Chapter 46 Strange Atmosphere
"Mom, this is simply my usual demeanor. I interact with everyone in the same manner," George explained.
Scarlett wagged her finger at him. "She's your wife. Shouldn't you treat her differently from just anyone?"
"Alright," Mia interjected, taking Scarlett by the arm. "Let's go to the dining room. It's a rare occasion for us all to be together. Let's not discuss dismal matters."
Mia's words carried an unspoken implication.
George, too, sensed an underlying message, his brow furrowing, though he refrained from commenting further.
Alexander broke the silence. "Indeed, since we find ourselves in each other's company today, let's enjoy the dinner together."
George offered him a sardonic smile. "That sounds agreeable."
His gaze was sharp, hinting at unspoken knowledge.
Scarlett frowned, directing her query at George. "What now? How has Alex provoked you?"
George feigned a disarming grin. "No. Why don't you go to the dining room? I need to discuss some work-related matters with Alex."
"Sure, you guys go ahead," Scarlett acquiesced, leaning on Mia and Ava as they made their way into the dining room.
Once they had left, George fixed Alexander with a stony glare. "How do you intend to resolve the situation with Isabella?"
Alexander maintained an air of nonchalance. "Dad, there's no need for you to be concerned about this."
"Concerned?" George scoffed derisively. "Should your grandma find out about what you've done, she'll be furious. You contemplate divorcing your wife for the sake of your mistress."
Alexander remained indifferent. "Has Ava told you that we are seeking a divorce?"
"It's obvious!" George lowered his voice, ensuring their conversation remained confidential. "You'd better exercise prudence. Don't covet excessively. What virtues does Isabella possess that warrant such entanglement?"
"Before you accuse me, perhaps you ought to address the disarray in your own matrimonial relationship. The state of your marriage with Mom leaves much to be desired. Why is it that Mom keeps herself at arm's length from you? You should have a clearer understanding of this than me," Alexander retorted bluntly.
"You..." George balled his fists. "How dare you talk back to me? Just wait and see. I'm eager to witness how long this dalliance with your mistress will persist. I hope you won't regret it."
"She isn't my mistress." Alexander's tone was solemn, his stance unwavering as though rooted in bedrock. "And even if regret were to fill my cup, I shall quaff from it alone."
"Very well. I'm telling you; time will unveil all truths."
With those words, George turned and left, harboring the conviction that one day Alexander would rue his actions. Although devoid of proof, this sentiment felt oddly familiar.
Ava often kept Scarlett company, but it was rare for the whole family to be seated together for dinner. Scarlett's spirits were notably elevated today.
She sat at the head of the table and had John pour her some red wine.
Mia advised with concern, "Scarlett, you shouldn't drink. Perhaps some juice would be more suitable."
"It's alright." Scarlett waved off the advice. "I've reached an age where I shan't impose restrictions upon myself."
Mia frowned, intending to say something, but just then, Alexander and George made their entrance.
Upon their arrival, Scarlett beckoned Alexander. "Alex, take a seat here."
She gestured towards the vacant chair adjacent to Ava.
In light of the circumstances, Alexander couldn't maintain a significant distance from Ava without arousing Scarlett's suspicion. Thus, he was compelled to settle beside her, bringing them into proximity.
"George, you may sit here." Scarlett indicated the chair next to Mia.
George cast a cursory glance at Mia, hesitating, yet John had already drawn out the chair for him, leaving him no alternative but to be seated.
Mia regarded him with a frigid stare before abruptly rising to reposition her own chair, thereby increasing the physical space between them.
Such actions were a testament to the fragility of their relationship, underscoring its delicacy.
The atmosphere was laden with an underlying tension, as though a tempest was simmering just beneath the surface.
