That night, Gregory finally got to eat white wine mussels made by Anathea. He’d been craving exactly this. Because of that, he told Bella to get off work early.
Bella’s eyes were filled with gratitude toward Anathea. Sure enough, now that Anathea was back, everything really was different. Anathea responded with a faint, polite smile.
But once Bella left, she turned to Gregory, and her smile gradually faded. “I’m done eating. I’ll go wash up.”
Gregory narrowed his eyes slightly.
As soon as she stood up, Gregory stood up as well, pulling her in beside the dining table.
“Gregory…” Anathea’s eyes flickered with surprise. Their bodies were now extremely close to one another. The proximity made her uncomfortable. They were so close that she could still feel his heat even through a layer of fabric.
There was a guarded look in her eyes.
Gregory took out a handkerchief and raised his hand, wiping the soup stain from the corner of her lips.
Then, he leaned close to her face and said in an unreadable tone, “I didn’t expect you to be two–faced, Mrs. Sinclair. You’re gentle and considerate in front of others but cold and heartless behind their backs.”
Anathea turned her face to the side, replying in a businesslike tone “Bella and Jenny have work hours, as do I.”
Gregory’s face darkened.
So, Anathea saw being his wife as just a job. All her gentleness and care were for her clients, not him.
He’d already suspected it from the beginning. He thought he wouldn’t care, but Anathea’s indifference made him feel a strange wave of irritation.
“Very well.” Gregory gave a cold laugh and let her go. “Since you want to be just like Jenny and the others, then go wash all my clothes. You’re still on the clock!”
He threw the handkerchief on the table. “Wash that too!”
With that, he took a long stride and went upstairs to the study without looking back. The sound of his footsteps on the stairs was loud–it was obvious he was angry.
“Mrs. Sinclair…” said Jenny in a small voice. “Why did you have to say that to him? If he’s upset, you won’t have it any easier.”
Anathea didn’t respond. Her expression remained calm.
Even if Gregory weren’t upset, it wouldn’t make things much better for her.
She picked up the handkerchief from the table. Time had clearly left its marks on it–it was old.
From what she remembered, Gregory wasn’t someone who cared about old things. There was no way he would use the same handkerchief for so long without replacing it.
This handkerchief must mean something special to him.
Anathea unfolded it, and sure enough, there were three letters embroidered on it-“Nat.”
Se, that was what it was.
A look of understanding flashed through Anathea’s eyes.
The handkerchief belonged to Natalie. That was why Gregory cherished it so much.
Anathea let out a soft breath, then took the handkerchief and put it together with Gregory’s shirts to wash. By the time she
Chapter 212
finished everything, it was already 9:30 pm.
Going upstairs, Anathea tucked Xander in while he slept before heading to the master bedroom.
The room was spotless, but every piece of furniture and decoration was exactly the same as when she’d left.
Anathea stood at the doorway, letting her gaze sweep across every corner of the room.
+25 BONUS
This was the place she’d once desperately wanted to escape from, and now, barely more than a month later, she was back.
This time, she didn’t know when she’d be able to leave again.
As long as Gregory refused to let go, she could forget about ever walking away.
Anathea’s emotions were tangled, but she quickly pushed them aside. She realized that as long as she treated being Gregory’s wife as a job–with no personal feelings involved–she could get through just fine.
At least it wouldn’t hurt.
She took her pajamas and went to the bathroom to shower. When she came out, Anathea’s steps faltered.
Gregory was leaning against the headboard, holding a book. The title read “The Rules of Power.”
The moment she stepped out, he set the book down and stared straight at her intently. Anathea pressed her lips together. After spending years with him, she knew what that look meant.
He wanted her.
