Chapter 29: Fake Plays

He grabbed her little tail. Olive blushed and quickly protested, "What are you doing? Let go!"

Elvis didn't let go, tugging on her tail and asking, "New interest?"

Olive was stunned. It seemed absurd. Of all the sexy nightgowns, why this particular one?

Olive pushed him away. "Mr. Augustine, you're shameless!"

Elvis held onto her tail, furrowing his brows. "How am I shameless?"

"You prepared these pajamas and nightgowns in the closet, aren't you?"

Elvis glanced at the closet door. "I didn't prepare those clothes. Grandma did."

Grandma?

Olive was dumbfounded.

Elvis looked at Phoebe. "Is she still good?"

Olive tried her best to pull away. Phoebe said, "She's very good."

"Then why aren't you good?"

What does he mean, am I also a kitten? Olive wondered. With her tail still in his grasp, his playful, slow movements felt a little bullying, as if she were a kitten.

A knock came at the door. Chef Maria called from outside, "Young master, Old Mrs. Samantha asked me to bring you a smoothie. Drink it while it's cold."

Olive pushed Elvis away, afraid someone would see them. Elvis released her tail. He opened the door, glancing at the drink. His grandmother really did love making him smoothies. He drank it by the door, returned the glass to Maria, and went back inside.

Elvis showered, then sat on the sofa, working on his laptop. He felt the heat radiating from his body, his temperature rising. The heat intensified, making him uncomfortable. He looked up. Olive was sitting on the bed, a medical book in her hand. She was beautiful and demure. Eyes blurry, he forced himself to place the laptop on the bed.

He stood and walked to the bedside.

"Mr. Augustine, what are you doing? I'm reading," Olive protested.

Elvis sat on the edge of the bed, taking her soft hand and placing it on his forehead. "Am I sick?"

Olive was startled by his temperature. Quickly feeling his pulse, she asked, "What did you eat?"

Elvis had an idea, but being in his own house made him hesitant. Olive's question prompted him to swiftly stand and open the door.

"Ouch!" Madam Samantha nearly fell.

"Grandma, what did you give me?" Elvis's expression was angry.

Caught, Mrs. Samantha looked embarrassed. She pointed at Mr. Henry. "It wasn't me, it was him. There was a tonic in your soup."

Uncle Henry, legs trembling, stared at Mrs. Samantha in shock.

Mrs. Samantha quickly added, "Henry, you're bold, but since it's your first offense, I'll forgive you. And Elvis, there's no need for a tantrum. There's nothing wrong. At least I should hug my grandchild as soon as possible!"

Elvis pursed his lips. "Grandma!"

"Elvis, do you know I can't hold my head up in front of other ladies? They always show off their cute great-grandchildren. They bully me! I don't have any great-grandchildren!"

Elvis immediately closed the door. He approached the bed. Olive, already aware, pulled the quilt up, watching him alertly. "What do you want? Don't come near!"

Elvis got into bed, pressing her down. "Grandma's outside, cooperate."

This was crucial to their agreement. She needed to cooperate. His eyes darkening, he murmured, "You can't scream?" He kissed her face. Olive's eyelashes trembled; she cried out in coordination.

Mrs. Samantha left, satisfied.

Olive quickly pushed him. "Grandma's gone, get up!"

Elvis remained still, burying his face in her hair. Olive dared not move, fearing she'd mimic him. She knew Mrs. Samantha desperately wanted a great-grandchild. Olive cherished everyone who loved her, and the more kindly Mrs. Samantha treated her, the guiltier she felt. She feared the old lady's heartbreak upon discovering their deception.

Elvis propped himself up, gazing at her. "We can also…fake it."

Olive's eyes narrowed; she pushed him away in panic.

Elvis laid back, closing his eyes. "I'll shower. You should sleep."

He went into the bathroom; the sound of running water followed. Olive hugged the blanket, closing her eyes, but sleep didn't come. She didn't know when she fell asleep, but waking, she found Elvis gone. "Where did he go?"