The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

She caught herself drifting and quickly pulled her thoughts back on track. What on earth was she thinking?

"It's delicious."

Gwyneth had barely tasted the soup before nearly draining the cup in one go.

Hawthorne glanced over with a faint smile. "Slow down. There's even better to come."

He was clearly talking about the food, but for some reason, his words made her ears burn.

Even better to come? She shot him a quick look, and her gaze drifted to his slightly open collar, hinting just enough at what lay beneath to make her nerves tingle. Embarrassed, Gwyneth hid behind her cup, covering half her face—and, at this point, her eyes too.

While her heart hammered against her ribs, Hawthorne moved deftly around the kitchen, preparing dish after dish. The apartment was soon filled with the mouthwatering aroma of food. By the time Gwyneth managed to calm herself, he was already setting a steaming plate of fried rice in front of her.

Each grain shone, perfectly separate and glistening. Corn and ham peeked through the mound, and before she could react, Hawthorne scooped up a spoonful and held it out for her. She took a bite, chewed, and her eyes widened in disbelief. She'd eaten all sorts of gourmet delicacies in her life, but she'd never thought a humble plate of fried rice could win over her stomach like this.

If Hawthorne hadn't kept bringing out more dishes, she might've been tempted to lick the plate clean.

"You've trained as a chef, haven't you?"

He moved with all the confidence of a professional-nothing amateur about his technique, not with the way he plated each course. When he brought out a gorgeous seafood platter, Gwyneth thought even a five-star restaurant would have trouble competing.

Hawthorne wasted nothing, using up every last bit of ingredient. Watching him work, Gwyneth found herself seeing him in a whole new light.

It was just the two of them, yet he'd filled the entire table with food.

"Wine? Would you like some?"

He pulled a bottle of red from the cabinet. Gwyneth wanted to act reserved, but as soon as he uncorked the bottle and the aroma drifted over, her resolve dissolved.

"Just a small glass," she said.

Who was she kidding? Hawthorne poured only half a glass for her, and Gwyneth finally caved. "Honestly, I could probably handle a bit more."

Steak, seafood stew, fresh fruit, wild mushroom soup, toasted bread, little desserts-the table was a feast Hawthorne took a seat beside her, and her whole body tensed up.

"Since we got married today, shouldn't we toast?"

Gwyneth noticed he'd poured himself a glass too, matching hers right to the line.

"Oh-"

Her response was awkward. For some reason, whenever Hawthorne sat this close, she got flustered.

She couldn't help glancing at him, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, then his throat, and down-only to notice that sometime during the meat, he'd buttoned his shirt all the way up and smoothed back his hair. noveldrama

"We should definitely toast," he said.

Gwyneth felt a little disappointed. Sure, he looked respectable, but she couldn't help wishing for a little more to look at.

Hawthorne caught her wistful look, the corners of his mouth curving up. His voice was low and velvety. "If you want to look, go ahead. We have all night."

Startled, Gwyneth nearly dropped her wine glass. Luckily, Hawthorne reached out and steadied her just in time.

Their glasses clinked softly together. Gwyneth took a hefty gulp, hoping to settle her nerves, but ended up nearly choking instead.

Hawthorne quickly set his glass down and dabbed her lips with a napkin. "Easy. You're like a little kid."

Flushed, Gwyneth grabbed a napkin herself, blotting up the spilled wine.

The meal was a blur of flavors and laughter. Gwyneth's head started to spin-not that a bottle of wine would normally faze her, but with

Love

Hawthorne beside her, she hadn't even had that much before O everything felt hazy. Even his face seemed to blur, as if she were seeing double.