Chapter 67

Tiny kisses landed on her palm, making her hand itch.

Patricia instinctively curled her fingers to stop him, but Charles ignored her reaction and became even more audacious.

His teeth gently nibbled on her slender fingers, causing Patricia to blush instantly. She hurriedly tried to push him away, but Charles pulled her into his arms with a firm grip.

Patricia collided into his chest, the familiar scent of cedar filling her nostrils. Before she could react, an unexpected kiss pressed against her lips.

"Charles, you... mmph!"

Charles kissed her with a mix of tenderness and intensity, his large hand resting on her waist.

Their skin touched, and the heat from his body made her straighten her back involuntarily.

Patricia pushed hard, her hand against his chest, breathing softly, "Emily is right there!"

Charles' Adam's apple bobbed as he pulled Patricia towards the guest room, not forgetting to tuck Emily back in before leaving.

Once the guest room door closed, Charles eagerly kissed her again, lifting her up and carrying her to the bed. With each step, he could feel her body temperature rising.

Patricia suddenly cupped his face, their eyes meeting, her flushed cheeks clearly visible. "Are you pretending to be drunk?"

Charles' throat moved, and after a moment of silence, he spoke, "It's your fault."

"What?" Patricia was stunned, doubting her ears.

What did she do wrong?

Charles held Patricia in his arms, the essence of alcohol emanating from him, kissing her forehead gently. "This bed is too small, it's uncomfortable to sleep."

"The blanket is thin, not warm."

"No one beside me, it's strange to wake up in the middle of the night."

He listed his grievances one by one, his drunken speech slurred, making it hard for Patricia to understand.

"This bed is too small." He muttered, patting the mattress. "Every time I turn over, I'm afraid of falling off. Look at this pillow."

Patricia tried to stand up, but he suddenly grabbed her ankle.

He looked up at her, his eyes misty, appearing somewhat pitiful. "Last time you came to get a blanket in the middle of the night, you almost hit the bed leg."

Her heart softened inexplicably.

Indeed, there was a time when she got up at night to bring him a blanket for the guest room, almost hitting the bed leg because she didn't turn on the light.

He was sleeping soundly then, and she thought he hadn't noticed.

"Let go." Her tone softened, but she still kept a stern face.

Charles didn't let go, instead, he moved further into the bed, patting the spot beside him. "Sleep together."

"Charles, you're pretending to be drunk." Patricia exposed him but didn't really try to break free.

Charles ignored her, holding her tightly, whispering, "Can you... not be so cold to me?"

His warm breath brushed against her skin, making Patricia pull her foot back quickly, her cheeks flushing. "I am not."

"You are." Charles moved closer, "You smile at Yara, at Ellie, even at Emily's teddy bear more warmly than at me."

His face suddenly fell, his voice muffled, "Why are you so cold to me?"

Patricia was speechless, unable to refute his words.

She was indeed stricter with him. Seeing the dark circles under his eyes, she suddenly felt a pang of guilt, the remorse for the small bed magnified infinitely.

"Sleep." She didn't answer, silently pushing him away, lying down on the edge of the bed, her back to him.

Charles smiled at her back, not forcing her, and gently hugged her from behind, falling asleep.

The next morning, Patricia tiptoed away from Charles, slipping into her slippers and heading to the kitchen.

Ellie was squatting on the floor, organizing Christmas decorations.

Seeing her come in, she waved her phone with a smile. "Good morning, Mrs. Anderson. How many ribbons do you think we need?"

"Whatever works."

Patricia glanced at the kitchen utensils, suddenly remembering Charles' words from last night, "You're too cold to me," and blushed. "Ellie, do you know how to make hangover soup?"

Ellie was taken aback, then smiled brightly. "Yes, is Mr. Anderson going to drink it? I'll make it right away."

"No need." Patricia stopped her, putting on an apron. "I'll do it."

Ellie's eyes lit up instantly. She secretly took out her phone, snapping a photo of Patricia clumsily handling the ingredients, quickly sending it to Charles with the caption: [Mr. Anderson, Mrs. Anderson is making hangover soup for you herself!]

Patricia didn't notice her little action, focusing on adding water to the pot.

She didn't actually know how to make hangover soup, relying on her memory of Nicole making it for her.

The ingredients weren't handled well, but looking at the bubbling yellow liquid in the pot, she felt a strange sense of satisfaction.

"Mrs. Anderson, you have great skills," Ellie praised, unable to hide the smile in her eyes. "Mr. Anderson will be thrilled when he finds out."

"Ellie, don't say that," Patricia smiled lightly. "I just don't want another drunkard waking me up at night."

Upstairs in the hallway, Lillian carried Emily's picture book, timing her walk to the children's room.

She had deliberately changed into a V-neck dress, the neckline just right, revealing her delicate collarbone.

Hearing movement from the master bedroom, she slowed her pace, pretending to adjust her dress.

Charles came out in his casual clothes, water droplets still on his forehead.

Seeing Lillian, he didn't stop, his gaze cold.

"Good morning, Mr. Anderson." Lillian quickly smiled, her voice soft enough to drip water. "I came to wake Miss Emily for her morning reading. Is she up?"

"Yes." Charles glanced towards the master bedroom, checked his phone, and without lifting his eyelids, said, "From now on, teach on the first floor."

With that, Charles went to the guest room to change clothes.

Lillian watched his back, gritting her teeth. She couldn't believe that with her looks, she couldn't win over Charles!

Charles had just finished changing his shirt when his phone vibrated.

Opening Ellie's message, he saw the photo of Patricia in an apron at the stove, and his lips couldn't help but curl up.

Charles went downstairs, Ellie came in with a bowl, smiling brightly. "Mr. Anderson, the hangover soup is ready, made by Mrs. Anderson herself. Please try it."

Charles took the bowl, the steam rising as he scooped a spoonful into his mouth.

The garlic was a bit strong, the peppercorns too coarse, not something you could swallow easily, but Charles found it better than any hangover soup he'd ever had.

The warm soup slid down his throat, and a blurry memory flashed in his mind—

Patricia, wearing his shirt, was in the old mansion's kitchen making hangover soup, turning to look at him with eyes curved like crescent moons.

"Mr. Anderson? Are you okay?" Ellie asked worriedly, seeing him dazed.

Charles snapped back, the confusion in his eyes quickly fading. "I'm fine."

He took another sip of the soup, his heart feeling like it had been hit by something, both sour and soft.

What was he thinking just now?

In the afternoon, Patricia moved her drawing area to the living room, sitting on the carpet to revise her designs.

Charles finished his work and came downstairs, seeing her curled up on the floor, his brows furrowed immediately.

"The floor is cold, draw on the sofa." He walked over, trying to pull her up.

Patricia didn't look up, swatting his hand away. "Don't bother me, I'm almost done."

His hand tingled from her slap, but he didn't get angry. Instead, he went back to the room to get a cashmere blanket, squatting down to spread it under her legs.

"Use this, don't catch a cold."

Patricia looked at the soft blanket, feeling a pang of guilt. Was she too harsh just now?

"By the way," Charles sat beside her, casually asking, "Did you book the tickets to Regal City? When are you leaving?"

"Wednesday afternoon at three." Patricia answered casually, her pen sketching smooth lines on the paper.

Charles nodded, not saying more, just watching her focused profile.

When she finished a draft and looked up, she found him texting, a smile on his lips.

"What are you smiling at?" She asked curiously.

"Nothing." Charles put away his phone, returning to his serious demeanor.

Patricia eyed him suspiciously, trying to see through him.

Charles chuckled inwardly. He had just messaged Paul to cancel all his appointments for next Wednesday and booked a ticket on the same flight to Regal City as her.