Secrets I've Held in My Heart

Chapter 18 : Ava

As Christian prevented me from reaching for the hot dish, a perplexed silence hung in the air. I couldn't understand his insistence, especially regarding a dish I had meticulously prepared. I turned my attention towards him, searching his eyes for an explanation.

"Christian, why can't I taste it? I need to know what Martha is talking about," I pleaded, my curiosity mixed with a hint of frustration.

Christian's gaze bore into Martha, a palpable tension in his expression. His words carried weight and concern. "It's not about the taste, moonlight," he reiterated, his voice filled with a protective undertone. His eyes then shifted to meet mine, a subtle plea for understanding in their depths. "It's about the eggs in the pasta. You're a vegetarian, remember?"

My heart sank at the realisation that he had been protecting me from consuming something against my dietary choices. I nodded, acknowledging his concern. "Oh, yeah, you're right." I was so worried by Martha's accusation that I had momentarily forgotten about the eggs in the pasta. Thank goodness Christian informed me before it was too late. However, as important as it was for me not to eat non-vegetarian food, it was equally important to uncover the truth about Martha's sudden, unexpected reaction.

"But, Aunt Martha—" I began, but before I could complete my sentence, Christian interrupted me.

"Martha is just exaggerating things. This pasta is perfect. Maybe she has a lower spice tolerance than me." Christian let out a soft smile and continued to eat his pasta.

His smile seemed genuine, but his hints were hard to ignore. As he savoured each bite, his face displayed a subtle flush, and he occasionally sipped water between forkfuls. It was as if he was trying to downplay the spice while masking the discomfort.

For a moment, I wanted to believe that Martha was indeed exaggerating. However, watching Christian's subtle struggle, doubts about his words began to creep into my mind. The mystery surrounding the pasta deepened, and I couldn't help but wonder if there was more to the story than anyone was letting on.

My vegetarian diet was important, but not more important than Christian. Nothing could ever surpass him, and nothing ever would. My hands trembled at the thought of consuming something with eggs, but I managed to steady them before taking the crucial step.

Christian was just about to take a forkful of that flavorful, fiery pasta into his mouth when I couldn't hold back any longer. I grabbed his hand, squeezed my eyes shut, leaned in, and guided the loaded fork into my mouth.

"Ava, no!" Christian's voice boomed as he abruptly stood up from his chair, but my determination had already carried me too far.

As the spicy pasta hit my taste buds, it was an explosion of flavours that's hard to describe. The intensity of the spices sent a fiery sensation surging through my mouth, making my eyes water instantly. Panic set in, and I frantically reached out, gasping, "Oh my god, Christian, please pass me the water!"

"God, I told you not to eat it," Christian urgently exclaimed as he swiftly passed me a glass of water. He then signalled to one of our servers, Jeff, with a sense of urgency, "Jeff, please bring something sweet for her."

"It's okay. It's okay," I reassured him, understanding that my actions had caused concern. While I was the one experiencing the fiery heat from the spices, it was Christian who was reacting frantically on my behalf.

"What do you mean, 'It's okay'?" Christian's voice rose slowly. "Didn't I tell you not to eat the pasta?" He cupped my cheeks gently, his concern evident. "Look what you've done to yourself."

By then, Jeff arrived with a chocolate mousse, and Christian eagerly took it from him, verifying, "It's eggless, right?"

"Ye—yes, sir," Jeff stammered.

Christian fed me a spoonful of the chocolate mousse, and the creamy sweetness melted in my mouth, soothingly erasing all the fiery discomfort caused by the spicy pasta. As the intense heat dissipated from my senses, I realised that I had a surprisingly high spice tolerance. Yet, that single forkful of pasta had left me reeling, making me wonder what it must have done to Christian, who was known to have the lowest spice tolerance in the world. He had devoured more than ten forkfuls of that scorching dish.

"Christian," I gently took the glass of chocolate mousse from his hand and reciprocated by feeding him. "How can you be such a hypocrite? You don't want me to touch that super-spicy pasta, yet you've been devouring it for so long."

"I—" He began to speak, but I interrupted by shoving another spoonful of mousse into his mouth, asserting, "Don't you dare speak until you finish this whole glass of chocolate mousse."

As I continued to feed Christian, my mind swirled with a tempest of thoughts, the memory of his stoic consumption of that agonisingly spicy pasta etched vividly in my heart. A lone teardrop escaped, tracing a delicate path down my right cheek, as my curiosity and concern bubbled to the surface.

"Why, Christian?" I asked softly, my voice laced with both admiration and bewilderment. "Why did you eat this spicy pasta all on your own? Were you seriously going to eat this all if I hadn't stopped you?"

"What do you think? Wouldn't he?" Martha's interruption cut through the charged atmosphere, her voice ringing with firmness and simmering anger that ignited a flicker of anxiety in my eyes. Her words stung, like barbs of truth piercing the facade I had carefully built.

"You're his wife, Ava," Martha continued, her gaze unwavering. "For your sake, for your name, for your reputation, he endured that fiery pasta, even though it clashed with his painfully low spice tolerance." A soft, sarcastic chuckle escaped her lips, laden with implications. "He was willing to protect your honour, even to the point of silencing Rosa, who could've exposed the truth about your culinary creation. That's how much he loves you, Ava." She huffed and continued, her voice tinged with exasperation, "And you? What have you done in return? Couldn't even prepare a simple pasta for him? Where is your consideration, Ava? How could you be so neglectful? Or perhaps, is this your way of exacting revenge on us for pushing you into this marriage with Christian? After all, we all know your heart had set its sights on the younger Forbes heir, my son Jonas."

The moment Martha mentioned "Jonas," my heart clenched. It felt like a jagged blade slicing through my chest, triggering an avalanche of emotions that I had painstakingly buried in the deepest, darkest crevices of my heart. The emotions, the story, the past that I had buried deep within my heart came flooding back, overwhelming me with the pain I had suppressed beneath my smile, the memories I had tried to forget beneath my responsibilities, the feelings I had hidden beneath my soul.

To be continued...