The Colour of War

Chapter 19

Stefan's eyes lingered on Evelyn with an intensity that made her heart flutter, the candlelight casting a golden hue over their intimate dinner.

"I have something special for you, for dessert," Evelyn said sweetly.

"I know what I want for dessert," he drawled, his eyes boldly tracing the line of her neckline.

She offered a coy smile in return, leaning into the moment's promise. But as if on cue, a persistent knock at the door shattered their flirtatious play. Their shared look conveyed mutual annoyance—the intrusion unwelcome on this final evening before Stefan would march into uncertainty.

"Wait," Stefan's voice hardened, a soldier's command surfacing. "I'll get it."

But Evelyn, propelled by a need to protect their fleeting tranquillity, rose to her feet. She opened the door to a dashing young black man whose presence was a welcomed familiarity.

"Eve!" The man's exuberance swept her up, spinning her in a hug that lifted her off the ground. His lips pressed warmly against her cheek. "It's been a while."

"Indeed, Ambrose," she said, steadying herself as he set her back down, only to find his curious eyes fixed on Stefan standing indifferently behind her.

Evelyn brushed a stray curl behind her ear. "This is Stefan," she introduced, hoping to quell the sudden tension.

"Stefan," Ambrose nodded, but the air had shifted, charged with a silent standoff.

"Please come in." Evelyn guided Ambrose past Stefan's rigid form. The atmosphere in the living room grew taut as Stefan leaned against the mantle, his expression unreadable.

"So, who is Ambrose?" Stefan's voice carried a weight that demanded answers, his eyes locked on Evelyn.

She perched on the furthest edge of the couch from Ambrose, smoothing her skirt more times than necessary. "Earl Baptiste is my uncle," Ambrose stated with an affable nod, extending his hand toward Stefan.

"Earl Baptiste," Stefan echoed, yet remained unmoved, his arms folded across his chest.

"Stefan," Evelyn's whisper held a hint of warning, but Ambrose interjected with a forced chuckle.

"I bet you're wondering why I'm here," he said, turning to Evelyn, his jovial façade slipping slightly.

"News of Earl?" Hope tinged her words, but Ambrose shook his head, his demeanour turning grave.

"It's Raymond," he uttered, and Evelyn felt a pang of dread clutch her insides. She reached out instinctively, seeking reassurance through contact.

"Please, not more bad news," she pleaded, her grip tightening around Ambrose's hand.

"No, no," he soothed, clasping her hand in his. "He wants to meet with you, Eve. He misses you. Your parents are staying with us across town now."

At the sight of their entwined hands, Stefan averted his eyes, his jaw setting in a hard line that betrayed his composure.

Evelyn's hands fell away from Ambrose's grasp as she rose to her feet. "Why didn't he come himself?" Her voice was sharp with accusation. "He sent you instead, a coward," she spat.

Ambrose's affability vanished, his eyes narrowing in disapproval. "What you're doing isn't right, Evelyn," he chastised, his tone thick with reproach. "Shacking up with a soldier, consorting with him out of wedlock—living in sin!"

"Please leave," Evelyn demanded, as she moved toward the door. But Ambrose caught her arm, yanking her back. She struggled against him, her breath catching in her throat.