Chapter 19: Want To?
1214words
I was somewhat moved. In all my life, no one had ever packed for me, not even Sophia.
Sophia had taught me to be independent, insisting on the principle that "you handle your own affairs," which had shaped my strong, self-reliant character.
"No need for thanks between husband and wife."
Ethan pushed the suitcase aside, but inadvertently noticed my reddened eyes.
"What's wrong?" he walked to my side.
Realizing I'd lost my composure, I quickly turned away, hurriedly collecting my thoughts, trying to appear more dignified.
There hadn't been much to feel emotional about, but his question made my thoughts sink deeper.
"It's nothing."
With a slight choke in my voice, I tried to leave, but Ethan caught my wrist and pulled me toward him. I kept my head down, not daring to look at him, unable to break free from his grip.
His touch was gentle yet firm.
I felt somewhat nervous, thinking we were too close, and tried to twist my wrist to create some distance.
Ethan wouldn't have it. He directly wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me into his embrace.
"Mm!"
Startled, I placed my hands against his chest and buried my head.
Ethan extended his other hand, lifting my delicate chin, forcing me to look up at him.
"Why are you crying?"
His eyes were full of tenderness. My current appearance reminded him exactly of that night when I had begged pitifully in his bed.
His breathing became heavy, the arm around my waist gradually tightening, his hot breath rushing down onto my face.
"I'm not crying..."
My ears turned red, not knowing what to say.
"Hmm?" Ethan waited for my answer.
But I couldn't speak. I was afraid Ethan would laugh at me, afraid he would think I was childish, afraid he would think such a small gesture was enough to move me, and that his novelty would soon wear off...
I held back, tears welling in my eyes, pretending to be calm.
Ethan caressed the corner of my eye, pulled me deep into his embrace, gently stroked my hair, quietly kissed my locks, and held me silently.
I reached out and hugged him tightly.
"Is it that you don't like others touching your things?" Ethan asked quietly.
"No, no..." I nestled into Ethan's embrace. "This is nice."
He sighed in relief, having thought he'd done something wrong to make me cry so sadly.
"Alright, go wash your face. I have something for you."
"Okay."
I quickly let go and turned toward the bathroom.
Ethan watched me from behind, then looked at his clothes dampened by tears. A strange heartbeat disturbed him.
He realized his heart was beating hard, his ears were red, his body hot, as if burned by fire. He couldn't help but smile slightly.
When I returned, Ethan was already sitting at the dressing table waiting.
"Ethan," I said.
I walked forward, my face now restored to its previous composure.
Ethan stood up, gesturing for me to sit down.
I obediently did as told, sitting in the chair.
He opened a nearby jewelry box.
"This is a ring. Worried you might not want to wear it on your hand, I had it made into a necklace ring. You can take it off and wear it properly once we go public."
As he spoke, he took out the necklace ring and carefully put it around my neck.
I wanted to say something but noticed in the mirror that he wore a matching ring on his ring finger. His ears were red, and his hands trembled slightly as he fastened the necklace, showing some nervousness.
His hands were very warm; even accidental touches sent fiery electricity through me. The blush spread from my earlobes to my neck.
"Why are you so insistent on making me Mrs. Westwood?"
I had nothing—no money, no family background, just a small designer. I couldn't match up to him.
"I don't dislike you. As for feelings, we can develop them slowly."
Ethan secured the necklace and placed both hands on the chair, looking at my reflection in the mirror. It was perfect.
I had a face that people liked at first sight, beautiful blonde hair, bright eyes, and a perfect figure—it was hard not to like me.
"I did something wrong and need to take responsibility. So if you don't like me, I won't force you."
I knew what he meant by "force," and my face immediately flushed.
"Aren't you afraid I might be after your money or status?"
I was curious. In this world, were there still people who chased after responsibility?
"You were recruited by me, you're close with Linda, and I know you very well."
"Hmm?"
Very well? Could it be that he had liked me before?
I was somewhat confused, but before I could react, I was startled by Ethan's next words.
"So, may I kiss you?"
I turned my head in shock to look up at him.
His eyes were deep, filled with desire, staring directly at my lips with a very clear target.
This was too direct! Just asking outright: "May I kiss you?"
He might as well have just kissed me directly. This way, the nervous anticipation wouldn't last so long.
Should I agree? Or would that make me seem too easy?
Should I refuse? But that might seem ungrateful.
After all, we were already married, and we'd already been intimate. I couldn't just let him look without touching, could I?
"I'm a bit nervous..." I said.
I slowly averted my gaze, not daring to look in the mirror either.
I hadn't refused, but I hadn't agreed either.
Although we'd done everything else, we hadn't properly kissed before.
"It's okay. We haven't spent enough time together yet. We can wait until you're more comfortable."
He patted my head and walked out of the closet.
His tone was so calm it was frightening, as casual as asking, "Have you eaten?"
Ah! Do men like this really exist in the world?
Wasn't a man approaching thirty supposed to be at his most vigorous? Yet he could control himself and even ask permission. If it were me, I would have just kissed him without asking!
My heart was in turmoil.
By the time I came out, Ethan was already busy handling documents in the study.
I looked at the tulips on the desk. Hmm, I kind of wanted to take them back...
Ethan turned his head to look at me, thinking I was looking at him.
We both quickly averted our gazes.
I didn't dare linger, grabbed my manuscripts from the study, and hurriedly walked out.
Ethan's lips curled into a smile.
But just then, I returned, about to ask something, only to find him smiling.
This ice block had been smiling quite frequently these past two days. Something was up.
"What is it?" he asked.
He changed his expression, like a child caught sneaking candy.
"Can I look around upstairs?" I asked, pointing upward.
Ethan hesitated for a moment. "This is your home now."
"Oh..." I nodded awkwardly, then turned and left.
Ethan no longer had the mood to look at documents, staring blankly at the first page.
He held his forehead, sighed, closed his computer, and walked out of the study.
