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“Charlotte is special.”
“Special, as in, you-love-her special or special as in, she’s-an-angel-descended-from-heaven special?” Fergus stares at me. I stare out the glass window at the city of Chicago.
“She has always been special. I can’t explain it.”
“So, you have feelings for her?”
I don’t know how to answer them.
Getting a call from Charlotte, five days after the whole incident, gives me a lot to think about.
As I sit in the café, eyeing the untouched cup of coffee in front of me, I wonder why I am playing along with whatever this is. I know what the right thing to do here is, but a part of me wonders, just wonders, what would happen if Charlotte refuses to do what I am going to ask of her.
She has always been a quiet one.
Growing up, it felt like Charlotte was always around. Her mother used to work in our house, and Charlotte, a toddler then, would follow her around. Since my parents were never home, there was nobody to mind a small child’s presence. Plus, she was the same age as Agatha, and the two became friends.
Even after her mother’s death, Charlotte still came around.
I had always been protective of both my sister and Charlotte, more so of the latter because every time I saw her, her arms and legs would be sporting purplish bruises. But even as I had grown more and more protective towards the girl, I had not once looked at her as a sister.
The sound of a pair of heels on the polished floor makes me look up, and once again the cool, composed beauty of Charlotte takes my breath away.
She is wearing a top that is so soft that it looks like it will rip at the gentlest touch. Her skirt is long and modest, flirting around her toned legs.
As I stand up and pull out her chair, as manners dictate, she looks surprised at my gesture, and then hesitatingly takes the seat I offer her. She looks better. Her skin has always been fair, but that deathly pallor is gone, replaced by a faint rosiness.
She stares at me, perhaps studying me in the same way that I am taking in her every detail. There is a guarded look in her eyes that has never been there before, and I hate it.
“You look well.” I finally break the silence. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Yeah. Like I said, I needed some time.” She takes a deep breath, and then looks me straight in the eyes. “You made our marriage a media storm.”
I do not flinch under her gaze. I hold no regrets.
“I’m not done yet. What Erik did to you was something he had planned. I overheard a snippet of their conversation when I arrived. Unfortunately, I didn’t understand what he meant to do until it was too late.”
Charlotte sighs.
“So what?”
A flare of something dark surfaces in me.
“You’ve forgiven him?”
She scoffs; this bitterness from her is something new to me.
“Forgiven him? I’m done with him. I want this whole thing to be over so that I can pick up my life and move on. Erik and I were always from two ends of the social spectrum. I should have known something like this was too good to be true.” She shrugs. “The blame lies on my shoulders as well.”
I don’t like the way she so casually throws herself under the bus like that, as if the fact that that slimy git chose her was an honor she had no right to.
“A man like Erik doesn’t deserve somebody like you.” My words are sharp, yet soft. When Charlotte pales at my words, I continue, annoyed, “You are worth far more than he could ever hope to get.”
She stares at me, and then lowers her gaze.
“Whatever the case may be, I’m not here to discuss that. I want to tell you that I’ve gotten in touch with my lawyer to prepare the annulment papers.”
I don’t react.
