Chapter 46
Marguerite clicked through the photos, studying each one carefully. None of them were Theobald. He had only been six when she died, but she would still recognize the basic shape of his face. He’d been a chubby, adorable little boy back then.
She typed a reply: [Thanks! It’s getting late, you should get some rest p>
Cedric responded almost instantly: [I’m still working on a practice test p>
A photo of a math worksheet followed. Marguerite scanned the problems, her brow furrowing. [Just go to sleep. You haven’t gotten a single one right p>
It was a waste of time.
Cedric: [No way. Let me check the answers p>
He couldn’t believe it. He’d spent an hour on that worksheet, only to be told it was all wrong. And she had replied just a few minutes after he sent the picture. Had she even looked at it properly?
This was a new workbook he’d just bought. He flipped to the back and checked the answer key.
A minute later, his world came crashing down. She was right. Not a single problem was correct.
[Wow, you’re some kind of genius! I’m not worthy! By the way, which school do you go to again p>
Marguerite laughed. [Mind your own business p>
Cedric: p>
“Who are you chatting with?” George asked, his handsome brow creasing slightly as he watched the smile play on her lips.
“Just a kid from Pinecrest High. You wouldn’t know him,” Marguerite said, putting her phone down to finish her spaghetti.
Under the table, George’s hand clenched into a fist, his fingernails digging into the partially healed wound in his palm. His long, thick lashes hid the darkness in his eyes.
So she does still like Joshua. She’s getting close to Joseph to get to him.
What should I do?
Killing Joshua would devastate Stella.
But thankfully, Joshua hasn’t seen her yet.
If only they could never meet p>
He lifted his lashes, his deep, dark gaze falling on her through his glasses. She was hunched over her bowl, her slender, pale neck exposed.
He felt a sudden, intense urge to lock her away, to keep her hidden so she would never, ever meet Joshua. Googlᴇ search.net
A strange chill ran down Marguerite’s neck. She looked up to see the handsome man pushing his glasses up his nose, the mole on his perfect nose looking alluringly sensual. He offered a gentle smile. “More p>
The dining table wasn’t large, and they were sitting close. Marguerite found herself momentarily mesmerized by his stunning features, just as she was now. She quickly dismissed the strange feeling. “No, thanks, this was perfect. Seriously, thank you p>
After a shower, Marguerite lay sprawled on her bed, her long, fair legs in the air as she did some leg lifts. It was her penance for the late-night snack, a ritual more for psychological comfort than anything else.
Staring at the ceiling, she realized she had discovered another one of George’s good qualities.
He was an amazing cook.
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The next day came quickly. When Marguerite went downstairs in the morning, she found George in the kitchen again. It seemed the chef was off for the day once more. She happily devoured a large bowl of pork and ginger raviolis.
After she finished, her eyes were shining. “I’ve never had raviolis with this kind of
filling before. Where did you buy them p>
Today, George was dressed in a white suit, his gold-rimmed glasses giving him a clean, scholarly look.
“The butler makes his own filling,” he said gently.
Marguerite gave the butler a thumbs-up. “You’re incredible p>
The butler’s mouth twitched. “You’re too kind p>
Too kind is right, he thought, because I had nothing to do with it. It was George who had instructed him to buy the ingredients yesterday and had woken up early to prepare the filling himself.
A billionaire tycoon waking up at dawn to make raviolis was just as shocking as him simmering soup the other day. It was completely unheard of. The butler couldn’t understand why his employer didn’t just take the credit.
He had asked him that very question this morning.
George, his well-defined fingers expertly folding a ravioli wrapper, had replied calmly, “She doesn’t like me p>
Those words nearly brought the
butler to tears, a sharp pang of sympathy piercing his heart. So that was it. If someone doesn’t like you, all your grand gestures are just self-indulgence, creating nothing but pressure for them. So, to avoid burdering the young lady, his employer said nothing, choosing instead to care for her in secret.
Oh, my heart! the butler lamented silently. My boss is in the prime of his life, and
he’s caught in the throes of a pure, unrequited love!
It reminded him of his own college
days, when he would bring breakfast for the girl he liked-and a portion for her boyfriend, too. It reminded him of when he’d just graduated and paid the rent for the girl he liked so she could live with her boyfriend.
It turned out he and the great Mr. Spencer were cut from the same cloth. In their eyes, love was a grand and noble thing, no matter what anyone else thought.
Just as she finished eating, Theobald arrived. Marguerite placed her bowl in the kitchen and said goodbye to George and the butler.
The butler beamed. “Goodbye, Ms. Lopez! Drive safely p>
The moment she was gone, he saw his employer’s eyes lock onto her departing figure, unblinking.
The butler shook his head. Poor Mr. Spencer.
And poor him. He would never get to deliver classic lines like, “You’re the first woman he’s ever made soup for!” or “I haven’t seen him smile like that in a long time p>
His boss was a good man, gentle-tempered and often smiling, even if the smiles were often forced.
Marguerite settled into the car.
Theobald handed her a lunchbox. “You had an early dinner last night, you must be hungry. Eat this p>