Diarmuid actually frowned at Abigail. “No one’s going to take your food.”
Abigail did not stop, however, and did as she liked. After all, she did not have to put the food on her own plate or take small bites like she usually would.
Diarmuid naturally loved her being true to herself, and he poured her a bowl of soup while not forgetting to tell her, “Don’t choke.”
That was when Abigail suddenly said, “You never answered me. Why can’t I join that club just because I’m young?”
Diarmuid looked up and held Abigail’s gaze for seconds. “You’ll find out eventually.”
Abigail frowned. “Acting all hush-hush would just make me more curious.”
“Get over here.” Diarmuid put down his knife and fork then, and reclined slightly in his chair.
Abigail hesitated for a moment before walking around the table to him.
He took her hand and pulled, and she fell on his lap.
Putting his hand around her waist, he asked, “When did you learn Franconian?”
“While I was in school,” Abigail replied.
There was a flash of admiration in Diarmuid’s eyes as she leaned on his shoulder and added, “I guess my dad was right.”
Lionel Bernstein might have disregarded her feelings and even coerced her to do things she did not like, but it was too evident that looks were not everything for the companion of a successful man.
Even if she was not his equal, she at least needed some extent of knowledge and culture.
She suddenly thought that it would have been great if Lionel were still alive—he would most certainly be overjoyed to see them getting together for real.
“What’s on your mind?” Diarmuid asked, having seen that she was spacing out.
“N-Nothing,” Abigail replied, shaking her head and quickly composing herself. She then picked up a shrimp, peeled it, and slowly chewed it, savoring the fresh soft flesh inside.
She picked up another, peeled it as well, and held it by Diarmuid’s lips. “Try it. It’s good.”
Diarmuid leaned in and whispered into his ear, “Feed me.”
Abigail blinked and stared at the shrimp in her hand.
Was she not doing just that?
She asked blankly, “Am I doing something wrong?”
Diarmuid had a twinkle in his eye as he smiled faintly. “I’ll teach you.”
He bit the piece of shrimp, holding it in his mouth and aiming it at hers.
As Abigail’s eyes widened, he delivered the shrimp into her mouth.
She blushed for a while, but feigned composure and said, “It’s just your spirit.”
As Diarmuid chuckled, she quickly tried to change the subject. “Are we leaving tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” Diarmuid replied. “I had Stan arrange everything—we’ll be sleeping here for the night before heading to Minerva tomorrow, and then head home from there.”
“Okay.” Abigail nodded.
She rose to her feet, but Diarmuid’s hands around her never eased. “I’ll carry you upstairs.”
Abigail quickly fled. “Nope!”
She reached their room first and Diarmuid followed, getting in their large, soft bed and wrapping his arms around her again.
“Abigail.”
Diarmuid said her name out of the blue, his tone suddenly serious.
Abigail looked up to meet his eyes. “Yeah?”
Diarmuid tightened her hold around her. “I’m happy you came with me.”
It was just a shame that they could not stay and spend more time together.
Still, Abigail rested her head against his arm and leaned into his embrace. “Me too.”
…
They headed straight to the Goodings’ home once they disembarked at Minerva.
However, they did not call Mick Gooding ahead of them, and he was a little perplexed when they showed up at his doorstep.
“Diarmuid and I had a little errand in Franconia, and we flew over to visit Erin as well along the way.” Abigail spoke before he could. “How is she doing these days?”
“Oh. Come in, then.” Mick beckoned at them to go inside after coming to his senses, unable to stop himself from sighing at the mention of Erin. “She’s not doing well. She’s pretending she’s fine when I’m around, but I’ve heard her crying more than once when she’s alone.”
Gesturing for a servant to make them tea then, Mick said, “Take a seat.”
“Where is she now?” Abigail asked. “Can I see her?”
“I’m sure she’d be happy to see you,” Mick replied. “She’s upstairs. Go on.”
Abigail followed the servant upstairs, and she opened the door to see Erin curled up on a couch.
She had lost a lot of weight.
“Erin?” Abigail called out as she entered.
Erin looked up when she heard Abigail’s voice.
Erin appeared taken aback to see Abigail entering her room, and she quickly got up from the couch. “What are you doing here?”
Abigail said, “I came to see you.”
Erin gestured for her to sit while appearing a little flustered. “I haven’t cleaned myself up…”
Her hair was disheveled, and her clothes were baggy casualwear.
“I’m family,” Abigail told her. “You have nothing to worry about.”
As Erin pursed her lips, Abigail asked, “You’re losing a lot of weight. You haven’t been eating well, have you?”
Erin returned to the couch and replied, “I don’t feel much of an appetite.”
She only ate so that she did not worry Mick, and had to force herself to do it.
Abigail felt her chest tightening when she saw Erin’s scrawny form.
“Let’s go downstairs!” Erin said then, getting to her feet again.
“Sure,” Abigail replied, and they headed downstairs together.
There was no one around the living area, so Erin asked her servant, “Where’s my dad?”
“He’s in his study,” the servant replied.
Erin headed there, but before she could knock on the door, she noticed that it was ajar with a narrow slit, and Mick could be heard from inside.
“Erin is a good kid. I’m worried about her if I’m gone… Also, I have a favor to ask from you. I know that I’m out of line, since you’ve already told me where your mother is buried and I should be content with that, instead of asking for more…”
“I’ll take care of her like she’s my sister,” Diarmuid said.
He naturally knew what Mick was getting at—Mick was entrusting Erin’s care to him.
Having seen for himself Erin’s fine character, he was also aware that Erin was hurt because of Abigail, though it would be Abigail who was hurt if it was not for Erin.
He was now willing to acknowledge Erin as his younger sister not just because of that, however, but also because Erin was a child that his own mother raised.
Abigail was right—having more family members would make their family look more like one.
Mick certainly did not expect Diarmuid to be so agreeable. “Thank you.”
“It’s fine,” Diarmuid replied.
Erin opened the door then. “Dad.”
“What are you doing down here?” Mick asked when he saw her.
“I wouldn’t have heard that crap about you leaving if I didn’t come, would I?” she snapped, striding into the room and giving him a hug. “You’re going to live another hundred years.”
Mick patted her on the back. “You’re an adult now. People are going to laugh at you if you keep crying like that.”
Still, Erin could not hold it in just then.
Mick wanted to leave her care to Diarmuid for the sake of her future, and she certainly understood his kindness—that was why she was overwhelmed with emotion and cried.
“There are no strangers here.” Erin sniffled and turned toward Diarmuid. “Abigail will always be a sister to me.”
“Yeah,” Diarmuid replied softly.
“You should stay for dinner,” Mick said then.
Diarmuid did not actually have any plans to stay since they already had their plane tickets booked.
Even so, he did not turn Mick down. “Okay.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.
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