But she still pretended not to understand and blinked, asking, "Uncle Nicholas, where are you taking ?"
"To my ho," Nicholas Croft leaned back in the rear seat, closed his eyes and rested. During this ti, he had gatherings almost every day and hardly rested.
"Uncle Nicholas!" Beatrice Hargrave called out in surprise. Nicholas responded lightly with a "hmm" and lazily said, "I’m listening."
At this mont, Nicholas Croft wore a navy blue suit, and the trench coat draped over his shoulders was in the sa color sche. His hands were clasped in front, leaning back in the seat with his eyes closed.
His short hair was styled with gel, neatly combed back. Even in the dim light of the car, from Beatrice’s angle, the contour of his side profile remained deep and clear.
Once, just by looking at his side profile, she couldn’t help but reach out her finger, tracing his broad forehead, sliding slowly along the bridge of his nose.
At this mont, the urge was there too, but her current identity didn’t allow her to do so.
Looking at the man resting with closed eyes, Beatrice pretended to be powerless, slumping her shoulders, "Uncle Nicholas, do you know that what you’re doing is wrong?"
"Hmm," another light response. Seeing Nicholas’s lazy deanor, Beatrice struggled to restrain the little demon in her heart from rushing over to tear at him.
Licking her lips, she continued preaching, "You are my sister’s fiancé..."
"Allow to correct that, I am not Hannah Hargrave’s fiancé."
This ti, before Beatrice could finish her sentence, Nicholas interrupted her, furrowing his brow as if discussing sothing serious.
"But my sister always thought of you as her fiancé!" Beatrice naively said. Well, she admitted it’s the little demon in her heart acting up, that’s why she deliberately spoke so bluntly.
Actually, she felt uncomfortable because of this man’s duplicity.
Just now, outside the venue’s door, she overheard their conversation. Uncle Li asked him if he had feelings for her, but Uncle Nicholas wouldn’t admit it, even saying what kind of feelings could he have for a child?
Hmph, if not for the fact that he rembered their first night together, she would never have given him a chance so easily.
"That is her wishful thinking!" Nicholas, still with his eyes closed, spoke coldly.
Beatrice pursed her lips and secretly smiled, a glimr of triumph quickly flashed in her eyes.
Soon, she pretended to worry and asked, "Uncle Nicholas, did you talk to my father? And why are we going to your house?"
Nicholas kept his eyes closed, ignoring Beatrice’s questions.
"Uncle Nicholas..."
...
"Uncle Nicholas?"
It was clear the man was feigning silence. Beatrice mischievously smiled and took out her phone from her jeans pocket, talking to herself, "I’ll call Dad and have him send soone to pick up."
"Beatrice!" Nicholas suddenly opened his eyes, his furrowed brows showing bla and helplessness. Under Beatrice’s puzzled gaze, he wrapped his large hand around her wrist, took the phone, and lowered his eyes to check if she had dialed any number.
Beatrice maintained a puzzled expression, but actually, her tightly pressed lips were quivering, suppressing her laughter.
Bad Uncle, ignoring people. There are many ways to deal with you.
Seeing that Beatrice hadn’t dialed Henry Hargrave’s number, Nicholas finally relaxed, for three years, the deep nights were always the hardest to endure. Sotis, he would lean back in his sofa, sipping red wine, even perversely preparing a glass across from him, then lighting a cigar... fantasizing that Sophie Foster was sitting across from him, accompanying him in drinking foreign wine, and smoking a cigar.
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