Chapter 27

Before long, Margot stirred awake. Her eyes immediately fell upon the bandage wrapped around Vivienne’s wrist, and her expression flickered with surprise. “What happened? How did you hurt yourself?”

Her gaze shifted momentarily to Derek; her expression was difficult to read—layered with curiosity and a hint of suspicion. Could it be that Derek, in one of his rare displays of eagerness, had inadvertently caused this?

Vivienne smiled faintly, her tone light and reassuring. “Oh, it’s nothing serious. I accidentally cut myself while breaking a flowerpot earlier. No need to worry.”

Margot nodded, her brows lifting slightly as her features softened. “I’m glad it’s nothing too bad.” She reached out and gently took Vivienne’s hand, her voice warm and inviting. “Since you’re injured, why don’t you stay the night? It’s better to rest here than to go home.”

Derek’s brow twitched, but his timing was impeccable. “The rain’s coming down hard, and it doesn’t seem like it’ll let up anytime soon,” he added, his tone calm but firm.

Margot chimed in with mock gravity, her lips curling into a knowing smile. “Vivienne, you’ve only just recovered, and you really shouldn’t risk getting caught in the rain. Now that you’re hurt, it would only make things worse if you got an infection.”

Derek set a steaming cup of coffee in front of Margot, a subtle smile playing on his lips. “Grandma, you make an excellent point.”

Vivienne, who hadn’t managed to get a word in edgewise, could only stare at them in silence. And just like that, she found herself staying at Margot’s house without fully understanding how it had all transpired.

By the time dinner was served, the three of them gathered around the dining table. Margot studied Vivienne quietly, noting her graceful posture and poised demeanor. Her gaze lingered before she asked, “Vivienne, are your parents in Lyhaton?”

At the mention of her parents, Vivienne’s lashes lowered, and her voice softened as she shook her head. “My mother passed away when I was still a child.”

A shadow of something sharper crossed her face when her father came to mind—a cold detachment that suggested his absence was both satiric and bitter.

Margot’s expression grew sympathetic, and her tone became more tender. “So, you’re living alone now? If that’s the case, why not come live with me? It’s not safe for a young woman to be on her own. Here, I can take care of you, and I’d love the company.”

“Grandma, isn’t there a rule about no serious conversations at the dinner table?” Derek interjected smoothly, shooting her a pointed look.

Margot huffed, crossing her arms with a pout. “Rules can bend for special cases. Honestly, you’re already acting so protective of Vivienne, and she hasn’t even married you yet!”

Derek’s lips parted, but no words came out.

Vivienne, flustered by the exchange, ducked her head and focused on her food, her lips pressing into a tight line to hide her awkwardness.

Out of nowhere, a hand appeared in front of her—Derek’s hand. His hands were strikingly elegant, the kind that would make artists sigh with envy. With steady precision, he reached for a plump Pacific white shrimp. His fingers, long and deft, worked with such ease that peeling the shell seemed like an art form. In moments, the shrimp meat separated from its shell with elegant precision.

Vivienne found herself transfixed. She had never witnessed such artful shrimp peeling. Her gaze settled on his hands, momentarily lost in their beauty. Such hands, she thought, could make any action a visual pleasure.

Unbidden, an intimate image flashed through her mind, causing her cheeks to flush.

Derek caught her staring. A rare, soft smile transformed his usually stern face.

By the time he placed a plate of neatly peeled shrimp in front of her, Vivienne blinked herself back to reality, startled by the gesture.

“Try it,” he said simply, his voice low and steady, his gaze holding hers with an intensity that made her heart skip.

Vivienne hesitated, and then murmured softly, “Thank you.” She picked up a piece, biting into it carefully. The sweetness of the shrimp melted on her tongue, sending a warm, subtle satisfaction through her.

Margot, watching from the other side of the table, raised an eyebrow. It seemed her grandson wasn’t quite as emotionally oblivious as she’d feared. She glanced at her own plate of shrimp, now looking rather unappealing, and casually tossed the piece back down.

Leaning forward with an expectant look in her eyes, Margot spoke again. “So, Vivienne, about moving in with me—when do you think you’ll do it?”