Chapter 3 Don't Make Things Difficult for Me

"I'm not going," I said.

As if he had not heard me, Tristan continued, "Gabby will be there too. Talk things through. Don't let the elders worry."

I tightened my grip on the doorknob. "Tristan, I said I'm not going."

He looked at me for a long moment, then said, "Tori, don't make this difficult for me."

My palm went numb.

That line hurt more than any accusation ever could.

Suddenly, I thought of the year his business failed, which was also the year I sold the old house my grandmother had left me.

The day I signed the papers, the city had been wrapped in heavy fog. It was thick like soaked cotton, pressing down until it was hard to breathe.

And no, it was not just a simple fear of fog.

When I was little, I got lost on a foggy day and was later found by the river on the outskirts of the city. Ever since then, whenever fog rolled in, my chest would tighten, and my hands and feet would turn cold.

Tristan knew that. He had once held me close, over and over again, whispering, "Don't be afraid. I'm here." But that day, after I left the agency, I called him more than a dozen times. Every call went unanswered.

I stood in the fog, clutching the contract for the house, waiting until it was nearly dark. Later, I found out Gabriella had fought with her ex-husband that day and called Tristan in tears. So he left me there and drove to her.

In the thick fog, I nearly got hit by a car. I fell, scraped my knees badly, broke my phone, and ended up with mud all over my hands. When he finally came back that night, he carried the scent of Gabriella's perfume.

When I asked why he had not answered, he said, "Gabby's situation was more urgent. Don't make this difficult for me."

After that day, I feared fog even more. I feared standing in place, waiting for him, only to watch him walk toward someone else again and again.

…

The next day, I still went to the Shepherd Residence. Only because Tristan's mother, Lorraine Harris, had called me, saying her blood pressure was high and she wanted to see me.

By the time I arrived, Gabriella was already seated in the living room. She wore a pale blue sweater, with the cashmere blanket Lorraine often used draped over her knees.

When Lorraine saw me, her smile faded slightly. "You're here."

"Mrs. Shepherd," I greeted.

Gabriella stood up. "Victoria, don't blame Mrs. Shepherd. I was the one who wanted to see you. I've felt terrible about what happened yesterday."

As she spoke, her eyes reddened again.

Lorraine took her hand with concern. "You child. Don't stand if you're not feeling well."

I stood by the door, holding the blood pressure monitor I had bought for Lorraine.

No one took it.

Tristan came out of the kitchen. When he saw me, he took it from my hands. "Why didn't you dress warmer?"

It was the first thing he had said to me that day that sounded like concern.

Lorraine cleared her throat. "Victoria, I heard about what happened at the bridal shop yesterday."

I looked at her.

Her tone carried weight. "It was just a wedding dress. Gabby only wanted to borrow it. Why did you have to embarrass her in front of others?"

"It's my wedding dress," I said.

Lorraine sighed. "You've become so petty."

Gabriella spoke softly. "Mrs. Shepherd, please don't blame Victoria. It was my fault."

"What fault do you have?" Lorraine patted her hand. "You've suffered enough. There's nothing wrong with wanting to take a couple of photos."

I stood there, suddenly feeling that buying the blood pressure monitor had been unnecessary.

Tristan set it down on the coffee table. "Mom, that's enough."

Lorraine turned to him. "Am I wrong? Your wedding has been delayed again and again. It was never suitable to begin with. If Victoria truly understood you, she should know our family can't afford any trouble right now."

"Am I the trouble?" I asked.

The living room fell silent.

"Victoria," Tristan said under his breath, a warning.

Lorraine's expression darkened completely. "What kind of attitude is that?"

Gabriella held Lorraine's hand. "Mrs. Shepherd, don't get upset. Victoria just desperately wants to marry Tristan."

The words landed lightly, yet they made my entire body tense.

I was "desperate" to marry him. So, selling my house, staying up late, compromising, enduring everything I had endured—all of it became cheap.

Tristan finally frowned. "Gabby, don't say that."

Gabriella lowered her gaze immediately. "Sorry."

She apologized quickly. Every time, it was like handing someone a blade, then carefully wiping the handle clean afterward.

Lorraine suddenly took out a folder. "Oh, right. Gabby is planning a personal photography exhibition. The theme is fog lamps. Tristan said you've done similar planning before. Organize the materials for her."