Chapter 137: Motherly duty
In a luxurious restaurant overlooking the shimmering waters of Vitra’s port city, Thorne sat at a table adorned with fine china and crystal glasses, waiting with a sense of unease. The air was filled with the enticing aromas of gourmet dishes and the low hum of conversations, but his mind was elsewhere, tangled in thoughts of Noelle and the relentless search for answers.
Suddenly, the door swung open, and a hush fell over the room as a striking older woman stepped inside. She exuded an undeniable grace, her presence commanding attention. Her raven black hair was intricately styled, showcasing the elegant curves of her neck and the delicate features of her face. But it was her eyes—deep blue and piercing—that drew Thorne in; they were the same shade as his, echoing the familial bond that tied them together.
He watched as she surveyed the restaurant, her gaze scanning the room until it landed on him. A moment of recognition flickered between them, and she moved with confidence towards his table, her every step a testament to her poise.
As she slid into the seat opposite him, Thorne felt a mixture of emotions swirling within him. There was a sense of comfort in her familiarity, but also an undercurrent of tension.
*
"I didn’t think you would show up," I say to her. Celia, my mother, sits across from me, still a striking beauty. Time hasn’t taken much from her; her raven hair remains lustrous, and her blue eyes still carry that glimmer of confidence that must have charmed many. It’s clear her looks played a role in her ascent to becoming a duchess in Vitra, which is why I’m here, seeking her help.
"It’s a little hard not to show up when you made sure to send the letter knowing my husband and family were around," she replies, her tone casual yet laced with the tension that underlies our relationship.
"Because I need your husband’s authority, not yours, Celia," I say bluntly, cutting to the heart of the matter. I can see her face tighten at my words.
She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose as if to stave off a headache. "This is not a conversation we should have in public," she says firmly, rising from her seat. I follow her, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on me.