Chapter 128 Smoking is Bad for Health
Arabella was conscious but her limbs weren't quite cooperating. She tried hard to stand straight, but whether it was the cramped space or something else, her body just wouldn't respond properly.
She could only shake her head embarrassedly and look up at him. "Could you help me?"
In her half-drunk state, she had a kind of sweet innocence that he rarely saw. Her eyes held a pool of water-like light. Alexander felt a sudden tightness in his lower abdomen, and when he spoke again, his voice was noticeably tense, though he tried hard to keep his tone gentle. "Okay, I'll help you."
He supported her arm and helped her out of the car. Arabella said softly, "Sorry for the trouble."
"No trouble." She was wearing a long dress today that showed her slender neck and delicate waist. The man didn't dare look at her, keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead as he replied with restraint and forbearance.
Arabella didn't notice his strange behavior. Actually, even if she had, she wouldn't have thought much of it. After all, he was gay—how could you expect him to have improper thoughts about women? Though she didn't know much about gay men, Philip had said that such suggestions would be insulting to a gay person.
Alexander helped her back home, settled her in a chair, then went to the kitchen to make honey water and brought it to her.
The honey water was warm, sweet and fragrant. Arabella was surprised. "Did you add jasmine flowers?"
Alexander kept his head down as he lit some aromatherapy, his lips curving slightly as he replied gently, "Someone once told me that honey water tastes better with a few jasmine flowers."
Arabella smiled. "What a coincidence. I also love adding jasmine flowers to honey water. I really like the scent of jasmine."
"I'm glad you like it." Alexander brought over the aromatherapy, explaining, "A friend gave this to me. It's supposed to help with hangovers—give it a try."
The aromatherapy was elegant, with a bean-sized flame burning in a crystal cup, giving off a faint scent of red wine and cinnamon.
Arabella felt a bit sour inside, thinking this gift didn't seem like something from an ordinary friend. What normal guy would give another guy aromatherapy?
She wondered if it was from a former boyfriend or an admirer.
Realizing she was feeling jealous, Arabella despised herself a little. How could she have the nerve? Not only was he completely uninterested in her, but even if they had mutual feelings, she was a divorced woman—she should be grateful he didn't mind that, not jealous of his past.
She was getting more and more pathetic.
But physiological reactions were uncontrollable. She could only try to rein herself in when she realized her thoughts were going astray.
After drinking the honey water, Arabella felt much more sober. She supported herself on the table and stood up, her body no longer feeling as weak and limp as before.
Alexander asked, "Are you going to shower?"
Arabella nodded. "Yeah, when I was in the club restroom earlier, someone was smoking. The smell was too strong and got on my clothes. I'll feel uncomfortable if I don't wash it off."
Only after saying this did she realize Alexander had frozen and wasn't responding. Her sluggish brain took a moment to process—oh right, the man in front of her also smoked.
Expressing dislike for smoking right to a smoker's face—did he feel offended?
Before she could figure out how to explain, Alexander looked at her and said, "You don't like people smoking? Why didn't you ever say anything?"
His smoking habit wasn't too bad—he only lit up when he was particularly unsettled. Since being around her, his unsettled moments had increased quite a bit, but even so, he only went through about a pack a week.
If he'd known she didn't like it, he definitely would have quit.
Arabella quickly explained, "You don't smoke much, and you always do it outside, never at home. It's mainly psychological for me—when I was little, my mom drilled into me that men who smoke are gross. I'm not targeting you specifically, I just..."
She felt mortified, realizing she was making things worse.
But honestly, until she brought up this topic today, she hadn't even realized she had an issue with Alexander smoking. Even now, she didn't think there was anything wrong with him smoking.
Sometimes when she caught the scent of nicotine on him, it was actually kind of intoxicating.
She didn't know if this was what having a crush did to you, but either way, they didn't have that kind of relationship and she had no right to demand he stop smoking.
Alexander's blue eyes looked at her deeply. After a while, he said, "I'll be more careful in the future."
"Actually, you don't need to..." Arabella wanted to explain.
Alexander cut off her words. "It's fine. Smoking is bad for your health anyway—I've wanted to quit for a while."
Arabella felt this logic was a bit off, but her tired brain couldn't think too much about it. She just said, "Maybe try cutting back first and see if you can quit."
Then she walked into the bathroom.
The frosted glass door reflected a slender silhouette. Soon, the sound of rushing water filled the air. Alexander watched that constantly moving shadow, feeling his throat getting drier and drier. Finally, he sighed and went into his own bedroom.
But that silhouette seemed carved into his mind, impossible to shake.
He looked down and sighed helplessly.
When would he ever succeed?
Alexander rarely had his thoughts in such disarray. He took a deep breath, telling himself he couldn't think about this anymore—it was disrespectful to Arabella.
Just as he was about to open his computer to handle some work and calm down, he suddenly heard a loud bang from the bathroom followed by a scream. His expression changed dramatically as he rushed out, reaching the bathroom door in a few steps and asking anxiously, "Arabella, what happened? Are you okay?"
In the bathroom, Arabella lay naked on the floor, extremely annoyed. She had finished showering and was reaching for a towel when she slipped and fell.
She quickly replied, "I'm fine, just slipped."
She tried to stand up on her own, but when she moved her ankle, sharp pain shot through it. She groaned and sat back down.
Alexander was frantic outside the door. "Can you stand up? Where are you hurt?"
"I think... I can't stand up..." Arabella said with difficulty. "Alex, I might need your help..."
Alexander said, "How can I help you?"
Arabella said, "I can't stand up. My ankle hurts when I move it, but it doesn't hurt when I stay still. I probably didn't injure the bone, just twisted it. But just to be safe, you might need to take me to the hospital..."
"Okay," Alexander agreed without hesitation. "Unlock the door and I'll take you to the hospital right away."
"Um..." Arabella felt like her ears were about to bleed, her whole body burning with embarrassment. "Could you go to my room and get me a towel?"
Alexander paused. "You..."
"I'm... not wearing anything." Arabella wanted to cover her face.
Outside the door, Alexander immediately understood what she meant. His ears also started burning, his heart began racing uncontrollably, but he forced himself to stay calm and replied, "Okay."
He went into Arabella's room, got a towel from her closet, and returned to the bathroom door, his voice hoarse. "I got it. Open the door."
The lock clicked open.
The bathroom door opened a crack, and Arabella stuck her arm out. "Give it to me."
Alexander stared at that delicate, beautiful little arm. His usually calm blue eyes now seemed to be on fire. He took a deep breath, ignoring his body's demands, and handed over the towel.
After a short while, Arabella said, "Okay, you can come in now."
Alexander pushed the door open to see she had wrapped the towel around herself—her beautiful neck, rounded shoulders, and... her long, alluring legs.
The bathroom was really too easy a place to let one's imagination run wild and stir up impulses. Alexander suppressed the fire in his heart and bent down to pick her up.
The woman's petite body was like a soft piece of cotton, pressed tightly against his chest. His arms, separated only by a towel, were in contact with her body. Alexander somewhat regretted this—he should have called an ambulance instead. He had overestimated his self-control.
He could only try to hold her higher up to avoid an awkward situation for both of them.
Before their feelings reached that point, he didn't want her to feel violated.
Arabella didn't think much of it, except for feeling a bit embarrassed. She was also puzzled by his strange way of holding her—like she was a barbell he was lifting high for exercise.
Alexander carried her back to the bedroom, helped her find clothes, then turned his back so Arabella could change.
After she was dressed, he carried her downstairs to the hospital.
The hospital had long since closed for the day. Alexander first took Arabella to the emergency room, then worried that the emergency doctor might not be skilled enough, so he called Frank to come over.
After examining Arabella's foot, the emergency doctor said, "It's a minor sprain, nothing serious. Don't put pressure on the injured foot for a week. I'll prescribe some medicinal oil—apply it three times daily and massage until absorbed."
Alexander got the medicine just as Frank arrived, panting with his hands on his knees as he stood before Alexander.
"Alex, what's the emergency? I was in the middle of arguing with my grandpa when your call came, and he literally kicked me out to come here."
Alexander said as he walked, "Arabella sprained her ankle. Take a look at it."
Hearing this, Frank mentally rolled his eyes. This was a hospital—calling him out late at night for a simple sprain, was that reasonable?
After examining Arabella's foot, he rolled his eyes openly. His diagnosis was similar to the emergency doctor's. "Nothing serious, just rest for a couple days."
Just for this tiny muscle strain, the kind of injury any random doctor could handle, they called him—a top orthopedic surgeon—over. Was that appropriate?
But seeing the warning in Alexander's eyes, he very consciously changed his tune. "Arabella is really lucky. Normally when someone falls like this, even if they're not permanently injured, they'd be bedridden for at least ten days to two weeks. Only straining the muscle is very fortunate."
Arabella smiled gratefully at him. "Thank you so much for the trouble, making you come out so late."
Frank didn't dare accept the credit, waving his hands and laughing awkwardly. "No problem, I wasn't doing anything anyway. Heh heh, I'm free every day..."
Alexander walked him out. "I owe you one."
Frank didn't refuse. "Good, saves my grandpa from cursing me as useless all day. Now that he knows all the FitzRoy family projects are ones I've brought in, he's been much nicer to me."
"Thanks." Alexander bumped fists with him, watched his car drive away, then turned to go back inside.
Returning to the hospital corridor, he saw someone standing in front of Arabella—it was Anthony. He was speaking to her excitedly about something, and in his excitement, he had grabbed Arabella's shoulders and was shaking her. Arabella couldn't escape and looked completely resistant.
Alexander's face darkened as he strode over, grabbed Anthony by the back of his collar, casually yanked him aside, then stood in front of Arabella, looking coldly at Anthony. "Get lost!"
Anthony's eyes were bloodshot as he stared at Alexander. He had a wound on his hand—not serious, but quite long. He'd come to the hospital tonight to get it bandaged and hadn't expected to run into Arabella here.
He didn't know what had come over him, but he'd been compelled to approach her. It was just a bit of concern from an ex-husband—did these two need to be so defensive?
"Mr. FitzRoy." Anthony practically squeezed these words through his teeth. He was like an enraged beast, his eyes flashing with dangerous light as he challenged arrogantly, "Do you think she'll be happier with you than she was with me? You can't give her anything. When she gets hurt, you'll bring her to this crowded hospital to wait in line. This injury isn't serious, but what if it were? Would you let her wait to die?"
He looked at Arabella again, sneering. "What kind of places did you go to when you were with me? Look at yourself now! When you had even just a cold or fever, I arranged for a family doctor to see you or took you to a private hospital for the best service! But with him, you live in a crappy house, drive a crappy car, and come to a crappy hospital when you're sick. Arabella, weren't you always so particular about luxury? How can you stand this kind of life?"
A flash of anger crossed Alexander's eyes. There was really no need to be polite with such a shameless person.
Just as he was about to raise his hand, Arabella beside him suddenly grabbed him, saying softly, "Alex, let me tell him."
Alexander paused, all his strength immediately draining away. He respected her attitude, so he stepped back behind her, but continued to stare intently at Anthony. If he made one wrong move, Alexander would beat him until he couldn't find his own teeth.
Arabella looked at Anthony. Seeing this man again now, there wasn't a ripple left in her heart. She just found his words somewhat laughable, which is why she had to tell him personally.
"You say I'm particular about luxury—did you actually see me being that way, or did your mother tell you I was? What kind of life I lived in the Watson family—even if your mom deliberately hid it from you, you weren't completely unaware, were you?"
"You knew I was being bullied and humiliated, knew I was living like a servant, but you pretended not to know. Only when I couldn't take it anymore would you give me a little cheap sympathy. Whether you actually felt sorry for me or were using this method to manipulate me, you know the truth in your heart. And now you're saying I'm particular about luxury?"
"Anthony, don't you have any conscience saying that?"