Chapter 81 Red Electric Vehicle
Elizabeth rested her hands lightly on the steering wheel, a faint smile curling her lips. "I picked it up for Yosef… figured I'd get one for you at the same time."
The remark almost cost her her waist—figuratively speaking. Timothy could be petty when he wanted to be.
The next morning, Elizabeth woke early, practically buzzing with excitement. She was determined to go out and buy herself an electric scooter. But before she could sit up, Timothy, eyes still closed, lifted his arm and draped it across her, pressing her back down into the mattress.
"Stay a little longer," he murmured lazily, voice thick from sleep.
Elizabeth had spent half the night gasping, begging him to stop, claiming she was going to die. Now, somehow, she was more energetic than he was. Timothy would never admit his muscles were sore from overexertion.
His arm, strong and unyielding, cinched around her waist, pinning her in place. Elizabeth turned onto her side to face him, simply staring without saying a word.
Maybe her gaze was too intense, because Timothy's eyes finally opened. His warm palm slid to her back.
"It's Saturday," he said, voice rough. "Why are you up so early? What's the rush?"
"I'm going to buy an electric scooter," she replied.
His hand didn't behave—it moved slowly, deliberately. "And why do you need an electric scooter?"
Elizabeth blinked at him, a playful spark in her eyes. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
By the time their playful banter wound down, Timothy was fully awake. He sat up, one leg bent, elbow resting on his knee, fingers rubbing at his brow. The movement drew attention to the hard lines of his abdomen.
"Where are you planning to buy it?" he asked.
"Not sure. I'll check online."
Her hand lingered on those defined muscles, tracing lightly. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, letting her touch for a moment before swinging his legs off the bed. "Come on. What do you want for breakfast?"
"Bacon sandwich with hot milk."
"Alright."
He made a quick call to have their bodyguard pick up the order from a nearby café. Elizabeth padded off to shower.
Halfway through, the bathroom door opened. Timothy stepped in, toothbrush in hand. She was in the enclosed shower stall, steam curling around her. A moment later, the sliding door opened and she stepped out in a towel. He had already squeezed toothpaste onto her brush.
He showered quickly himself, and when they emerged, both carried the same scent of their shared body wash.
Elizabeth sat at the vanity, applying makeup, watching in the mirror as Timothy buckled his belt and buttoned his shirt. Her cheeks warmed.
They didn't linger. Breakfast was eaten in short order. Elizabeth left a note for Mabel, then she and Timothy headed out.
As they stepped outside, Elizabeth asked him to hold her phone while she rummaged through her small purse for lipstick. Just then, a message popped up on the screen in his hand.
It read: [Elizabeth, it's Armando. About yesterday… I'm sorry.]
Timothy's eyes narrowed.
They stepped into the elevator—empty except for them. He tilted her chin up with a finger, his expression dark. "Armando says he's sorry about yesterday. What did he do?"
Elizabeth took the phone, reading the text. The number was Tom's. She'd blocked Armando weeks ago, but apparently he'd borrowed Tom's phone to reach her.
She rose on tiptoe, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. "He's just being ridiculous. Don't worry. I slapped him."
Timothy's gaze was steady. "I'm not that jealous. I just don't want him hurting you."
She didn't believe the first part for a second—he was jealous, no doubt—but the concern in his second statement was real.
Elizabeth deleted the message and gave him two more kisses before pulling up a browser to search for scooter shops.
Meanwhile, Timothy sent Joe a text: [The Johnson Group has branches overseas. Arrange for Armando to be sent abroad for a while.]
Armando was becoming an eyesore.
Elizabeth compared prices online, finally settling on a bright red scooter at a good discount.
"Mr. Robinson, hop on. We're riding this home today."
She swung her long leg over the front seat, patting the spot behind her. Timothy's legs were longer than hers; when he climbed on, the scooter looked even smaller beneath him.
"Hold my waist. Let's go!"
She drove with the same joy she had on her heavy motorcycle. Timothy, knees tucked awkwardly, wrapped his arms around her, perfectly content to watch the scenery roll by.
Ten minutes later, a siren wailed behind them. Elizabeth pulled over.
A traffic officer leaned out the window. "Ma'am, sir—please stop. You're in violation. No helmets, and this model isn't allowed to carry passengers."
He wrote her a ticket. Elizabeth apologized sincerely, paid the fine, and watched the patrol car pull away.
She glanced at Timothy, who was fighting a smirk. He ruffled her hair. "It's fine. I'll have Joe buy helmets. You can ride home yourself."
Elizabeth believed in little streaks of luck—or misfortune. "Mabel told me my horoscope this week wasn't great. Guess she was right."
Timothy shoved his hands in his pockets, giving her a sidelong look. "Don't believe Mabel. You really take her seriously?"
Elizabeth didn't want to argue. Girls liked their horoscopes and tarot cards. "You wouldn't understand."
While she stood on the curb, debating whether her new scooter was cursed, chaos erupted at the Howard Mansion.
It was Saturday, and Natalia had just returned from school when she heard the news: Calista was in police custody.
And the person responsible was Elizabeth.
Bruce broke the next blow—tonight, she was to meet Ian.
"Dad, I'm not going! I will never marry some old man!" Natalia's voice cracked with fury.
"This isn't up to you," Bruce said, massaging his temples. He tried to soften his tone. "Mr. Smith may be older, but he's gentle. He'll take care of you. Or would you rather watch the Howard family collapse?"
If Ian Smith had a reputation for beating his wife, Bruce might have hesitated. But he didn't.
Still, the thought of sharing a roof—and a bed—with a man thirty years her senior made Natalia's skin crawl.
"I won't do it. Ron, say something! You really want me to marry him?"
Ron gave a helpless smile, running a hand through his hair. "Natalia… we don't have a choice."
Her teeth sank into her lower lip. She grabbed her bag and bolted for the door.
Bruce's face tightened. "Stop her."
But Natalia was fast, and the staff didn't dare risk hurting her. She was out the gates before anyone could catch up.