Chapter 90 Handicraft Workshop
Bianca tilted her head back to look at him, her nose nearly brushing the immaculately pressed collar of his shirt. The clean, sharp scent of cedarwood clung to him, filling her senses.
She rose onto her toes, her forehead grazing his jaw in a gesture so tender it made her white dress sway gently, catching the light in soft, hazy ripples.
Barry glanced up from his folder at that exact moment. His eyes widened, unable to hide his astonishment.
He knew how Terrence felt about Bianca. He had known for a while. But seeing it like this—seeing the man who commanded boardrooms and outmaneuvered competitors reduced to something so careful, so reverent—still caught him off guard.
He had worked beside Terrence for years. He had watched him dismantle rivals without flinching, sign contracts worth millions with the same expression he wore ordering coffee. But he had never seen him handle anything, or anyone, with this kind of fragility.
"Terrence, will you come with me to that craft workshop tomorrow?" Bianca's fingers wrapped around his wrist, giving it a gentle shake. Her voice was soft, lilting, almost playful.
The jewelry set from tonight's auction had caught her eye, but even with all its brilliance, it felt incomplete. Something was missing. Then she remembered what Jessica had once mentioned—a workshop where pieces were not just bought, but made. Personal. Irreplaceable.
"What do you want to make?" Terrence's voice dropped, warm and indulgent.
"Matching bracelets." Her eyes lit up as she lifted her bare wrist, turning it in the light. "Something I make with my own hands. That would mean more to you, wouldn't it?"
Terrence looked at the spark in her eyes, the way hope flickered there like a candle flame. He had been about to mention the international conference scheduled for tomorrow, the one he could not afford to miss. But the words died on his tongue. He swallowed them down and nodded instead.
"It would. I'll go with you."
Barry's gaze dropped back to his tablet. His finger hovered over the screen for two seconds before he swiped the entry away. The high-level summit disappeared from the schedule without a trace.
'A good assistant,' he reminded himself, 'removes obstacles. Even the important ones.'
The next afternoon, the private workshop smelled of sandalwood and leather, the air thick with the scent of craftsmanship.
Warm amber light softened the sharp edges of Terrence's presence, making him look almost approachable.
He held a delicate silver clasp between his fingers, the metal gleaming against the defined lines of his knuckles. There was something unexpectedly refined about the contrast—the cold precision of his hands against the fragile piece of jewelry.
The workshop instructor, dressed in a linen apron, stood nearby. Her gaze flicked over Terrence's severe expression, her tone careful and professional.
"Terrence, you'll need to align the clasp with the groove first. Then press the spring tab on the side with your thumb. Steady pressure. Too light, and it won't catch. Too hard, and you'll damage the plating."
Bianca sat beside him on a round wooden stool, turning an irregularly shaped pearl between her fingers. She could not help but smile.
"I thought you only dealt in boardrooms and contracts. Didn't expect you to have a knack for this."
Terrence glanced up at her, his dark eyes softening in a way they rarely did for anyone else. The ruthlessness that usually lived there had been replaced by something gentler.
"If it's for you, I'll take it seriously."
He followed the instructor's guidance, his fingers curling slightly as he gripped the edge of the clasp. His wrist flexed, applying just enough force.
A soft click. The clasp locked into place, seamless.
Terrence exhaled, a breath he had not realized he was holding. But the relief was short-lived. The next task was waiting, and it was worse.
He picked up a thread as thin as a strand of hair, holding it awkwardly between his fingers. The pearls and silver beads arranged neatly on the table seemed to mock him.
The instructor had just finished explaining the technique for threading pearls. Now she stepped back, watching in silence, offering no further help.
Terrence frowned, pinching a smooth, pale pink pearl between his fingers. The tip of the thread trembled in his hand. He tried once. Twice. Three times. The thread missed the tiny hole every time.
The same hands that could control a boardroom, that could sign deals worth fortunes without hesitation, were now clumsy and useless in front of a single pearl.
"Mr. Anderson, your hands are too stiff." Bianca sat beside him, her elbow propped on the table, chin resting in her palm. She watched him struggle, barely suppressing her amusement.
"You need to roll the thread thinner between your fingers. Line it up with the hole, then guide it through. Don't force it."
Terrence's ears flushed pink, but he refused to admit defeat.
"This is ridiculously difficult."
He tried again. The thread veered even further off course.
Bianca finally laughed, the sound light and unrestrained. She leaned closer, her breath warm against his ear as she reached out and covered his hand with hers.
Her fingers were soft, delicate, smoothing over the tension in his knuckles. Her voice dropped, gentle and coaxing.
"Look. Relax. Hold the thread lightly between your thumb and forefinger. Align it..."
She guided his hand, slowly threading the line through the pearl's opening.
The smooth glide of success sent a jolt through Terrence's chest. His heartbeat stuttered, his attention pulled entirely to the warmth of her hand on his. He barely registered that the thread had made it through.
"See? Easy." Bianca released his hand, arching an eyebrow with a teasing smile. "The man who rules the business world, brought down by a pearl."
The instructor chimed in from the side. "The young lady is right. Handwork is about technique, not strength."
Terrence cleared his throat, reaching for another pearl to cover his embarrassment. "Again."
Bianca's smile deepened. She shifted closer, her shoulder brushing his as she took his hand again, guiding him through the motions. Roll the thread. Align it. Thread it through.
Her fingertips grazed his skin with every adjustment, the faint touch sending ripples through him that settled somewhere deep in his chest.
Terrence's movements grew more confident, but he deliberately slowed his pace, drawing out the moments when her hand lingered on his. The air between them thickened, charged with something unspoken.
Sunlight streamed through the window, scattering fractured light across their overlapping hands. The bracelet on the table took shape slowly, but the sweetness in the air was more captivating than any pearl's luster.
When they left the workshop, both of them wore matching bracelets.
Bianca's was strung with pale pink pearls, their soft glow making her skin look even warmer.
Terrence's mixed irregular pearls with silver accents, the design rough around the edges, a stark contrast to his usual composure. It lent him a touch of edge, something younger, sharper.
The weekend passed too quickly. Bianca walked with Jasmine toward the school gates.
At the entrance, Bianca placed a hand on Jasmine's shoulder. "If anyone gives you trouble, come find me. Don't try to handle it alone."
Jasmine nodded, her eyes filled with quiet trust and dependence.
She had already come to see Bianca as the only anchor she had in this unfamiliar city.
Bianca watched her go, then turned back toward the dormitory. She needed to grab a book she had left behind.
The hallway lights glared, sterile and cold. She stopped in front of her door, her hand resting on the handle, but she did not push it open. Instead, she stood still, listening to the voices inside.
Melissa's voice was sharp, venomous, cutting through the air with deliberate cruelty.
"You've all seen the way Bianca dresses, right? Designer bags, expensive clothes, the whole act. We've lived with her long enough to know what her family's actually like. So where's all that money coming from?"