Devious
He leaned in and lifted my chin with his finger before saying in a captivatingly low voice, “We’re both
single. So what if she gets the wrong idea?”
I was stunned, and my heart began pounding away. What does that mean? Does he want to get back
together with me?
I looked deeply into Dominic’s eyes, trying to gauge the meaning behind his words.
But before I could read him clearly, he let go of me and pushed me aside.
With arms folded across his chest and a smile on his lips, he said, “What’s with that look? It’s just
tongue-in-cheek. Could it be that you still have feelings for me?”
My cheeks flushed red in embarrassment when I realized he was just playing with me.
“In your dreams. I don’t have any more feelings for you.”
Back then, he was the one who had betrayed me. I would be crazy to have any more feelings for him.
I thought Dominic would snap at me, but he only glanced at me coldly before turning around to put the
pan on the burner and turn the stove on.
I pursed my lips and kept quiet. Once he figured out the breach of contract, we would go our separate
ways.
I watched him heat the pan with oil and brown the meat over high heat before stirring in the greens.
Honestly, I did not think that he could actually cook.
He was a jerk through and through. Back then, he not only pretended to be handicapped, but he also
insisted I prepare three meals a day for him when he could have done it himself.
Obviously, he was capable of doing everything on his own. It was a wonder why he still had me at his
beck and call.
“Help me with the apron.”
Although I heard him, I didn’t move a muscle. Instead, I looked at the apron my mother had placed on
the table earlier and said, “Put it on yourself.”
With the spatula in his hand, Dominic turned his head and glanced at me. He scowled icily, “Fine then. If
you’re not helping, I’ll ask Mrs. Zanetti for her help.”
After he said that, he turned his head and looked at the kitchen’s entrance. He really had the intention of
calling my mother for help.
“Okay, okay. I’ll help. You don’t have to yell for her.”
Damn it. I should have realized he’s a rascal with tricks up his sleeves.
I reluctantly took the apron and walked up to him. I then lifted the halter neck strap of the apron, about to
hang it over his neck.
However, he was way too tall — I couldn’t reach the top of his head. I can’t put on the apron if he doesn’t
bend over a little or bow his head.
“Can you bend your knees a little?” I asked as I tugged at his shirt.
Dominic turned his head and looked at me before he bowed his head, allowing me a chance to throw the
apron’s neck halter over his neck.
At the same time, I thought of tying the string of the apron around his waist. Naturally, with the strings of
the apron in both my hands, I wrapped my arms around his waist to tie it on his back.
As I was tying a knot, I heard him say from above my head, gently teasing, “You can hug me if you want
to. It’s not going to cost you anything.”
I quickly pulled away from him and said sarcastically, “You’re such a narcissist.”
Once I was done, I moved to leave the kitchen; I didn’t want to stay around him for too long.
Before I could even take two steps away from him, I heard him yell out, “I need salt and chicken stock.”
“It’s right there beside you. Can’t you see?” Those items were there within reaching distance.
“Maybe I should get Mrs. Zanetti…”
Before he could finish, I turned around and handed him the salt jar and chicken stock.
Why does he keep wanting to call my mom? He’s crazy!
Not wanting him to actually get my mom’s help, I remained in the kitchen. He would occasionally ask me
to pass him condiments or plates, but other than that, we had nothing else to say to each other.
It didn’t take long for Dominic to finish cooking.
Looks good, and it smells delicious too.
“I didn’t know you could cook so well. When and where did you learn how to cook?” I asked abruptly.
He dished the food up straight out of the pan before he replied airily, “Why do you want to know? I didn’t
learn to cook for you.”
I was rendered speechless by his remark.
He’s right. It’s none of my business. He probably learned to cook for Camille.
The thought of that made me bitter. When we were together, Dominic used to say he would take up
cooking lessons once we got married so that he could cook for me every day.
Now he’s a good cook, but the food he’s cooking isn’t for me.
“Go on and take the food out. I’ll tidy up the kitchen.” His words pulled me out of my melancholy
thoughts.
I hurriedly snapped myself out of it. I can cook for myself, and my cooking is not any worse than his.
I left the kitchen with two dishes in my hands. Before I entered the kitchen again, I asked Louis to help
me to bring out the remaining dishes.
Soon, Dominic came out from the kitchen, and we all sat down at the dining table.
My father instructed my brother to bring out his best Bordeaux wine that he had treasured for many years
from the study room.
In fact, this bottle of wine had been given to him by a former student of his. He had always been reluctant
to drink it, so it was rather surprising for him to open it today.
I knew my father was willing to open this bottle of wine simply because Dominic was here. Benjamin and
others were just incidental.
I stole a furtive glance at Dominic, who was sitting next to my mother, fuming a little inside.
He sure is a devious man. I wish I could smite him.
Dinner didn’t end till almost ten in the evening, and after drinking a few glasses of wine my father was a
little drunk.
My mother instructed me to see Dominic out while she, together with Louis, helped my father back to his
room.
Once I walked the man out of the house, I turned around and prepared to head back inside.
The three men were not short of money, so I was not bothered where they would be sleeping that night.
Back in the house, I headed into my bedroom and collapsed exhaustedly on the bed.
As soon as I closed my eyes, I heard a knock on the door. “Lili, it’s Mom.”
I frowned upon hearing her — I was not in the mood to talk to my mother.
I had an inkling that she wanted to talk to me about Dominic.
In a loud voice, I said, “I’m tired, Mom. I’m going to bed now. Let’s talk tomorrow.”
There was silence for two seconds, and then I heard my mother say, “Alright. Have a good rest then.”
At the sound of her retreating footsteps, I let out a sigh of relief.
Although I knew what she was going to ask me, I planned to let it drag out as long as I could.
After taking a bath, I snuggled into my warm bed, scrolling through social media before I eventually fell
asleep.
My throat was parched when I woke up the next morning.
Still dressed in my pajamas, I headed to the living room with tousled hair, a cup of water in my hand.
“Good morning.”
At the sound of that familiar voice, I spewed out the water I had just gulped down.
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