Chapter 101: My Little Bride
When she heard his story, Olive’s eyelashes fluttered. She withdrew her hand, ceasing the acupuncture. Elvis opened his eyes and gazed at her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Olive pouted, muttering, “Oh, it’s nothing. I just thought the bribe intended for Mr. Augustine was taken by his younger brother. He must be very sad.”
Elvis quickly raised his hand, gently squeezing her face. “Little jealous thing. You’re jealous of a baby still in swaddling clothes?”
Olive chuckled. “That was years ago. That baby’s an adult now. And that little girl your mother liked… she must be beautiful and enchanting by now.”
“After that day, my mother’s friend disappeared with her daughter. I never saw her grow up,” Elvis added.
“Which means Mr. Augustine hasn’t searched for them in years,” Olive stated.
A frown creased Elvis’s face. His silence spoke volumes. Olive raised her right foot and kicked him hard. He tumbled off the bed onto the fluffy carpet.
His handsome face was gloomy, his thin lips a displeased curve, his aura cold and powerful. Olive furrowed her brows, her clear black eyes shining.
“Mr. Augustine, let me assure you, I won’t be intimidated. I’m not finished dealing with Pamela, and now a ‘little bride’ has appeared.”
“Little brat, are you itching for a spanking?” Elvis cursed softly, then quickly climbed back onto the bed, reaching for her.
Olive, though upset, remained composed. Elvis grabbed her slender ankle, pulling her beneath him. He turned her over and spanked her.
Olive’s face flushed. The spank wasn’t painful, but humiliating. She grabbed his hand. “Elvis, that’s not allowed.”
Elvis pressed his face into her hair, explaining softly, “My mother had few friends and a gentle nature. She liked very few people. She truly adored that girl. If I find her, I’ll treat her like my own sister.”
Underneath him, Olive felt his weight uncomfortably. She hummed discontentedly.
“What kind of sister? Your mother found a sister for you? What if she weren’t pretty? Would you still want her as a sister?”
Elvis’s thin lips kissed her cheek, overflowing with affection. He hadn’t expected her jealousy, though he liked it.
“I’m Elvis Augustine. I’m proud of myself, and not all women appreciate that. Unless that girl had a beautiful face like yours, your intelligence, tenacity, and bravery. It’s a pity you’re one of a kind. No one else makes my heart beat like this.”
Olive felt his words were honeyed, and pushed him away. “Go away.”
Elvis stared at her, then slowly released her. Olive crawled under her blanket, watching him.
“So, you and this ‘little bride’ have only met once. Does she like you?”
Elvis pondered. “She grabbed my finger.”
“How?” Olive extended her small hand, gently pulling his index finger into her palm.
Elvis blinked. A memory surfaced—a seven-year-old him, standing by a cradle, looking at a little girl. She wasn’t wrinkled like other babies; she was bright and alert. Lying on a goose-yellow blanket, she’d stared at him with large black eyes, her tiny hands reaching for his finger, grinning. His mother had teased, “Look, Elvis’s little bride likes him very much.”
Elvis looked at Olive’s glistening eyes, her resemblance to that little girl striking him. He lowered his head to kiss her lips, but she avoided him, quickly releasing his finger and wrapping the silk sheet around herself.
“Mr. Augustine, you’re terrifying,” she scolded.
Elvis swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He hugged her. “Sleep,” he murmured.
Olive raised her face from his chest, wriggling. “Mr. Augustine, how did your mother die?” She sensed his deep love for her.
Elvis closed his eyes, his face calm. “She cut open her stomach with a knife to deliver the baby. She thought it was due in July, but the baby was already dead—a girl. Devastated, she jumped from a skyscraper. Her body was never found.”
Olive froze, stunned by the story. She contemplated the courage—or desperation—that would drive a woman to such an act.
Elvis rolled over, pulling her into his embrace. He murmured, “Olive, I’ll never let go of your hand. Never.”