Abigail was relieved to hear him answer. “What was that?”
“Just James venting,” he flatly replied.
Abigail quickly understood what had happened and did not ask anything else.
“I might be home late tonight,” he added.
“Oh,” Abigail murmured. “Actually, I was just going to tell you that there’s no one at home. We’re all out.”
“I see. Head home soon, though.”
“Okay.”
“Shall I hang up now?” Diarmuid asked after a brief silence.
“Okay.”
…
As they alighted, Tommy held Abigail’s hand as they headed into the mansion, saying, “I’m so happy, Mommy.”
Abigail lowered her gaze at him. “You’re happy because we went out?”
“Yes.” Tommy nodded, his head bobbing like a bird’s. “Let’s go out more, I’ll be even happier.”
Abigail gave his little hand a squeeze. “Alright.”
Tommy was so happy he was skipping all the way, and Abigail smiled as she watched him on cloud nine.
Maybe staying home for the children was not that bad—her sons would at least be happy, would they not?
She even bathed both children for the day before coaxing them to sleep.
It was 9 PM when everything was done. Tommy put on his bear pajamas, sitting on the bed as he played with the paper windmill they bought from the amusement park.
He puffed at it, propelling that flap even as Abigail tried to get him to sleep. “It’s almost ten. Time to sleep —you can play with it tomorrow too.”
Tommy reluctantly lay down then, but he was still holding the paper windmill.
Abigail pulled his blanket over him and gave him a peck on the forehead. “Good boy.”
Tommy beamed happily and closed his eyes obediently.
Abigail made sure he was asleep before going upstairs.
It was past ten after she took her bath, but Diarmuid had yet to return.
She could not sleep, so she picked up a book to read, but her mind could not calm down enough for her to take the words in.
As such, she headed downstairs and poured herself half a glass of wine before returning upstairs to stand out on the balcony.
She swirled her glass as she rested both hands on the railing, shaking the pale yellow liquid within.
She took a small sip and frowned.
She did not drink much and was not used to the taste.
She soon saw a car approaching from nearby, but it was too dark for her to see what it looked like.
Even so, she was sure that Diarmuid had returned.
Soon, the car drove into the front porch and its headlights turned off.
A towering figure then opened the door alighted, his shadow seemingly stretching on forever on the ground under the streetlights.
Licking her lips, Abigail called out to him.
“Diarmuid.”
Diarmuid looked up. Seeing her on the balcony, he asked, “Haven’t you slept yet?”
“I was waiting for you.”
He smiled, his usual scowl easing above his dark gaze. “Were you drinking?”
“Yeah.” Abigail swirled her glass and finished the rest.
“Had a lot to drink?” he asked.
“…I’m starting to feel tipsy.”
Putting her glass on the railing, she looked at him coquettishly and undid the sash on her sleeping gown, asking directly, “Can you catch it?”
Even as she said those words, her sash started to fall.
It was so light it seemed to dance in the air as it floated down, landing squarely on Diarmuid’s shoulder.
His gaze darkened further and he studied her with pupils as dark as bottomless abyss.
“Do you have more?” he asked softly.
His longer fingers took hold of the sash just then, feeling the soft black texture.
He glanced at it in his hands, remembering that most of Abigail’s sleepwear were long sleeved and matched with pants—the conservative sort.
In fact, he had never seen the one she was wearing!
Obviously, the sleeping gown Abigail was wearing had no pants either.
She smiled faintly, and even that expression seemed to have an additional tinge of coquettishness. “Yeah. Want some?”
For the first time, Diarmuid was being teased.
His dark eyes twinkled as he smiled, and his voice was as quiet as it was deep. “Yeah.”
Hence, Abigail watched him as she tipped off her outer gown with her fingers, breathing tenderly and alluringly, “You have to catch it, or it’d get dirty if it drops on the floor.”
Diarmuid could not stop himself from smiling.
Did she take the wrong meds today?
“Alright, I’ll catch it,” he said.
The black silk gown slithered off Abigail’s body then, baring her fair skin. The straps clinging on her shoulders were so thin they looked like they would snap at any moment, its soft texture hugging her slender but curvaceous figure.
She smiled. “I’m throwing it down now.”
She held the gown over the railing, and it would fall once she loosened her fingers!
Diarmuid raised his hands in return, but Abigail ultimately stopped herself, clinging onto it as she exclaimed shyly, “Never mind. I’m too shy for this.”
She returned inside, but just as she was about to straighten her clothes, the door opened.
She turned to find Diarmuid standing at the doorway, leaning against the door as he stared fixedly at her.
“Don’t.”
“Does it look good?” Abigail asked with an unfocused gaze.
Diarmuid studied her then.
Be it her face, her lips, her neck, or elsewhere… he was not sparing a single nook or cranny!
“Yes.”
She looked up, her lashes twitching. “Really?”
Diarmuid strode toward her and reached out to take the outer gown off her hands. He then casually threw it on the bed. “I like it. One layer is enough.”
Abigail bit her lip and threw herself into his arms. “Did you know?”
Diarmuid wrapped his arms around her waist in turn, and buried his face in her hair which smelled so sweet. “Know what?”
“That you’re despicable.” Abigail tightened her hold around his neck. “I doubted myself for the first time.”
She always believed that she was right and she did not regret her choice.
But when they browbeat her at court today without regard for what was wrong, insisting that she had broken regulations… She felt helpless.
She certainly did not want to imagine how far Dennis Turner’s family would go with the lawsuit if he really died.
Would she be in prison?
Diarmuid patted her on the back and comforted her. “Does self-indulgence calm you down?”
Abigail gave him a peck on the cheek.
“It does. I’ve never worn anything this… risque.”
“That it is,” Diarmuid said. “When did you buy it? I’ve never seen it before.”
“Just today,” Abigail said, looking him in the eye as she asked. “Have you dealt with Ian?”
“I left him with James,” Diarmuid said, arching his back to carry him. “We don’t have to worry about him anymore.”
This time, things did not look good for Ian!
And Abigail did not ask, but she mused to herself for a moment. “I don’t think my lawsuit would be resolved so easily.”
Diarmuid put her in bed and hovered above her, his fingertips dancing over her shoulder as he said, “Let’s not talk about our personal issues tonight, alright?”
Abigail took the initiative then and undid her straps just as she reared her head, pressing her soft lips against his.
The rest was all history.
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.
Leave a Reply