I gasp and look over at Frances.
But I quickly turn my gaze in case it would arouse Whitney’s suspicion.
The car has a divider between the front and back seats, and Whitney can only see the top half of our
bodies from the rear-view mirror, not knowing what is happening below.
Maybe this is why Frances dare to have his unbridled hands on me.
There is no sign on his face that tells he has a headache! I even have to doubt that he uses it as an
excuse to sit next to me.
“Are you mad? Your wife is sitting in front of us!”
I lower my head and whisper to him.
He snorts slightly, disapprovingly, “So what, my mistress is sitting beside me. How can I restrict myself
from doing noting with such a beauty right next to my hand? You know I’m not that kind of gentlemen.”
As he is saying, his hands are eagerly touching around my waist. Although I wear thick clothes, the
titillating movement of his hands really makes me hot.
“Frances, I’ll be dead if Whitney knows our affair.”
I whisper with a begging voice.
Before leaving Frances, I don’t want to get any troubles, nor do I want to hurt Whitney, and I can’t
afford to offend her.
“You think I would be afraid of her?
“Okay, fine! But I’m afraid of her.” I twitch my mouth and move to the right, to the very edge of the seat.
Staying where he is, Frances just sneers and sits there without saying a word.
His indifferent face suddenly reminds me of Noah.
Though for now he hasn’t done anything to Noah yet, it doesn’t mean he won’t harm Noah. He certainly
won’t let Noah go easily. I must know something from him to assure my heart.
But asking Frances directly may irritate him. Thinking for a while, I say, “Thank you, Frances, for doing
nothing to Noah.”
He just sneers, “Don’t celebrate too early. It’s just the time hasn’t come yet.”
The time hasn’t come yet?
What does it mean?
I am just about to open my mouth for more information when Whitney says, “Here we are.”
We get out of the car and in front of us is a western restaurant with good layout. When I step inside, the
soft lighting and comfortable decoration and layout make me feel cozy.
Whitney speaks French to the waiter, which I totally can’t understand because I can’t speak French.
The waiter nods to Whitney’s words and leads us upstairs to the private room.
Donny hands me the menu. I take a look and gives back to him.
“Help me for it. I trust you.”
As I say this, I feel a stern look from Frances coming towards me, but I find he isn’t looking at me at all
when I turn my sight towards him.
Is it my illusion?
The food is serviced soon. Donny orders me a foie gras and an authentic French steak with ketchup.
It tastes good!
When I am eating my food, I feel a foot, all the way up my leg.
I’m so shocked that I drop my fork on the floor.
But look at Frances! He is enjoying the food with such a natural manner, though under the table, he is
doing such a dirty and vulgar thing with one of his feet.
Huh! He really deserves the name of well-dressed beast.
“Let me pick it up for you.”
Donny says gently, and is about to bend over.
But Frances doesn’t stop the movement of his foot on my leg.
Damn it! I can’t let Donny see that.
“No thanks, I’ll do it myself.”
I bend over quickly to pick up the fork, at the same time, checking the position where Frances put the
other foot.
“Waiter, please change my fork.”
As I wave my hand and speak to the waiter standing a short distance away, my heeled shoe heavily
steps on Frances’s other foot.
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