The Widower (18+) | [Complete]

Four

Breakfast the next morning was more awkward than usual. Regardless of last night's events, things always felt cold when he was there. Even the kids always seemed different when their father was around. Mildred and I usually had dinner with the children every night and breakfast on weekends when they weren't running off in a myriad of directions, but with the widower around, everything seemed off-kilter. 

A staff member fiddled with the table decorations—silver candle holders, crystal glass, and fine china place settings. Two more of the staff came in and set down the plates of our selected breakfasts. Excluding the presence of Matthew's hoodie and cell phone, their lives looked like an episode of Downton Abbey. The children never seemed fazed by the opulence that surrounded them. But of course this all seemed normal to them. It was their normal. I was the one out of place.

Matthew texted his friends while eating, though that wasn't unusual. Tabitha giggled as she made a smile out of an orange slice at Sebastian. They both laughed until their father looked up at them from behind his phone. They quieted and began eating again.

Augustine lounged in his chair at the end of the table, bouncing his attention between an international paper and his phone each time it pinged, subsequently ignoring his family. He was gone the majority of the time, and now that he was here, he still paid them no mind. Mildred seemed unbothered by it, but I could barely understand how a family could share a meal together and never say a word.

"Tabby, did you show your father what you learned in dance class this week?"

She shook her head no with an excited smile, then got up from her chair and ran over to his side. He peered down at her as she raised her arms and spun into a single, wobbling pirouette.

He sat down his paper to give her a light round of applause, but picked it back up and returned to reading soon after. Tabitha went back to her seat, her smile still beaming. The twins loved any ounce of attention he gave them. Why wouldn't they?

"Bastian, you should perform your new song after breakfast," I suggested. He smiled at me.

"I'm afraid that will have to wait until tomorrow," Augustine said from behind his paper. "Daddy has a conference call with Beijing."

I watched Matthew roll his eyes. I looked over at Sebastian and smiled. "Tomorrow then."

The silence that stretched after that was uncomfortable and awkward. I sipped on my orange juice as I tried to formulate small talk that wouldn't piss him off.

"Where did you just return from, Mr. Montgomery?"

He glanced at his expensive-looking watch, then went back to his paper. "Roma," he said in an Italian accent.

"Does that mean Rome, Daddy?" Tabitha asked with a giggle.

"Yes, my love," Augustine answered.

It was usually so easy for me to read people—the subtle nuances of body language and behaviors—but there was something about him I couldn't figure out. It fascinated me.

I watched as he picked up his piece of toast, balancing the triangle between his long fingers. He sat it onto his tongue before sinking his teeth slowly through the corner. As he chewed, his hazel eyes suddenly looked into mine.

"L'italia è un paese meraviglioso, no?"  I remarked to cover my staring. Italy is a marvelous country, isn't it? That, at least, got him to stop looking at me long enough to allow himself a roll of his eyes.

I glanced over and found Matthew making an obscene gesture suggesting I wanted to perform oral for his father. I glared at him until he stopped.

. . .