Paper Rings (English)

Chapter 20

“So, Cecile Rach,” Primrose mouthed while dabbing the fork on the sumptuous bowl of Tortellini Pasta Salad. She wasn’t gazing in Sander’s direction, but her raised eyebrow was enough to make the man clear his throat. “You two seem to know each other well. Considering how she can call you by your childhood nickname.”

The Mortel Malls President quickly chewed down the food in his mouth. When their eyes connected, the red-haired lady skimmed her fingers through her jaw as if waiting for his explanation. He gulped, silently racking his head for the answer to her urgent query.

“Yes,” he replied. “We’re quite close—before.”

“I see,” she turned her attention back to the food while nodding her head. “What a small world the two of us have.”

“Yeah.”

“So, how did you two meet?” she asked.

This time, rather than interrogating, her softened voice contained suppressed curiosity. She wrinkled her nose to feign her nonchalance and kept her gaze lowered to the bowl.

On the other hand, Sander had to sip from the glass of water to aid his drying mouth before looking back at his wife.

“College. We went to the same university in the States and took the same classes.”

“Ah, I see. That’s why she seems so happy seeing you again.” She shrugged and tucked her lower lip in. “You must be delighted when you saw her face on my laptop screen.”

“Delighted,” he repeated and slowly shook his head. “Rather than that, I’d say surprised. She was the last person I expected to see right at that moment.”

Primrose paused and blinked, “Are you not on good terms with Cecilia?”

“I’m not so sure either,” he managed to answer. His eyes squinted at the last memory he had with that woman. “It’s been so long since our paths crossed, anyway.”

“Oh. I see,” the red-haired lady reached for the back of her neck and sighed. “Sorry if I’m being too nosy. I just got curious, that’s all.”

“It’s fine. I like it when you’re curious.”

He didn’t mean to spout those words so casually. Even his motion halted when he realized what he’d just said. Before he knew it, her eyes were already narrowing at him. All he could do was draw a small smile and accept his defeat.

After all, everything that happened today clearly indicated that he had lost—from the kitchen fails up to that impulsive kiss.

“You can ask me anything. We’re bound to talk about Cecilia at some point anyway.”

It was a sincere offer. Although he wanted nothing to do with that woman ever again, their connection was bound to be discovered. He has no way to work around it, especially now that they had no choice but to postpone their trip to New Caledonia. Besides that, he couldn't help but be suspicious when Cecilia reappeared as soon as the news of their marriage broke out.

“Later.” She leaned her back to the chair, seemingly more at ease than earlier. ‘I’ll ask about it later.”

“Later?”

“When it comes up again,” she replied and placed the cutlery down the table. “I feel like we should talk about it more naturally, rather than initiating it like this. And besides”—she pulled in and slowly released a deep breath—“I can assume that I have nothing to worry about, right?”

“Of course,” he exclaimed in confidence.

His reassurance made her face light up. "Anyway, are you interested in the fundraiser hosted by Winter Galleria? Do you want to participate?"

"Only if you want me to."

"Well, I don't mind collaborating with you," she dabbed the napkin on her lips. “But aren’t you busy? You’ve been swamped with meetings left and right since last week. I doubt you have time to learn how to paint.”

“I’ll have fewer meetings starting today. After all, I already finished transferring some projects to Sydney. She’ll assume my position as President this month,” he explained at ease. There was a hint of calmness and relief in his soft voice.

“You seem happy about that,” Primrose pointed out. “Now I feel like you’re the losing party in our marriage deal.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Well,” she bit her lower lip. “I initially thought the reason you married me is that you could make use of my father’s name while running your family’s business. But now that you’re stepping down—”

“Don’t act like you don’t know why I agreed, Primrose.”

The lady sighed, “Because you wanted to run away from your family, too?”

Sander knew that he didn’t have to answer that query. The soothing tone of her voice and the sad smile on her visage were enough for him to assume that they share the same sentiments. Although there was an ache in his throat, with words itching to emerge, he didn’t want to go and open the similar scar they both have. It’s too early, he thought.

The following day, the newlyweds decided to start their painting collaboration. Primrose woke up earlier than she used to and prepared the materials they’d be needing. Luckily, Elisha was kind enough to keep in touch and help her order extra brushes and bottles of oil paint yesterday night.

“Okay, are we all set?” she mumbled to herself while gazing at the empty canvas on the wooden easel.

After nodding in satisfaction, her eyes shifted to the clock hanging on the wall. Upon seeing that it was only a few minutes past eight in the morning, she couldn’t help but reach for the back of her neck.

What was she so excited about? It wasn’t like it was her first time teaching somebody how to paint. In fact, she used to volunteer with Wednesday in orphanages and teach kids all about art every summer.

“You’re up early,” her heart almost bounced off her ribcage after hearing Sander’s voice as he emerged from the study. His steps halted and scanned her from head to toe. “Are we starting right away? Did you eat breakfast already?”

Her shoulders caved while sliding both hands on the pockets of the painting apron that she was wearing. She blinked twice. As if on cue with her embarrassment, her stomach growled like an inexperienced magician failing to conceal her magic tricks.

“Let’s eat first,” he beamed at her with a knowing look. “Tyler ordered breakfast before leaving earlier.”

“O-okay.”

Although still red-faced about her obvious excitement, the breakfast meal they shared went by very quickly. The next thing she knew, they were already in the corner of the living room, where she laid all the art materials over a bunch of newspapers.

“You didn’t have to put newspapers on the floor. I can ask someone to clean it if ever we make a mess.”

She sat down on the floor and tilted her head up to see his dumbfounded face. “I wouldn’t want your helpers to think that I’m a messy person to have around. They’re already having a hard time helping around the house despite the pandemic.”

“Fine. If you say so.”

“Wear that.”

“Wear what?” his brows furrowed while staring at the painting apron she pointed into. “You want me to wear this?”

Primrose pressed her lips in an attempt to suppress her amusement. She nodded while the man picked up the pink apron with printed bears in it.

“Don’t be picky,” she stood up and hooked its strap around his neck. Before he could protest, she tied the ribbon behind him and patted both his shoulders. “Elisha and I had a hard time ordering this last night. Most of the stores are still closed, you know.”

“But—”

“No buts. We’re the only ones here, and it’s not like I’ll take a picture of you wearing that or something—” she paused for a bit as mischief twinkled in her pair of wide eyes. “Or maybe I should.”

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned. Even though he looked a bit annoyed, he sat down with the apron on and fiddled with the paintbrushes neatly clamped on a jar. “So, are we going to start or not?”

“Chillout, Mr. Painter.” The lady sat across him as her grin only got wider. “Anyway, have you ever painted before? Or doodled with watercolors?”

“I used to paint back when I was a teenager.”

Her eyes widened, “Really?”

“Yeah, I’m sure you already know that Sandra used to be a painter,” The Mortel Malls President cleared his throat and pinned his attention on the brushes instead of looking back at her. “I’m quite familiar with the process, so I think I wouldn’t give you such a hard time.”

“I see. It’s nice that you have some experience.”

Those words were all she could say. His pained visage stirred her curiosity, but the man clearly had his walls up, so she didn’t want to pry any further. To dispel the awkwardness in the air, she kept her hands busy by reaching for the paint palette.

“So, what are we going to paint?”

“Something simple,” she replied. “The auction will occur on Children’s day, so it’ll be nice if we can do something that would appeal to that theme.”

“You mean, like animals?”

“That’s not a bad idea. We could do that.” She skimmed her fingers through her jaw and nodded, “Didn’t you have a cat back at your parent’s house? What’s her name again? Snowflake—”

“Snowflake is a male cat.” He wasn’t done explaining when his phone suddenly rang, halting their conversation. Sander pulled it out from his pocket before staring back at her. “It’s Elisha. It must be about work. Let me just take this. Excuse me.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

She sat there while watching him walk inside the study. As soon as the door shut behind him, she pouted and placed the wooden palette down the floor again.

“So much for not being busy,” she muttered, followed by a sigh.

To distract herself from sulking, she shrugged her shoulders and continued prepping the art materials and tools scattered right in front of her. Her gaze eventually shifted to the clutter of scissors, boxes, bubble wraps, and cutters on the other side of the living room.

She was so thrilled while unboxing the deliveries that she almost forgot to clean up the trail of mess she did. Plus, she was caught off guard with Sander suddenly popping out so early in the morning.

Her mouth automatically twitched at the thought of it. Due to that, she decided to bounce back on her feet and begin decluttering.

“Let’s just clean this up—” her hand was about to reach for the cutter when she got pricked by its blade. She bit her tongue as she watched a bit of blood drip down from her wounded finger. “Ah, what terrible luck I have today."

Her eyes wandered, searching for any sightings of first aid kits. She tried combing through some drawers under the coffee table and through the dressers at the master bedroom but she failed to find one.

She was walking out of the room when her steps halted. Her attention was unknowingly drawn to the guest room where Sander would sleep if he wasn't too busy at night.

"Come to think of it, maybe I can find it there."

With that conclusion in mind, she went ahead and approached its doorsteps. From the moment she stepped inside, her jaw dropped in disbelief. She immediately felt a sense of deja vu!

"Goodness, it's the same," she couldn't stop herself from exclaiming.

From the cat-printed wallpapers to the colorful bed linens—it was the exact replica of Sander's room in the Mortel family's Victorian-style home. Although she wanted to admire the unbelievable discovery she just found out, Primrose managed to regain her composure.

"R-right. First aid kit."

She opened the drawer on the vanity table near the bed. Like what she expected, the box she was looking for was in there. However, it wasn't the one that caught her eye.

"This is"—she gasped and picked up the bottle of medicine—"Why does he have this medication?"

She couldn't be mistaken. It was the same drug her late mother used to intake to suppress the urge to drink alcohol. It was prescribed mostly to people who struggle with alcoholism.

"What are you doing here?"

She shut her eyelids as his low voice rang through her ears. There was no doubt about it. She just crossed a line.