The Officer's Runaway Wife & Secret Son novel Chapter 12

Margot whined playfully, "I've been hiding it here for days. Finally, I can bring it out."

Veronica stroked the shawl, smiling genuinely.

"Our Margot is so thoughtful. Much better than someone."

She glanced at Rhys. "Rhys, look at Margot, then look at yourself. Every year, besides writing a check, what do you do?"

Rhys remained expressionless. "Isn't that what you like best?"

Veronica choked on her words, huffed coldly, ignored him, and turned to look at Clara, who was still standing in the foyer. She tilted her chin up slightly.

"Where's yours?"

Margot looked at her with curiosity as well.

Clara sneered internally but maintained a faint smile on her face as she walked over with perfect poise.

"Rhys said you don't need anything, and that the best gift is for the two of us to come back and have dinner with you often."

She sat down next to Rhys, leaning half her body against him, looking up at him with affectionate eyes.

"Honey, isn't that right?"

Rhys turned his head to look at her.

Since the cold war began, she either called him "Rhys" or didn't call him anything at all.

This sweet "Honey" caught him off guard for a moment.

His Adam's apple bobbed, and he gave a grunt of affirmation.

Veronica's second husband, Eric Johnson, came out of the study just in time for dinner.

At the table, Eric sat at the head, with Veronica beside him.

Rhys was seated between Clara and Margot.

The housekeeper brought out the dishes. Veronica placed the steamed fish—Margot's favorite—directly in front of her.

Margot took a bite, then moved a plate of coconut shrimp in front of Clara.

"Clara, try this. The cook's coconut shrimp is a specialty."

She smiled with innocent charm and added, "It's Rhys's favorite. I figured you'd love it too."

Clara looked at the perfectly round shrimp in the plate, didn't say a word, picked up the plate, and dumped it directly into the trash can.

Margot froze.

Veronica's brow furrowed instantly.

"Excuse me," Clara looked up at Margot. "I'm allergic to coconut. It could kill me."

Margot's face went pale, then flushed. She whispered an apology, "I'm sorry, Clara, I didn't know. Rhys never mentioned it to me..."

Another damn "never mentioned it."

Clara could only agree. "Yes, as he should."

Later, there was another time they had crabs.

He did the same thing—gloves on, silently dismantling a whole crab, pushing a full plate of crab meat and roe in front of Margot.

Clara sat right next to him, watching him wait on another woman hand and foot.

She told herself over and over that it didn't matter, that Margot was his sister and had poor health, and he was just acting out of responsibility and sympathy.

But that thorn in her heart dug deeper and deeper.

In two years, he had never peeled a shrimp or cracked a crab leg for her.

Yesterday at her sister's house, he hadn't done it either.

The snow crab she ate was prepared by her brother-in-law.

Now, after she brought up divorce and walked in on his bizarre dynamic with Margot, he suddenly learned how to peel shrimp for her.

He was pathetic.

Chewing the shrimp, Clara felt it was a thousand times more toxic than the deadly coconut.

She was pathetic too.

She actually ate it.