Chapter 7
1607 Words
Chapter 7
Sophie still remembered that back in school, Lucy used to pester Ethan to take the two of them to Mrs. Parker’s Hunan restaurant for meals.
In truth, Ethan never cared much for Hunan cuisine—but since Sophie and Lucy adored it, under their persistent influence, Ethan gradually began sampling it.
Considering that he’d spent four years abroad, one would have thought he’d scarcely had any Hunan food in all that time.
Ethan glanced at her, his eyes briefly flashing before he simply murmured, “Mm.”
Mrs. Parker, clearly delighted to see Sophie, exclaimed,
“Sweetie, you’re here! Why didn’t you come with Lucy today… huh?”
She then eyed Ethan. “Is that… little Ethan? Ethan, have you returned?”
“Mm, Mrs. Parker,” Ethan replied politely.
“Ah, it’s been years! You two have such a wonderful uncle–niece bond—coming back to the country and bringing your little niece for a meal!”
Because Sophie always addressed Ethan as “little uncle,” Mrs. Parker had long assumed that she was indeed his niece.
“Um, Mrs. Parker, he isn’t my little uncle,” Sophie explained sheepishly.
“Eh?” Mrs. Parker was taken aback.
“Mrs. Parker, let’s go upstairs to sit,” Sophie urged.
“Charlie, the usual private room—don’t worry,” Mrs. Parker called out to the staff.
Once they entered the private room, with the air conditioner already on, Sophie began to remove her coat. Just as her hand touched it, she heard Ethan say,
“Don’t take it off yet; wait until it warms up a bit.”
Sophie murmured an “Oh” and lowered her hand. At that moment, Ethan poured her a cup of barley tea and handed it to her.
“Have some tea,” he said.
“Alright,” she replied.
Sophie sipped the tea in small, delicate mouthfuls while her gaze wandered over Ethan’s fingers as he flipped through the menu. Those beautiful hands were truly a delight to behold.
At that moment, Mrs. Parker knocked and entered.
“Have you decided what you’d like to order?” she asked.
Ethan set the menu aside and replied to Mrs. Parker,
“One order of spicy chicken, chopped-chili fish head, and red-braised chicken wing soup…”
He listed a string of dishes.
Sophie looked up in surprise—the dishes he mentioned were all her favorites.
Noticing her odd expression, Ethan asked, “What’s wrong? Have you lost your appetite?”
In his mind, these were the dishes she loved the most.
Quickly shaking her head, Sophie said, “No, I do love them.”
She was merely astonished—Ethan’s memory was remarkably precise, remembering exactly which dishes she liked even after all these years.
“Good,” he replied.
After Mrs. Parker left, within minutes the ordered dishes began to arrive one after the other.
Ethan helped her unwrap the utensils and, after rinsing them in hot water, handed them to her.
The signature of Hunan cuisine was its spiciness—deliciously so.
Sophie barely ate; for each dish, she only took a few bites before setting her chopsticks down.
When she did so, Ethan’s brow furrowed ever so slightly.
“Are you full?” he asked.
Since when had her appetite diminished so?
“Mm?” she replied, glancing at her bowl and chopsticks with a small smile.
“Director Ethan, you wouldn’t forget I’m an actress, would you?” she teased.
Ever since entering the industry, she hardly ever got to eat a full meal—if her weight ever exceeded the limit, Sindy would mercilessly put her through rigorous regimes. After enduring it several times, she’d learned that it was better to watch her diet than to suffer more.
At that remark, Ethan suddenly remembered that he had indeed overlooked that detail—being in the industry himself, he knew well how celebrities managed their figures.
But truly, she had only taken a few bites.
“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she replied.
Nonsense! One is always hungry, but hunger won’t kill you—unless you’re under Sindy’s strict watch!
“Have some soup—it won’t add any fat,” Ethan suggested.
Sophie looked at the greasy film floating on top and shook her head in refusal.
“Forget it, I’ll have some more barley tea…” she began, but then paused as she noticed Ethan carefully using a spoon to skim away the oily layer from the chicken wing soup, serving only the clean broth.
“Drink it,” he urged.
Sophie watched him, her feelings a complicated blend of gratitude and awe.
Was he being too kind?
“What’s wrong?” Ethan asked, noticing her distant look.
“Nothing, nothing,” she replied softly.
“By the way, after dinner, we’ll move your luggage—”
“What luggage?” Sophie coughed as she sipped her soup.
“Your luggage. We’re moving it to my apartment,” Ethan clarified.
Sophie choked on her soup with a series of coughs.
Ethan then handed her a napkin.
Taking it, she wiped her mouth and asked, “So soon?”
Ethan regarded her calmly, his lips parting just slightly, and said,
“We are legally married.”
Because of that declaration, Sophie now found herself standing at Ethan’s home—though, in his words, it wasn’t exactly his home, but “our home.”
For a moment, Sophie was at a loss; this was a scenario she had never truly imagined.
She even wondered if marrying Ethan was nothing more than a dream.
Ethan emerged from the bedroom and looked at Sophie, who was still lost in thought.
“Sophie?” he called.
Ethan’s voice was so lovely—especially when he said her name, with a lilting tone that nearly melted her heart.
Yet, in her memory, Ethan rarely spoke her name; they hardly conversed at all.
“Eh?” Sophie reflexively looked his way.
“Stop daydreaming—come in,” he chided gently.
Sophie nodded blankly.
The bedroom was spacious and decorated in a modern Western style, featuring an enormous bookshelf filled with neatly arranged books—a testament to Ethan’s fastidiousness and perfectionism.
“The bedroom is yours—arrange your things however you like. I’ll handle the rest,” he said, then turned and left.
Sophie knelt to unzip and open her suitcase. She glanced back at Ethan in the living room; normally, his refined demeanor exuded elegance, but now, as he knelt on the floor dismantling a cardboard box, he looked unexpectedly down-to-earth.
She then opened the wardrobe, which was filled entirely with Ethan’s clothes—mostly dark, cool-toned garments with hardly any warm hues.
Glancing at her own clothes, which were strikingly more colorful by comparison, she decided to hang them all up.
Amid the row of cool colors, her clothes added a brilliant splash of warmth—an indescribable sense of coziness.
Sophie was startled that she could feel such warmth.
Ethan stood up, noticing the silence in the bedroom, and walked in, only to find Sophie standing by the bed, hugging a pillow.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Am I supposed to sleep here tonight?” Sophie almost blurted out as she turned to face him.
Ethan looked at her and said, “What else?”
Sophie suddenly realized her question was utterly redundant; when they moved in, Ethan had already told her everything—we were legally married.
Living together, sleeping together—wasn’t that only natural?
Yet, despite its naturalness, just thinking about it made her palms tremble with nervousness.
“You still daydream just like before,” he teased, a soft chuckle following his words.
Sophie snapped back to reality, her cheeks flushing deep pink.
How could Ethan remember every little detail?
“Wh-what time is it?” she asked hesitantly.
Ethan glanced at his watch. “Nine forty-eight,” he said precisely—a testament to his perfectionism.
Had she answered, it would have been either just past nine or nearly ten.
“Then, would you like to shower first?” Sophie whispered, her voice barely audible as if her tongue were bitten by a cat.
“There’s still a bit to tidy up outside—go ahead and shower,” Ethan replied.
“I’ll help you, though,” she offered.
“No, it’s just a little—I’ll manage. Go ahead,” he said.
“Alright.”
After Ethan left, Sophie grabbed her pajamas and went into the bathroom.
After removing her makeup, she finally took a shower.
When she was about to get dressed, she hesitated—should she wear a bra?
At home, she never wore one to bed because it was said that sleeping in a bra was bad for development and breast shape, and might even increase the risk of breast cancer.
But…
After a fierce internal debate, Sophie ended up simply putting on her pajamas.
When she emerged from the bathroom, Ethan still hadn’t returned; he was probably still tidying up.
Thinking quickly, she accelerated her hair-drying until it was half-dry, then quickly tucked herself under the covers.
The bed was imbued with Ethan’s lingering scent.
Her nerves were so frayed that she closed her eyes, her eyelids trembling.
Author’s Note:
Sophie: Madeline, come out and talk to me!
Madeline: Talk about what?
Sophie: Are you really my real mom? In just a few chapters, you’ve already sent me off to another man’s bed!!!
Ethan: Sophie, come here—am I not that other man?
- Writer
