Weston‘s fingers wandered across Stella‘s face, caressing her smooth skin.
Stella looked up at him. She had intended to ask him the question, but her tongue was tied as soon as
she opened her mouth.
If he really wanted her to know the truth, he would‘ve told her by now, yet he would avoid the questions
and kept responding with vague, evasive answers. That, in itself, was already an answer, wasn’t it?
They would just go on as they did when their relationship was still a secret. Since he didn‘t want to
answer, she would just stop asking. There was no need to disrupt the fragile peace between them.
“Nothing,” Stella leaned her head against his shoulder and gently hugged him. “It‘s just that I can‘t
believe we‘re really getting married...”
Her eyes were icy cold as she spoke.
She had always been forced to give in to Guinevere‘s requests. Back then, she had had to endure
Guinevere’s assaults quietly without the power to retaliate. Yet, even after asking for her hand in
marriage, Weston still agreed to such a request he knew would upset Stella a lot...
Perhaps she should confront him, Stella thought. Perhaps she should ask him why he would ever let
Guinevere attend their wedding.
But what should she have expected of him?
Should she expect him to ignore the long–standing relationship between the Ford and Cohen families, to
ignore his own grandfather‘s plea? Should she forsake the resulting loss they might have to endure if
they upset the Cohen family? All because of her?
No. She didn‘t need to expect any of that. She never intended to marry him anyway. The wedding was
never supposed to happen anyway, so why should it matter to her if Guinevere was invited ?
There was no need to trouble herself with this.
In the end, Stella didn‘t manage to finish making her soup.
For some reason, Weston‘s sexual appetite had gotten more voracious lately. Naturally, he wanted to do
it with Stella at all times and at every place in the house.
She was forced to hold on to his neck to keep her body from sliding down to the floor.
“If we don‘t stop now, the soup will be burnt!” she pleaded to him.
“Weston!” she cried in exasperation, desperate to keep her mind clear. “Stop...”
“You can cook it again.” Weston‘s raw passion was still burning. “Let‘s continue,” he croaked as his hand
reached down Stella‘s body.
“No...” Stella closed her eyes.
Her body used to reject him, but Weston had somehow found a way to turn her on. All he needed to do
was be gentle and patient with her; her body would warm up to him, and she would melt under his
fingers. After that, everything would go smoothly.
Weston supported her weight so she wouldn‘t fall to the floor. Then he swept her hair away from her
sweaty face, leaned down, and kissed her forehead.
“Turns out the only reason your body rejected me was that I didn‘t stimulate you enough, huh?”
He emphasized the word “stimulate” as he spoke, his lips still glistening with the moisture of some fluid.
Stella blushed deeply. She couldn‘t bring herself to look at him like that.
In the end, neither of them ended up eating the soup.
It had been a long time since Joan had last come to the apartment. Stella loved Joan‘s cooking and still
missed her food very much.
However, they rarely let anybody else in after moving into the apartment. Stella would cook and clean up
the place herself whenever she had the time, giving the place an especially homely feel.
The day after tomorrow would be their wedding day.
Weston had taken a few days off to be with Stella when she tried on her wedding dresses. Everything
was ready now, except for one last step.
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