Christopher's gaze fixated on Emilia as he observed her every move throughout the evening. He saw her converse with his father's lawyer for much longer than he hoped for.
Time seemed to stretch painfully as he yearned for her attention.
However, his hopes were dashed when she vanished. His eyes darted around the venue, desperately searching for her presence. He even approached Cosby, hoping for any clue of her whereabouts.
Disappointment welled up within him once again, seeping into his every fibre.
Despite the lingering hurt about the whole Jacob Bleam fiasco, Christopher held onto a flicker of hope which has emerged during their earlier conversation. During their rather short exchange, she didn't retreat from him nor did she bring up his drunken state from the previous night. Instead, she acted with genuine honesty and sincerity.
He hoped to show her that he was the better choice than Mr Bleam
Christopher yearned for a private conversation with Emilia on their way back to the manor to start to build their relationship anew.
Mr Cosby made his way towards Christopher, cutting through the groups of people.
"I'm sorry, sir, but Dr Vincent has decided to spend the night in her apartment." Patrick said quickly, his words laced with an unspoken intention, hoping to widen the gap between Christopher and Emilia.
Three months of marriage and there was barely anything to hold them together
At times, it felt as if they were gradually drifting further apart, their paths diverging, only to somehow find themselves on parallel courses again, getting closer but not close enough.
Christopher nodded in affirmation, masking his emotions, concealing his heartache behind a composed facade. He quickly realised that Jacob was gone too. He lost Emilia. And he might have lost her for good.
The realisation struck him like a physical blow—he had let Emilia slip through his fingers, and perhaps, irretrievably so.
His heart, already fractured, shattered into even smaller pieces. Overwhelmed by sorrow, Christopher excused himself and went back home.
He merely drank a single glass of champagne to ensure he was capable of driving himself.
He didn't want Emilia to see him in his drunken state again, but she wasn't home that night and it was way too easy to reach for another bottle, especially when his mind spiralled into a vortex of catastrophic scenarios. Images of Emilia finding solace in another man's arms tormented him, each thought gnawing at his soul.
Emilia returned to the magnificent manor the very next morning. It was a resplendent Saturday morning in late July with the sun beaming in the sky and already warming up the Earth.
She carried her pink suit in the plastic bag as she strolled through the entrance.
She wore a flowing green summer dress which was one of the last remnants of her clothing in her apartment.
The manor was still embraced in an ethereal spell confining it into quietness and peacefulness. It felt almost blasphemous to step inside and break it out of its stillness.
Emilia gingerly removed her shoes, trying to remain as silent as she could as to not disturb the tranquillity of the house.
The morning sun broke through the windows above the door, illuminating the stained glass and casting a kaleidoscope of vibrant hues that danced upon the polished marble floor.
At that moment, the grandeur of the manor swept over her, and she marvelled at its splendour. The hallway boasted high ceilings adorned with an enormous crystal chandelier that shimmered like a prism, capturing fragments of light and scattering them into a captivating display. The air was electric with a delicate allure, akin to the fluttering wings of Elysian fairies.
Emilia lingered by the entrance, momentarily lost in the beauty of the surroundings. Reluctantly, she tore her gaze away, slowly retreating deeper into the house. Her steps carried her toward the dark, polished wooden staircase, which elegantly curved along the wall.
Her progress halted abruptly as her eyes caught sight of something—or rather, someone—out of the ordinary.
It was a truly pitiful sight to behold. Christopher fell asleep in the armchair, his body draped haphazardly over the leather armrest. The soft glow of the lamp beside him cast a feeble light on his motionless form.
The side table next to Christopher held remnants of the night before. An empty bottle stood as a testament to his indulgence, alongside an abandoned glass, its contents drained long ago.
The morning light streamed through the curtains, mercilessly illuminating his hollowed cheeks and accentuating his haggard face, while dark circles under his eyes spoke of restless nights.
His parched lips cracked and dry, added to the overall picture of disarray and neglect.
He took his tie off and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, which became also untucked.
Emilia carefully placed the plastic bag with her pink suit on the side and she cautiously tiptoed to the kitchen. Emilia purposefully navigated through the dimly lit space, retrieving a glass of water, along with aspirin and peppermint tablets from the medicine cabinet.
After a bit of contemplation, she prepared the breakfast according to Christopher's preferences. She remembered Patrick mentioning Christopher's routine and she recalled Bernadette expertly preparing the same meal in the past—a strong cup of coffee, lightly buttered toast, and a soft-boiled egg.
With care, Emilia arranged the tray, meticulously placing the breakfast, medication, and water upon it.
The weight of her intentions rested heavily on her shoulders as she retraced her steps, entering the living room once more.
Christopher remained motionless.
The events of the previous evening had likely held him back until the early hours of the morning, and then he had sought solace in the bottle of alcohol before finally surrendering to sleep. His exhaustion was clear. Emilia moved with quiet grace, treading lightly around the furniture, tiptoeing.
She placed the tray on the coffee table and cautiously approached Christopher. As she neared him, Emilia was assaulted by the pungent odour of alcohol emanating from Christopher. The faint remnants of his cologne mingled weakly with the overwhelming stench of liquor, the scent barely recognisable beneath the weight of his indulgence. He had very little resemblance to the man in the suit that Emilia saw during the conference.