Chapter 3 He Was Actually Defending Me Against His Mother

Vera's POV

Several days passed in a fog. I avoided Idris when possible, which wasn't difficult since he barely came home.

I was organizing my closet Thursday afternoon, when my phone rang. Edith's name flashed on the screen, and for the first time in days, a genuine smile warmed my face.

"Grandma," I answered, my voice instantly softening.

"Vera, darling," Edith's familiar warmth flowed through the phone. "I'm feeling rather lonely in this big old house today. Would you come for dinner tonight? I miss your lovely face."

The simple invitation brought a lump to my throat. "I'd love to," I replied, already abandoning the half-empty closet. "I've missed you too."

"Wonderful!" Edith's voice brightened. "Come early, dear. We can watch that baking show you got me hooked on."

I arrived at Ashford Manor just before five, driving through the imposing gates.

Morris, the elderly butler who'd served the Ashfords for decades, greeted me with a slight bow and the closest thing to a smile. "Mrs. Ashford is in the east sitting room, madam."

Edith rose from her armchair with outstretched arms and embraced me fully, her delicate frame surprisingly strong.

"There's my girl," she said, patting my cheek. "Let me look at you."

Her keen eyes missed nothing. "You're too thin, and those shadows under your eyes..." She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "Is my grandson not feeding you properly? Or keeping you up all hours?"

If only that were the problem.

"I'm fine, Grandma," I assured her, settling beside her on the plush sofa. "Just busy with work."

She didn't believe me, her knowing gaze said as much, but she didn't press. Instead, she took my hand in hers, her paper-thin skin cool against mine. "Tell me everything I've missed. How is that screenplay coming along?"

For the next two hours, we chatted about everything and nothing. Edith showed me photos of her recent garden club competition (she'd won first place for her roses), and I told her about the art exhibition I'd visited last weekend. We watched an episode of The Great British Bake Off, both of us critiquing the pastries as if we were qualified judges rather than enthusiastic amateurs.

In these moments, I could almost forget the rest of my life—the hollow marriage, the constant feeling of inadequacy, the knowledge that I was merely tolerated by the rest of the Ashford clan. With Edith, I was simply Vera, beloved and valued.

The peaceful bubble burst when Morris appeared in the doorway. "Mr. Idris Ashford has arrived for dinner, madam."

Edith squeezed my hand. "I invited him as well. Thought it might do you both good to have a nice family dinner."

Before I could respond, Idris strode into the room, immaculate in a charcoal suit. His eyes barely flickered over me before settling on his grandmother.

"Gran," he greeted Edith with a kiss on her cheek. Then, as an afterthought, he nodded in my direction. "Vera."

"Dinner is served, madam," Morris announced, saving me from having to respond.

The Ashfords' formal dining room was intimidatingly grand, with its hand-painted silk wallpaper, crystal chandelier. Patricia was already seated.

"Vera," she acknowledged me with the barest nod. "How... unexpected to see you tonight."

"I invited her, Patricia," Edith said firmly, taking her seat at the head of the table.

Patricia's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Of course. How remiss of us."

Dinner was served with the precision of a military operation—silver domes lifted in unison to reveal perfectly plated roast duck, seasonal vegetables, and rosemary potatoes. I stared at my food, suddenly not hungry.

"Idris has been working tirelessly on the new resort development," Patricia announced, cutting her duck with surgical precision. "The board is extremely impressed with his leadership. Ashford Corporation stock has risen fifteen percent this quarter alone."

"That's wonderful," I murmured, pushing a potato around my plate.

Patricia's eyes narrowed slightly. "Yes, well, some of us understand the importance of supporting our spouse's career. Idris is so busy with these major projects, he needs proper support at home. A real partner who understands the demands of his position."

Each word was a carefully aimed dart, designed to penetrate my already wounded self-esteem. I kept my eyes down, fingers trembling slightly beneath the table. My nails dug into my palm, the sharp pain helping me maintain composure.

I glanced at Idris, hoping for even the smallest defense, but he continued eating as if his mother hadn't just insulted me at his family dinner table. The silence from him hurt more than Patricia's words ever could.

After dinner, we moved to the drawing room for coffee. I sank into one of the antique armchairs, exhausted from maintaining my façade of calm throughout Patricia's subtle but persistent barbs.

Edith settled into her favorite chair, her eyes twinkling with what I recognized as mischief. "So, when are you two going to give me a great-grandbaby to spoil? I'm not getting any younger, you know."

My face flushed hot, fingers unconsciously twisting together in my lap. How could I possibly explain that Idris and I barely spoke, let alone shared the kind of intimacy required for creating a child? That every time I tried to broach the subject of our future family, he shut down completely or changed the subject?

"I—well, we—" I stammered, the words catching in my throat.

Patricia didn't miss her opportunity. She sipped her champagne with practiced elegance. "Some women simply aren't cut out for motherhood," she remarked, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "Or perhaps they lack... certain capabilities."

The implication was clear, and it sliced through me like a blade. My throat tightened painfully as I fought back tears that threatened to spill.

"Mom, enough."

My head snapped up at Idris's unexpected intervention. He'd placed his whiskey glass down with such force that amber liquid sloshed over the rim.

Everyone in the room froze. Patricia's smile faltered, her hand pausing mid-air.

"That's between Vera and me," Idris continued, his voice unnervingly steady. "It's not something we need to discuss here."

I stared at him in disbelief. For the first time in years, he was actually defending me against his mother.

"It's getting late," he added, standing abruptly. "We should head home."