Chapter 212
Iris
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My mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water as I struggle to come up with a response. The tabloid article glares up at me from Arthur’s phone screen, the photo clearly showing me at the grocery store, phone pressed to my ear.
“I overheard Iris, the newfound mate of the Alpha President, on the phone at the expensive grocery store downtown today,” the article reads. “And what do you know? Her card declined twice and she called someone for help–she kept saying the name
‘Caleb‘, a name that’s all too familiar in the life of the Alpha President. It must have been Caleb Willford.”
I feel like I’m going to be sick.
“First of all,” the article goes on, “why is she calling Caleb instead of Alpha Arthur if she’s struggling financially? Second, why is
she shopping in upscale stores if her funds are so short? And finally… Why isn’t the Alpha President taking care of his mate?”
“Arthur, I can explain-”
“I’d like to hear it,” he says, and there’s something dangerous in the calmness of his tone. “Because you refused my financial
help time and time again, and suddenly, Caleb, your new ‘friend‘, is giving you money for groceries.”
I take a deep breath. This isn’t how I wanted to tell him, but I have no choice now. “There’s something I need to tell you. About
Caleb, about me, about-”
Suddenly, before I can finish, the doorbell rings.
My head whips toward the door. “That can’t be right. It’s only two o’clock. The party doesn’t start until six.”
Arthur’s jaw clenches as the doorbell rings again. With a frustrated sigh, he strides to the door and yanks it open.
Leonard and Wendy stand in the hallway, dressed impeccably as always.
“Arthur,” Leonard says, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “We thought we’d come early to help set up.”
My stomach drops. Help set up? They’re four hours early, and I’m still in my casual clothes with no makeup, my hair in a messy
bun, and not even a single appetizer prepared.
Still, I hold my head high, refusing to let them see me crack.
“How… thoughtful,” I manage, forcing a smile. “Please, come in.”
Arthur shoots me a look that promises we will continue our conversation later, but immediately shifts into host mode. “Mother,
Father, why don’t you make yourselves comfortable in the living room? Iris was just about to start preparing.”
“Oh, we can help,” Wendy offers, but there’s something in her tone that suggests she expects me to decline.
“That’s very kind, but I’ve got everything under control,” I lie smoothly. “Arthur, would you mind showing them the new
painting I hung last week?”
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Chapter 212
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He catches my meaning and nods, steering his parents away while I grab my grocery bags and practically sprint to the kitchen.
Four hours. I have four hours of prep time compressed into maybe thirty minutes before they’ll expect drinks and appetizers and
a perfect hostess. This feels deliberate–it has to be. They came this early on purpose just to see me squirm. The revelation makes
my hands shake as I unpack the groceries, mentally reorganizing my entire cooking timeline.
Well, I won’t let them see me suffer. My party is going to be a success. I’ve planned too hard for this to let it flop, and I’m not
about to let Arthur’s parents walk all over me or my son again.
First things first: appetizers. I throw together a quick bruschetta, chopping tomatoes and basil at lightning speed. While the
bread toasts, I arrange the fancy cheeses and crackers on a platter, adding grapes, fresh strawberries, and fig jam for color. The
salmon gets a quick marinade before going in the oven, and I start the reduction sauce for the chicken simultaneously.
Multitasking like a madwoman, I somehow manage to get everything cooking or marinating within twenty minutes. The kitchen
fills with delicious aromas, and despite the chaos, I feel a surge of pride. It’s actually coming together.
“Excuse me,” I call out, poking my head into the living room where Arthur is valiantly entertaining his parents. “I just need to change quickly. Arthur, could you check on the bruschetta in five minutes?”
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