Chapter 110 Silent Confessions
Theron’s Point of View
I heard people laughing as I stepped out of the bathroom. I brought the towel out of my wet hair, and my eyes darted across the room, but there was no one. That was when I realized the voice I was hearing was from a phone. Eden was slouched over the bean bag that was carefully placed at the other end of the room, and her phone was clutched in her hands.
How did she fall asleep on the couch? It seemed like she was watching some reels, and just as I neared her, the phone slipped out of her hands, but I caught it before it could fall to the ground.
Truly, she had been through a lot today; she must be very tired. She really deserves the day off tomorrow.
“Eden,” I called softly, but she didn’t even stir up. “Eden?”
I smiled, watching over her cute form as she slept, her mouth slightly open, and she was drooling from the edge of her mouth.
I chuckled softly as I bent to lift her from the couch. Her head was pressed against my chest as I took her to the bed. She didn’t even stir up even once. I lay her in bed, and she cuddled up to me.
Her body melting in my embrace, even though I had plans to do other things before I slept, I just couldn’t let her go; every other thing could wait. So, I held her in my arms, wrapping her small body as I watched her sleep, pressing kisses on her forehead, cheeks, and lips at intervals; sometimes I just pause to inhale her hair because she smells so good. Every single thing about her just feels so right.
If this Lola was right, and these feelings in my chest are love, then I want to be in love with Eden.
I paused for a while, wondering how it would sound, would it be normal like the other couples? Would it feel weird? And how would it make me feel? I think I need to practice it for the time I tell her.
There was nothing in the room, but the eerie silence and the soft sounds of Eden’s breathing as she slept, so I decided to test it out.
“I love you,” I whispered in her ear. “Eden, I said I love you.”
There was no response from her, yes, because she was asleep. I need to tell her like this every single night, until the day I tell her confidently, boldly, and intentionally.
“Sleep tight, my love.”
I was in the kitchen making breakfast. I wanted to be completely alone with my wife for the next two days, so I told the housemaids they could leave and come back during the weekend.
“Uh? You are awake.” I muttered the moment Eden came into the kitchen, I wonder if she even tried to look in the mirror because she still had her bed hair. “Did you sleep well?”
“I don’t really remember sleeping.” She neared me, peering into what I was making, before slipping on one of the stools in the kitchen. “Where is your arm sling?”
“It’s uncomfortable, so I removed it,” I answered with a small smile.
“Isn’t it painful?” She wondered.
“Every pain is worth it when I have to make breakfast for my beautiful wife.” I watched how her face turned bright pink, and she turned away from me. Lola was right, flattery does work, and I can’t wait to try out the other tricks she taught me.
How to be the romantic man that would make any woman fall in love with you, I chuckled softly to myself.
“What should I help with?” She asked, getting off the stool. “You are the one with an injured arm; you shouldn’t be doing this.”
“You can taste this.” I brought the wooden spoon filled with hot soup to her lips. “Blow, it’s quite hot.”
Her cheeks flushed as she blew softly on the soup in my hands, before drinking it, my eyes on hers the whole time.
I didn’t think it was possible to envy or hate an inanimate object until Eden’s lips touched the spoon; she pushed some strands of her beautiful golden hair behind her ears; there wasn’t a version of her that had looked this beautiful.
Or was I just obsessed with her?
I fought the urge to snap the spoon in half; it’s only silly to think that I would ever be jealous of a spoon.
“How does it taste?” I asked curiously.
“It’s delicious.” She blushed and covered her mouth with her hands. “How did you learn to cook this well?”
A proud smirk crossed my face as I stirred the soup and then turned off the gas.
“I am self-taught,” I told her proudly. “I used to take cooking classes as a child, in my free time, it’s the only thing I did when I was bored. I am the best chef in my family.”
“I am jealous.” She muttered softly. “I don’t know how to cook, I have never had to, and so I am terrible at it—but I can make instant noodles.”
I realized this was probably the most normal conversation we had without yelling and being at each other’s throats. The conversation was as natural as two teenagers meeting at their favorite section in a library.
“I can teach you how to cook,” I told her.
“Really?” Her eyes seemed to sparkle, and it made me wonder if cooking was a skill she wanted to have.
“Yes, but at a fair price,” I told her, leaning in. “What do you want?” Her eyes narrowed at me.
“A peck after every lesson,” I told her my rules. “A kiss to tell me you understand, and a hug to tell me you want to practice.”
“Are you always this childish?” She asked as I began to clear the dishes from the table.
“Well, you don’t know the least of it.”