Chapter 112- I don't dislike the sight of your tears

Lucca pov

"I've come to pick you up."

Of all the things I had heard that day, only this sentence brought me a sense of calm.

I got into the car and sat next to Vincent, leaving a gap of one seat between us.

Earlier, Vincent had tried to contact Gloria to have her perform a check-up on me.

However, when he inquired about the results this afternoon, he found out that Gloria had called in sick and hadn't gone to the research facility.

Vincent had to resort to checking the on-campus surveillance to find me. I hadn't gone to class but had been sitting under a plane tree.

This was unusual for me; skipping classes was a rarity, almost as rare as a meteor shower.

"I think I need to take a month off," I suddenly said in the car.

Vincent was taken aback, wondering if he had misheard me.

"You want to take a month off? By the way, where did you go this afternoon?"

I clutched my clothes tightly. I felt as lost as a child being questioned by a teacher, lips sealed shut, afraid to reveal my secret.

Vincent eased up on his questioning posture.

He leaned in closer, lifting my chin and planting a kiss on the side of my face.

"Then let's take some time off," he said calmly. His breath was too warm, and I couldn't help but turn my face away.

Vincent leaned back a bit and said, "We can talk more about it when we get back."

The car was very quiet. Vincent had an overwhelming presence that could command the full attention of others.

The pain and sadness were diluted by his bright silver aura, leaving behind only a long silence.

Back at the villa on the hill, the owl was furiously tapping on the window.

I climbed the steps in a daze and almost fell backward as soon as I stepped on them. I instinctively grabbed the mailbox in front of the door.

I pulled down the mailbox's little door, and Vincent reached out to support me. When I turned back, I saw his surprised and slightly flustered expression, which he hadn't had time to hide.

"Be careful!" Vincent scolded.

"Can't you even walk properly?" His words hadn't even finished when a pile of things fell out of the mailbox that I had damaged.

They fell to the ground with a crash, scattering everywhere. It was all postcards.

I took a deep breath and steadied myself.

Vincent held one of my hands while picking up a postcard with the other.

On the postcard was a picture of Rino. "March 12th, trimming the lawn for elderly widows in the community."

"Please, let Father give me a lighter sentence, I've been working so hard."

He had just finished watering the flowers, his shoulders were drenched, his muscles were well-defined, his sweatshirt was soaked through, and there was still a bead of sweat on his chest.

Vincent's anger flared up.

There were easily a hundred postcards scattered on the floor.

So, every time Rino did community service, he sent me a postcard.

"What's this?" Vincent suddenly noticed something shiny in the pile of postcards.

I followed his gaze and focused my eyes. It was a diamond ring. It was the apology gift Rino had given me. At the time, I refused to accept it and told Rino to take the ring back.

However, Rino hadn't taken it back; instead, he had tucked it into the mailbox.

Vincent picked up the diamond ring and pressed it against the mailbox's metal surface, leaving a mark. "Who put this into your mailbox?" he asked, his face dark.

"Rino," I answered without hesitation. "It's a gift from him."

"I see," Vincent replied calmly.

He walked into the house as if nothing had happened, stepping on Rino's face with his boots. I avoided the scattered postcards and followed him inside.

I took out the medicine box and prepared today's pills. I was supposed to take them in the morning, but I had forgotten.

"Take the medicine with hot water," Vincent said casually.

Vincent frowned as he touched my cup. I picked up the cup and swallowed the pills. He had to let go, and then he asked, "Taking a month off before the surgery is a good idea. It will give you time to adjust mentally and recover physically."

I nodded.

"Do you have any plans for this month?" Vincent asked, crossing his arms.

I shook my head.

Their roles suddenly reversed, and Vincent became the more talkative one. He furrowed his brow and said, "Then I'll make some plans for you."

I didn't really want him to make plans for me. I wanted to do things I enjoyed or even do nothing at all, just completely unwind.

"I'm going to take a shower..." I said as I climbed the stairs in silence.

When I came out of the shower, Vincent had torn my calendar and written a monthly plan for me. I was about to get angry with him, but then I suddenly saw the first item on his list.

"April 20th, go to the Pack Amusement Park with Alice."

It looked very familiar.

I crumpled the paper slightly, but Vincent quickly snatched it back and read out the items one by one.

"April 22nd to April 30th, go to the beach in the south."

"May 1st, take a ride on the transparent elevator at the Pack Broadcasting Tower."

"May 2nd, go to the Pack fireworks display."

And so on...

I stared at Vincent, dumbfounded. All of these were things I had written on my bucket list.

He had taken all the elaborate items and fit them into a month-long calendar.

"We can try this later..." Vincent picked up the pen again and started making changes to the plan. He muttered, "Which restaurant you want to have dinner at?

I can have the chef make whatever you like. It's dinner time anyway, and I'm hungry."

I looked at him with mixed emotions.

"Aren't you going to ask why I suddenly want to take a vacation?" Vincent found me quite troublesome. Asking questions and not asking questions were both problematic. If he didn't ask, he'd wonder why he didn't ask.

He raised an eyebrow and said, "I hope you take a break soon. Since you brought it up, I don't see the need to press for answers.

What if you change your mind and decide not to take a break after all?"

He quickly had someone contact the chef. I listened to him make the phone call and smiled inwardly. My lips felt too heavy to raise a smile.

Dinner was exceptionally sumptuous.

The head chef brought fresh ingredients from the restaurant and taught me some techniques that I would never be able to master. Vincent seemed moderately interested, eating a bit of food before disappearing behind the curtains.

I had eaten my fill, emptied my mind, and lay down on a warm blanket.

"Why are you crying?" Vincent asked in a low voice.

"I'm not," I replied. I felt like someone had brushed their fingertips across my eyelids, but I knew my eyes were dry.

Vincent's voice reached my ear, gentle as he played with my hair. His lips brushed against my earlobe, his soft voice and the tip of his tongue entering my ear.

"Your eyes have been crying," Vincent rasped.

I wanted to deny it, but Vincent didn't give me a chance to speak.

He kissed my ear, his fingers pressed against my lips.

I opened my mouth to bite him, and he used one finger to lightly stroke my soft jaw, then used another finger to hold my menacing teeth apart, making it impossible for me to bite.

The sound of his nibbling in my ear was loud, lingering on the fleshy, moist earlobe as if he wanted to bite it off.

...

We spent quite some time, regaining our ability to speak only after a while. Vincent looked subtly satisfied, and his voice was much calmer now.

"If you feel like crying, then cry occasionally... I don't dislike the sight of your tears."

I closed my eyes, exhausted, and soon fell asleep.

Vincent turned off the lights, lying in the same position for a while before moving over to hold me as he fell asleep.