Where My Love Never Reached Chapter 02
At seven that evening, a private dining room at the InterContinental Hotel was packed with translators from the Geneva office and their family members.
Amelie Everett sat on my left, peeling shrimp. Jeremiah sat on my right.
Vanessa Harvey sat across from him. She wore a crisp white blouse, her long hair loosely pinned up, with flawless makeup that looked effortless.
“Jem, let me make a toast.”
Vanessa lifted her wine glass and offered a toast in fluent French. Her pronunciation was excellent.
Jeremiah raised his glass and clinked it lightly against hers.
“Your pronunciation has improved, but you still need to soften the nasal sounds a little.”
“Got it.” She stuck out her tongue playfully and smiled. “You’re such a strict teacher.”
The atmosphere around the table was lively. People chatted about life in Europe and exchanged industry gossip. I quietly focused on my meal.
“Gigi.” Vanessa suddenly turned to me. “I heard you studied French too?”
“I minored in it in college,” I replied.
“That’s great.” She pulled an elegant dark green notebook from her bag and slid it across the table toward Jeremiah. “Jem, the hardcover edition you helped me with arrived from the printer. They sent a sample copy.”
My eyes were fixed on the notebook. The gold-stamped Italian title. It was the same as the pages I’d found in the waterproof pouch.
“Take a look at the materials. If you don’t like them, I’ll ask for a reprint.”
Jeremiah picked it up and flipped through a few pages.
“The paper feels a little thin. Wood-free paper would work better.”
“I knew it.” Vanessa smiled brightly and turned to me. “Gigi, you have no idea how detail-oriented Jem is.”
Her smile widened. “My diary was just something I wrote for fun, but he insisted on polishing every line. He even adjusted the spacing around the punctuation.”
The room fell silent for a brief moment. Several spouses exchanged meaningful glances.
“Mr. Rowland sure has plenty of free time.” Amelie let out a cold laugh. “Gigi can’t even get a video call without scheduling it three days in advance.”
Jeremiah’s expression darkened.
“Amelie, this was work.”
“Work?” Amelie wiped her hands with a napkin. “So the chief translator of the Geneva office spends his time fixing punctuation in a junior colleague’s diary? That’s certainly an impressive use of professional expertise.”
“That was part of a language immersion correction system.” Jeremiah’s voice turned cold. “Vee’s foundation was weak. This method was the most effective. Don’t project your twisted assumptions onto a professional training process.”
“Twisted assumptions?”
Amelie slapped the table and started to rise. I caught her wrist.
“Amy, eat.”
Jeremiah glanced at me, irritation flashing across his face.
“Keep your friend in line.”
I said nothing and took a sip of tea. Vanessa looked at us with practiced innocence.
“Amy, maybe you’ve misunderstood.” She bit her lower lip. “Jem is just a responsible mentor. If this notebook makes Gigi uncomfortable, I’ll throw it away.”
She reached for the notebook. Jeremiah immediately placed his hand over hers.
“Leave it.” His voice softened noticeably as he looked at her. “This isn’t your fault. You don’t need to accommodate someone else’s unreasonable behavior.”
My heart felt as though it had been submerged in ice water. So numb that even the pain had disappeared.
Unreasonable. That was how he saw me.
A server brought over a platter of peel-and-eat shrimp. Jeremiah casually picked up two, slipped on a disposable glove, and began peeling them with practiced movements.
When we first started dating, he used to peel shrimp for me too. Back then, he had said, “Georgina, as long as I’m around, you’ll never have to peel shrimp yourself.”
When he finished, he removed the glove and picked up the shrimp with a clean fork. Then he reached right past me. And placed them onto Vanessa’s plate.
“Your tendonitis flared up from typing the other day. Don’t strain your wrist.”
He said it so naturally. As if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.
Vanessa blushed. “Thank you, Jem.”
Amelie sucked in a sharp breath and stared at me in disbelief. I looked at the empty plate in front of me. Suddenly, I felt sick.
“I’m going to the restroom.” I pushed back my chair and stood.
At the restroom at the end of the hallway, I splashed cold water on my face. The woman staring back from the mirror looked pale as a ghost.
Vanessa walked in a moment later. She moved to the sink beside me and turned on the faucet.
“Gigi, don’t blame Jem.” She washed her hands while watching me through the mirror. “He’s always been like this. He gets so focused on work that he neglects the people around him.”
“The people around him,” I repeated the phrase slowly. “You think you’re one of those people?”
“We’ve worked side by side in Geneva for two years.” She pulled out a paper towel and carefully dried her fingers. “He’s gotten used to having me around and matching his pace. You haven’t been by his side for five years. It’s only natural that he’s not used to having you around.”
Then she turned to face me directly.
“Gigi, if I were you, I wouldn’t make a scene right now. He really dislikes women who act immature.”
I looked at the challenge written all over her face.
“Your diary is pretty good.” My voice remained calm. “When the hardcover arrives in Milan next week, make sure you print a few extra copies.”
She blinked, caught off guard.
“After all, it’s the only proof you have of those two years spent together.” I tossed the paper towel into the trash. “You should keep it somewhere safe.”