite warm at his house.
The ride to his townhouse was tense. We couldn't converse, that did not mean that we could not communicate. But, we didn't try to. Not once.
His grip was strong as he handed me out of the carriage. The staff stood at the gate to greet us, their mistress and master. I was introduced to the servants by Malcolm who I later learned was the head butler and my husband's greatest confidant.
By dinner I had lost any hope of the life I had mapped out for myself. I was the mistress of a huge household, I had responsibilities not the liberties I had assumed I would have. My husband though unable to talk had done nothing to emote his feelings. I was at a disadvantage here. What was I supposed to do? Try to start a polite conversation that would insult him? Or remain quiet and prove myself impolite? He saved me the trouble. He did not appear for dinner.
And that accounts for all that has happened till now.
The fire crackles cheerfully and the room is overheated. My fingers carefully detangle my hair. Rhythmically and slowly. I am the occupant of the blue room now and this fact leaps onto my mind, the only coherent thought in the sea of confusion.
I haven't done anything as of now. No improper behavior. Nothing. Then why am I subjected to indifference?
My thoughts swirl and perhaps that is why I miss the quiet knock. The warm hand at my shoulder startles me.
"What..." my voice catches in my throat. I look into dark eyes for the second time.
A pale hand quickly snatches up the brush I have dropped in my surprise.
"Good evening sir, you were missed at dinner", this is the best I can come up with.
I address his back .He returns with paper and pen.
He wants to write a letter? My mind absently registers his offering .
Sorry, business called. Hope you are comfortable, madam.
I look mildly at the words. We are communicating.
"yes, thankyou. Hope that you have successfully transacted the said business."
