Weston’s gaze first lingered on Guinevere, then quickly shifted away. As his eyes landed on the elders seated on the sofa, his mouth tightened into a thin line. The atmosphere in the room was thick with unspoken tension, and Weston remained silent, his expression unreadable.
Guinevere, sensing the discomfort in the air, quickly moved toward him and wrapped her arm around his. Her voice was soft but insistent. “My parents want to meet you. Do you mind?”
Weston didn’t answer immediately. He had properties in nearly every city, some of which were private apartments he never allowed Guinevere to visit. She had asked him to bring her to these places before, but he had always refused her request. She remembered those rejections clearly, and now, with the growing unease from their recent separation and the shifting dynamic between them, a sense of urgency tugged at her. The Weston she had once known was no longer the same distant man. She feared the widening gap between them—Stella’s presence or absence, it seemed, no longer even mattered.
Suppressing her pride, Guinevere had become more proactive, more willing to draw closer to him. But she was still afraid. Afraid that by coming here uninvited, she might push him further away, angering him. Hoping to smooth over the situation, she invited her parents, believing they might be able to mend things between them and repair their strained relationship.
“Oh, Weston. It’s been a while,” Mr. Cohen’s voice broke the silence. He sat upright on the sofa, looking at Weston with a serious, almost stern expression. “Guinevere promised to bring the baby to see us after giving birth, but you haven’t found time to visit. Busy with work, I suppose? It’s been far too long.”
Guinevere’s mother chimed in gently, though there was a slight edge to her tone. “I hear the project in the western suburbs has already started. You must be very busy. That’s probably why you couldn’t visit us earlier. But now that Mr. Cohen has some free time, we decided to come over for a visit. We hope we’re not disturbing you.”
Their questions hung in the air, unspoken but clear—there was a quiet pressure on Weston, forcing him to acknowledge the elephant in the room.
Weston glanced at Guinevere, his gaze flat and distant, his expression polite but guarded. “Not at all. It’s just that you arrived without prior notice. I hope you don’t mind if I’m not entirely prepared to entertain.” His words were courteous, but there was no warmth behind them.
The elder couple nodded, but Mr. Cohen didn’t let it go. “We’re here to check on Guinevere. Now that you two have a child, when are you planning to get married?”
The question landed with a heavy weight, one that Weston knew he could not evade. His hesitation was palpable as he exchanged a look with Guinevere. She watched him intently, her hope gleaming in her eyes, but Weston’s gaze was fixed elsewhere, avoiding her.
Finally, after a long pause, he answered. “Mr. and Mrs. Cohen, I’ll leave the decision to you and my parents. I don’t have any particular opinion on the matter.”
Guinevere’s face lit up with delight, her eyes shining with an almost desperate joy. But Weston didn’t return her gaze. Instead, he took a slow sip of his tea, his face unreadable.
Mr. Cohen exhaled in relief, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I’m glad to hear that.”
Just a moment ago, Mrs. Cohen had been voicing her disapproval of Guinevere’s situation—pregnant out of wedlock, she had said, was a disgrace. But now, with the child already on the way, the complaints had turned into quiet acceptance. They needed Weston’s agreement, and now that they had it, there was little left to say.
Mr. Cohen spoke up again, his tone more measured now. “In that case, we’ll arrange a meeting with your parents sometime.”
Weston’s response was cold, indifferent. “They’re very busy these days. I’m not sure when they’ll have time.”
Guinevere’s smile faltered slightly, her joy dimming at his words. But she quickly recovered, pushing the disappointment aside. “It’s alright. We’re not in a hurry. We can take our time.”
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