LOVE'S QUAGMIRE [18+]

Chapter 9: Library

Beep, beep, beep

I groggily silenced the alarm on my phone, checking the time – 6:46 a.m. I got up and tied my hair into a messy bun while glancing at my husband still asleep, which made me smile instantly.

 Memories of last night's touchy and clingy moments lingered about how I snuggled into his chest and drifted off to sleep.

After a quick shower, I slipped into a turquoise-colored sweater with white fabric buttons and white pants.

Descending the stairs, I noticed the staff present, quietly and delicately cleaning. Their heads turned as my footsteps echoed. They wished me morning as I smiled in return and headed to the kitchen, where two maids were already at work who were washing dishes and organizing.

"Good morning, Mrs. Reynolds."

I greeted them back and grabbed a pan and some eggs and decided to go with some scrambled eggs, crispy bacon strips, hash browns, toast with butter and jam, and refreshing juice.

Half an hour flew by, and I was still left preparing scrambled eggs when the doorbell rang.

 Leaving the kitchen, I directed the maids to handle the eggs and found one of the butlers already opening the door. 

A man in a pristine blue shirt and a white coat, almost resembling a doctor, stood there. Neatly combed hair and a pair of rectangular-framed glasses on his nose bridge completed his professional look.

The butler scooted aside, giving me a clear view. This guy was probably in his 40s and was holding a suitcase. A small, friendly grin touched his face as he spoke, "Good morning. Is Mr. Reynolds at home?"

"Yes, he is. May I know who you are?" I asked.

"I'm James Patrick," he introduced himself, extending his hand for a polite handshake.

"Mr. James."

I turned to Miss Thornfield, who stood beside me and smiled politely. 

Fake

"Mrs. Reynolds, I'll take care of it. You can go," she said with a forced smile.

 I walked away slowly, leaving them to their conversation and heading towards the kitchen.

"But what happened?" "I heard some whispers. Two maids were talking to each other. 

"Mr. Reynolds wanted her to get breakfast for Mrs. Reynolds, but some a butler did it, and he was unhappy." 

"She accidentally mentioned he hurt her hand, maybe even broke a bone, and now she can't work for a month," the same maid added.

"Who spilled the tea?" the first one asked.

"She did herself. I know her."

I wondered who they were talking about.

"And you know she is not allowe-..."

 Before the second one could complete, I strolled in, and they hushed their conversation, taking a step aside. 

As I poured the beaten eggs into the pan, my mind drifted about who are they talking about.

 Is it Sophia? That maid from the penthouse.

Memories of the morning after our wedding resurfaced, noting the subtle shift in Zephyr's demeanor when a butler delivered breakfast. On our way to college, I noticed tears in Sophia's eyes.