The Billionaire's Fake Fiance

Chapter Twenty Six

The morning came as silently as dew forms on the end of grass. Richard woke up, not because he was done sleeping, it was because he had never really slept properly. The piece of information had rattled him to his very core. Alex had told him not to ask or say anything to Jean for she was recovering from bad injuries. He decided he would talk to her once she was better.

Getting out of his room, he heard footsteps in the kitchen, assuming it was Madeline, as he had asked her to double her shift so that she could also take care of Jean. It was eight in the morning, and he could smell delicious food downstairs. Not wanting to wait anymore, he hurried down the stairs, as his silk robe slipped from his muscled shoulders.

He hadn't expected that sight. Jean was cooking something unbelievingly tasty. As she swirled the thick curry with the spatula, he noticed she was wearing a pair of pink shorts with a similar shirt, probably a part of a set. Her hair was pulled back, and tied into a ponytail. Her face looked clean and fresh, though the cuts looked as bad as they actually were.

"Jean, why the hell are you--" He approached her and soon his words were interrupted when she shoved a piece of cucumber into his mouth.

He glared at her while she laughed. "Sorry to take over your kitchen like this. Hope you don't mind. But I was hungry."

"Let me make breakfast, then," He suggested, moving into the kitchen, beside her.

"No, leave it to me. Does Vivian like chicken?" She asked, dead serious.

He gulped. "Yeah, why?"

"Nothing. Just something that I'm making contains chicken."

He got close and inhaled the delicious steam that filled the air. "What are you making?"

"Lasagna." She beamed, turning around, taking some vegetables and putting them on a glass tray.

He felt utterly delightful. All these years, he made breakfast and Madeline took care of the rest of the meals. But this kitchen never felt like home. It was always a place of making and serving food, not a place for impersonal conversations, homeliness, feeling of belongingness. He convinced himself that feeling like this would kick him more towards his doom, but he couldn't help but feel them.

"Now, I want you to taste this." She scooped the curry into his mouth with a spoon. "How's it?"

The flavourful curry bursted spices into his tastebuds. "Wow, you're a great cook."

"Come on, hurry up and eat. We're gonna be late for office, Mr. Hamilton."

Her words baffled him. She was thinking of going to office? In such a condition? "Oh, you're not coming, so that doesn't really matter."

Her mouth gaped open. "What? Are you serious? I need to design the website. I need to--"

"My marketing team will handle it, okay?" He put his hands on her waist as a sign to convince her but he wanted just an excuse to touch her.

"If your marketing team could handle it, you wouldn't have to appoint me, would you?" She asked, innocent playfulness making her eyes more beguiling.

He sighed, coming closer to her face in just a second. "No, but that doesn't mean you'll work. You will stay here, and Maddy, my housekeeper, will take care of you."

She blew up her nose in indignance. "I won't! I will run away, I promise."

"Oh, really? Run away where?"

She breathed. "Rich, please, take me to office. I wanna work. I don't wanna stay home."

Home? She called this house her home? Something moved in him, something deeper than just a mere feeling. He should've felt offended by her referring his mansion as hers, but that obviously didn't happen. Instead, he felt so right, as if it was okay to be her home. She was here for a couple of days, until her injuries were in a far better position, but just the thought that she was gonna go away from his vision made him wince internally.