Jasmine Yale smiled sheepishly, resting her chin on her hand as she quietly gazed at Sylvan Cheney.
In monts like this, she cherished every single second.
As evening approached, the sunset gradually sank in the west, slowly dipping below the horizon from a full circle to a half-circle, until it vanished completely.
The sun had set, and the water in the swimming pool was beginning to cool.
As Sylvan Cheney swam over, Jasmine Yale tossed a towel to him and said with a smile, "Co up, it’s getting dark."
They had been swimming for quite a while.
Mr. Dick was impressive too, at his age, swimming back and forth in the pool like a fish, which made Jasmine Yale view him with newfound respect.
Seeing Jasmine Yale’s smile, Sylvan Cheney suddenly felt a bit dazed.
The face before him was clearly defined and so close, yet his vision blurred.
Unford images floated through his mind, and Sylvan Cheney’s temples throbbed.
He took a sip of water to suppress the sudden agitation rising in his chest.
Mr. Dick went to the changing room, with the female secretary following behind.
Sylvan Cheney also jumped out of the pool, took the towel and bathrobe from Jasmine Yale’s hands, and headed to the changing room.
The servants at Mr. Dick’s estate had already prepared a clean shirt and trousers for Sylvan Cheney, handing the clothes to Jasmine Yale.
One tall, one short, they walked one behind the other on the artificial beach, leaving a trail of footprints.
The garden of the estate was filled with roses, swaying in the evening breeze, their fragrance overwhelming.
The roses were so beautiful, even more so than the ones she bought from the flower shop.
Sylvan Cheney went to take a shower first, while Jasmine Yale quietly waited outside.
She looked at the estate’s scenery, as night fell, the street lamps lit up, a thin veil of black covered the surroundings, adding a touch of mystery to the estate.
Servants were everywhere, and soon the aroma of cooking and smoke from the kitchen filled the air in the estate.
This was pure Arican style, luxurious yet understated, with every corner offering a sense of ultimate enjoynt.
Jasmine Yale stood by the roadside, looking at the roses under the street lamps.
The petals were flawless, the flowers delicate and beautiful, with very pure varieties.
"If Miss Yale likes these flowers, you can take so ho." Mr. Dick appeared out of nowhere after his bath.
"Can I pick them?"
"Of course you can, I’ll ask the servant to cut so for you. What color do you prefer?"
"Pink, it’s pretty."
"Alright, alright, Sam, bring the scissors over."
The servants at Mr. Dick’s estate were respectful and quick in their work; soon, a male servant handed Jasmine Yale a bouquet of pink roses, thoughtfully wrapped in ribbon and silk to prevent pricking her hands.
"Mr. Dick, you’re biased. I’ve visited the estate so many tis, and you’ve never given roses," the female secretary remarked as she erged.
"If you like, I’ll ask Sam to cut so for you too, so you won’t say I’m biased."
"Oh, things asked for aren’t good, let these roses bloom on their branches, I won’t spoil the flowers," the female secretary said.
Jasmine Yale held the roses, sniffed them, and found them very fragrant.
The evening breeze lifted her hair, and the night complented her charming face, making her look especially enchanting.
"Jasmine Yale!" a man’s voice ca from not far away.
"Miss Yale, your president is calling for you, you’d better go over," the female secretary said with a smile.
"Alright, excuse ."
Jasmine Yale carried the roses and walked towards the lounge room.
Upon entering, she saw that Sylvan Cheney was already dressed, his shirt and trousers clean and crisp, without a wrinkle.
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