How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 119

She never finished her sentence.

Suddenly, footsteps sounded at the doorway.

A low, cool male voice cut through the room. "I'm not late, am I? Darling?"

Elodie's words were snatched from her lips.

She whipped around, stunned, half-convinced she must have misheard.

Everyone else in the room looked over, just as surprised.

Jarrod strode in, calm and assured.

Seeing him, Ivan's brows knit in surprise. He hadn't expected Jarrod to give Elodie such respect—calling her "darling" in front of everyone.

But then again, Ivan realized, today it was just the Thornes—no outsiders, no need to keep up appearances. Jarrod could afford the pretense of acknowledgment. If even one unknowing guest were present, Elodie would never hear such a word from him.

Tall and impeccably dressed in a black suit, Jarrod crossed the room. He glanced at Elodie, then nodded politely to Rosemary. "Business kept me for a while," he said, voice even. "My apologies, Grandma."

Elodie's expression cooled.

That single, casual "darling" had almost cracked her composure. The shock she felt at the word far outweighed her surprise at Jarrod's actual presence.

What game was he playing? Willing to go this far for a performance?

All these years of marriage, he'd never once called her "darling."

Besides, she'd already accepted that Jarrod was with Selma and Sylvie today. Why had he shown up now?

Almost absently, she glanced at his tie. It was plain black, not the red-patterned one Sylvie had given him—appropriate for a memorial.

Nothing about this made sense. Her frown deepened.

Jarrod's gaze rested on her, his tone casual. "What's the matter?"

Only then did Elodie realize the look she'd been giving him. With Rosemary and the others still watching, she forced herself to change the subject. "Where did you come from?"

"Work."

Elodie didn't buy it, but she let it drop. It wasn't her place to dig deeper, not anymore.