Chapter XXVII: Wedding invitation

“Mrs. Monique?”

Monique, who had been leaning back against the wall with her eyes closed, slowly turned to face the elderly woman.

“Louise?”

Louise came and settled on the bench beside her. Monique’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Where have you been? Have you been avoiding me?”

Louise smiled bitterly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to face you after…” Her voice trailed off.

Monique sighed and reached over to take Louise’s hand. “I never blamed you for anything. Not for one second.”

“I know.” Louise gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “But I still felt responsible in some way.”

Monique leaned her head against Louise’s shoulder, sighing contentedly. “It’s so good to have you near again. You’re like family to me.”

Monique had already come to consider Louise as close as kin, just like her faithful friend Daniel. “I’m glad you’re here,” she stated simply.

Even if she had been disowned and shunned by her own blood relatives, having Daniel and Louise’s steadfast support filled the void in her heart.

Louise patted Monique’s hand. “I’ll always be here for you, Mrs. Monique. You and Sahara both.”

“Oh, what a very touching scene,” a familiar sardonic voice suddenly cut in, making the two women turn.

Constance stood imperiously not far away, dressed to the nines in a vibrant red two-piece pantsuit with matching accessories – strings of pearls, a gaudy fascinator hat, and sky-high heels. Three liveried maids hovered behind her, their arms laden with shopping bags.

Her presence spelled nothing but trouble. Monique slowly rose to her feet, a hard look settling on her features.

“Constance. What are you doing here?”

“Why, I’ve come to share in my joy with you,” Constance replied with dripping insincerity. “I’m sure you’ve heard the news that my son is finally getting married tomorrow. To the right woman this time around.”

She flashed a pointed look at the stricken Monique.

“I think you’d better leave,” Monique stated through gritted teeth, trying to keep her tone even.

Constance loudly tsked and waved a be-ringed hand in dismissal. “You’re invited, of course. To show there are no hard feelings and we’re not spiteful people.”

With an arrogant nod, her maid stepped forward, one proffering a wedding invitation in Monique’s direction. When she made no move to take it, the maid simply set the gilded envelope down on the bench.

Constance smiled nastily at Monique. “I think it’s best you attend, mmm? It’ll make it easier for you to…” She paused for effect. “Give up, once and for all.”

Monique’s hands clenched into white-knuckled fists at her sides as Constance’s mocking laughter echoed through the hospital corridor. She would not allow this vindictive harridan to break her indomitable spirit – not now, not ever.

Louise could no longer stand Constance’s arrogant and demeaning behavior.

“Constance Beaumont, don’t go too far,” the elderly woman warned, her tone uncharacteristically stern.

Constance whipped her head around, eyes glinting dangerously. “Since when is it time for loyal dogs to interrupt when their masters are speaking?”

Louise recoiled as if she’d been slapped. To think there was a time when this vile woman had been beneath her station in life. She wasn’t even fit to polish Louise’s shoes then.

“Ah, life is full of wonders, isn’t it?” Louise mused internally, refusing to be cowed by the other woman’s venom.

Constance fixated her cold, hateful glare back on Monique. “Don’t be a sore loser. I expect to see you there.” She sneered over her shoulder at Louise. “Both of you.”

With that parting shot, Constance turned on her spiked heels and strode away imperiously, not even bothering to ask after the wellbeing of her own granddaughter lying comatose.

Long after Constance’s shrill laughter had faded down the corridor, Louise looked at Monique with open worry and concern.

“Mrs. Monique, please don’t take that bitter old woman’s words to heart. She’s consumed by vengeance and jealousy.”

But Monique’s eyes had drifted to the gilded wedding invitation resting on the bench. Slowly, as if in a trance, she reached out and plucked it up, staring at the elegant calligraphy for an endless moment.

“Mrs. Monique?” Louise prompted carefully when she didn’t respond. “What are you thinking?”

Monique’s grip tightened ever so slightly on the invitation. “Is this how everyone sees me?” she muttered half to herself. “A pathetic fool, pining uselessly over Clinton’s love?”

“No, of course not!” Louise was aghast. “You’re the farthest thing from—”

“Constance wants to put on a show?” Monique suddenly cut her off, a hardness entering her eyes. “Well, I’ll give her one she won’t soon forget.”

With that ominous pronouncement, Monique clutched the wedding invitation to her chest and turned on her heel, leaving a very worried Louise staring after her.

Whatever game Constance thought she was playing, it seemed she had just awoken a slumbering beast.

Meanwhile, as soon as Constance exited the hospital, her phone began ringing. She glanced at the screen – there was no caller ID, just a string of numbers.

“Speak,” she ordered brusquely after connecting the call, not one for pleasantries.

The voice on the other end was distorted, likely disguised. “Your son has hired an investigator.”

Constance froze mid-stride, her perfectly arched brows knitting together. “An investigator? For what purpose?” she demanded.

There was a pause before the altered voice responded. “To look into your past.”

Ice flooded Constance’s veins as those four simple words washed over her. Her immaculately manicured nails dug into the plush leather of her purse.

“Explain,” she bit out through gritted teeth, willing her voice to remain steady despite the sudden spike of panic.

“That’s all the information I have for now,” the distorted voice stated flatly. “Just a heads up before things potentially get…messy.”

The line went dead. Constance slowly lowered the phone, staring ahead unseeingly as her mind raced. Clinton was digging into her history – HER history. The one thing she’d gone to unimaginable lengths to bury and obscure over the decades.

What could have possibly sparked this? She racked her brain but came up frustratingly blank. Constance had been so careful to cover her tracks, to craft and maintain a perfect veneer of propriety. At least on the surface.

And now her own son was threatening to unravel everything, to potentially expose her darkest secrets to the harsh light of day. She couldn’t – WOULDN’T – allow that to happen. Constance had far too much to lose.

As the reality sank in, icy determination replaced her fleeting panic. If Clinton wanted to play private investigator into her past, then she would simply have to take actions to safeguard it. By any means necessary.

Squaring her shoulders, Constance continued her purposeful strides towards the sleek town car waiting at the curb. Her son had poked a slumbering beast and would soon live to regret it.

No one threatened the house of cards Constance had so carefully constructed. Not even her own flesh and blood.

And God help anyone who got in her way.

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