Chapter 42
“Why are your hands are so cold?”
Not only did he not blame me for how I treated him last night, but he was also concerned about whether my hands were cold.
This was unprecedented.
His sudden kindness caught me off guard, and I attempted to withdraw my hand.
However, he grasped it firmly, refusing to release it, and gently rubbed it between his palms a few times.
A comforting warmth spread from my palm to my heart.
As I looked at him, I couldn’t figure out his thoughts.
Given what happened last night, shouldn’t he have been angry?
Why was he now showing me tenderness?
Men were truly incomprehensible creatures.
“How about we eat something? It’s getting late. What would you like to eat? I’ll cook it for you,” I suggested
I really wanted to escape this awkward situation, but I felt a hint of hunger, as well.
“Sure. Why not make some spaghetti? We can head to the gala after eating.” Gordon said calmly.
“Alright,” I agreed promptly and headed to the kitchen.
I fetched spaghetti from the cupboard and frozen beef from the refrigerator.
My y culinary skills were limited, but because I’ve loved beef spaghetti since I was a child, my mom forced me to learn how to make beef spaghetti when I grew up.
She believed that knowing a few signature dishes wasn’t about pleasing a future partner or in–laws but
about self–sufficiency.
I always took my mom’s words for granted. But now, after experiencing losses and being deceived, I
realize that the words of the older generation often hold wisdom.
I started preparing the spaghetti, and I could hear Gordon making phone calls from the living room.
The day marked our mid–year gals, and although his stature negated any need for personal involvement in the preparations, some details still required his input before being decided.
Soon, a delicious aroma filled the kitchen. His voice echoed from the living room from time to time, giving a sense of a household’s warmth that was rare in our two years of marriage.
Bailey appeared in the kitchen to assist.
Noticing the unusual harmony between Gordon and me, he commented lightheartedly, “Madam, you and
Chapter 42
Mr. Holmes seem more like a married couple than ever. I’ve always said that it’s all about adjusting.”
I wondered if we truly resemble a couple now.
A brief smile of satisfaction flickered across my face but was quickly dampened by the thought of Sabrina’s Impending arrival.
Had I not experienced my previous life, any small gesture of kindness from Gordon might have ensnared me, as in the days of old.
But I had learned from my past and would no longer fall into him.
“Bailey, this harmony is merely temporary. His heart doesn’t truly yearn for me,” I said, shaking my head, my smile carrying a hint of resignation,
“Madam, compatibility trumps mere affection in marriage. You and Mr. Holmes complement each other wonderfully. Trust me. I’ve observed enough to be certain,” Bailey reassured me.
I then stir–fried the beef, following my mother’s recipe, and quickly tenderized it in a pressure cooker.
After preparing a selection of green onions, ginger slices, and fresh lettuce, I was ready to proceed.
The water boiled, and I added the spaghetti.
Within half an hour, three bowls of beef spaghetti were ready–one made especially for Bailey.
He was the only
person who remained genuinely kind to me throughout my past life.
Yet, I had only ever seen him as a butler, never genuinely appreciating his care.
This time, I will do my best to make amends to all those who were sincere to me.
Bailey was surprised and repeatedly thanked me, praising the deliciousness of the beef spaghetti before cheerfully heading to the small dining room to eat.
I called Gordon over and brought two bowls of spaghetti to the dining table.
As he seated himself, the sight of the fragrant and visually enticing bowls prompted him to ask in astonishment, “Did you prepare these?”
Chapter 43
“Could it have been made by someone else?” I asked with a light smile.
My confidence might have wavered when it came to other dishes, but beef spaghetti was my strong suit.
What appeared to be a simple bowl of spaghetti noodles required careful attention to the noodle’s texture and hue, the beef’s tenderness, and the selection of sides.
Missing any step could detract from perfection.
Gordon was evidently hungry as he sat down and immediately began to eat heartily.
Watching him devour the spaghetti with such enthusiasm, there was no need to ask if he enjoyed it-the
answer was clear.
Hunger struck me, too, and I started on my own modest bowl.
We ate quietly without engaging in conversation.
Soon, he finished his serving, pausing to clean off the sauce before asking, “Is there any more?”
“There’s more beef remaining. I’ll boil an extra portion of spaghetti for you.”
“Alright, add a few more beef slices. It’s delicious,” Gordon remarked, his voice deep.
Perhaps good food genuinely brightened the mood because Gordon’s expression visibly softened, a faint smile playing on his lips.
“I cooked plenty of beef, planning to freeze it so we could have it ready whenever we want,” I said with at smile before heading back to the kitchen.
I prepared another portion of spaghetti for him’in no time.
His appetite seemed insatiable as he quickly polished off the second bowl.
After the meal, he contentedly wiped his mouth with a napkin.
He then looked at me with a rare expression of gratitude.
“How did I not know that you could cook spaghetti?”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” I replied, blinking and smiling.
After all, no one disliked being praised.
“That’s great. You should cook more often when we’re both home in the future,” he said, smiling again.
The future? Was he considering a long–term future with me?
I paused, slightly taken aback by his words.
I then said calmly, “Let’s talk about it in the future.”
Clupter
Gordon didn’t catch the hidden meaning in my words, merely checking his watch before saying, “It’s getting late. Let’s head to the gals early to check on the arrangements. Wait for me. I’ll go change.”
With that, Gordon stood and headed upstairs.
Known for his meticulous cleanliness, he always preferred to shower and change clothes after a meal before hending out.
It wasn’t long before he descended in a fresh, custom–tailored suit, looking dashing.
My gown was overly expensive, so it wasn’t sent home but directly to the hotel’s VIP dressing room, where I planned to change into it just before the gala started.
I remained in my casual clothes, anticipating a change into the gown later.
Fortunately, perhaps buoyed by the satisfactory meal, Gordon did not comment on my current dress.
Chamer da
