Hearing her question, I lifted my head to look at Bruce. My lips curled softly while I met his gaze in challenge to see what answer he was going to give her.
Rather, he glared at me. I was certain I had dug a pit for him to jump into. Should he accept, then maybe Phina wouldn't let him hear the end of it, and should he object, then he was ready to lose the right of choice.
The silence was deafening as even my parents turned their all full attention to the matter; Phina's gaze, meanwhile, was both probing and pleading.
Bruce lowered his head to continue his meal. My sister's shoulder sagged with relief as she turned to meet my gaze, but like Bruce, I had already lowered my head.
The soft noise of cutlery resumed, and the faint sigh of relief coursed through my parents' lips, as the meal continued.
Just when everyone had stopped expecting an answer, his voice came through, soft and clipped.
"I love vegetable soups; she usually prepares it with exceptional skill."
Like a thunderclap, his voice cut through the soft clattering of cutleries.
Phina's cutlery slipped from her hand, the clattering sound almost drowned his sentence. My head snapped to stare at him, and I noticed the soft smile on his lips.
Phina's fist curled softly on the table, her gaze cold and piercing as she glared at me.
The silence stretched endlessly like forever. The dining room cracked with tension, and Bruce sat with his entire frame weighed down by the stares around him.
"Alright," Phina said at last, breaking the silence, "if you love vegetable soup that much, don't worry, I'll do my best to learn."
Bruce shrugged lightly. "Actually, you don't have to go through the lengths to learn. Maybe you can always invite her over to make it," he snickered.
"Phina, I think Bruce is right. You can always learn later," my father added, his cold gaze fixed on me.
I sighed dramatically. "Dad, what kind of husband were you going to hand me to? Would he be willing to let his wife go to an ex's house to prepare his meal?" I taunted softly and harmlessly, carefully drawing the word 'ex.'
My father's face twisted with rage. "You can always tell him you want to go and visit your sister," he said coldly.
"Visit my sister indeed," I muttered. I was more certain my father would have sent me to George's home to serve as a maid to Phina if not because of the love triangle between us.
"Bruce, you can always have your wife learn to make your favorites. I learnt it, so she can't be an exception, right?"
He chuckled. "She can always learn," he muttered as he continued his meal.
Phina's temper snapped. "Don't think I can't learn, Stella. I can always learn."
"Of course, my sister is amazing. With her exceptional skills, taking over the kitchen should be a piece of cake," I replied with feigned admiration.
"Stella, you don't have to bother about him. He has come to love your vegetable soup because it was prepared by you, and this time, he would love mine."
"Agreed," I said immediately, "but don't be clumsy and burn the kitchen."
"Enough," my father snapped. "You either eat this meal quietly or leave the table."
Everyone lowered their heads to their plates. For me, it was exceptionally refreshing. I was certain they had all lost the inner peace and happiness that should have come with this meal.
Not long after, my father finished eating. He drew his chair back and stood. "Stella, see me in my study before you sleep," he said coldly.
"Okay," I replied curtly.
I had expected it. With his plan to marry me off, I knew he only wanted to make sure I wouldn't stand against his daughter.
But then, who cares? I'm neither ready to cry over a man who doesn't want me, nor am I willing to beg him to cherish me.
Either way, Bruce is out of my life for good but then I'm petty enough to make him wish he never left.
With everyone done with their meal, I had to finish the last task—clearing the table. Like my father, my mother also wanted to see me.
Why do I feel they are beginning to see me as a threat to their daughter?
After placing the last dish in the sink, Rita walked over. "Stella, you can go rest for the night. I'll wash it," she said softly.
I chuckled. "Rest? I think with the night so long and both parents asking to see me, rest might be impossible," I mused but I still nodded.
"Thank you, Rita," I replied.
I left the kitchen, heading to my room to get my phone before going to my father's study to see him.
With a sharp exhale, I pushed my door open. My step faltered, my eyes narrowed at the figure inside.
Standing with his back to the door and his gaze outside the window, his tall frame blocked the beautiful night sky spilling in through the window.
With the back view and the clothing so familiar. I didn't have to guess who it was but then rage coursed through my veins.
Why is he in my room?
"Bruce, why are you in my room?" I asked coldly.
Of all the people I might have expected, he was the least. Slowly, he turned around, his gaze burning into me, his eyes blazing with several emotions flickering through them.
"Phina," he called softly, his voice so gentle that I raised an inquisitive brow.
"What are you doing in my room?" I repeated, my tone still cold.
He glanced around. With the two of us inside, the room already felt too small. "Phina, can you hear me out?" he said.
"Bruce, the last time I checked, we were over, and we had nothing to do with each other. So, my dear brother-in-law, please leave."
His temper snapped. Like a gust of wind, he closed the distance between us, trapping me between the wall and himself.
I pushed him away, but he didn't budge. His head lowered, his breath fanned my neck, and fury coursed through my chest.
"Stella," he called, his voice low and mesmerizing.
In the past, I would have been happy to hear him call my name. I would have been willing to do his bidding, but now the mere sight of him filled me with disgust.
"I know you still have feelings for me. Just give me an opportunity to have you, and I promise to walk down the aisle with you."