Filed to story: When His Wife Can’t Forgive
Curious, Pierre inquired, “Doesn’t he fancy Ms. Bennett?”
Gemma was taken aback. “Is that so?”
Her eyes widened as she leaned in closer to Pierre, her fragrance enveloping him.
Pierre had encountered many individuals and their perfumes, which usually varied only slightly, distinguished more by their price than by character, but none had been memorable.
Gemma’s fragrance, however, was unique-fresh, gentle, and elegant, far from ordinary. It was a scent that evoked luxury and warmth.
Pierre found the aroma undeniably alluring. Yet, he maintained his self-control.
Regarding Gemma’s question, Pierre explained with sincerity, “I don’t know. It was merely a guess.”
Gemma, ever naive and straightforward, pondered. “But guesses must have some basis. Did you overhear something?”
“No,” Pierre responded. “I just knew Ms. Bennett had been in Xada for two years and presumed there might be a romantic involvement.”
Gemma exhaled in mild frustration. “I appreciate Alicia,” she stated plainly. “But sadly, my brother isn’t worthy of her.”
Pierre averted his eyes, focusing on the soil, his emotions concealed. “Mr. Hampton is certainly successful in business.”
“But he isn’t as caring as Mr. Ward.”
Curious, Gemma asked, “Pierre, would you consider yourself caring?”
Pierre glanced at her appealing face, his Adam’s apple shifting noticeably. His throat suddenly dry. Had they grown so comfortable with each other? Why would she pose such a personal question?
Before Pierre could reply, Sheila interrupted them.
“Miss Hampton!” Sheila exclaimed in exasperation. “Why are you in the garden again? I’ve told you countless times that with your weak immune system, you must avoid germs!”
Gemma blanched. The noise from the living room signaled Sheila’s approach.
Gemma, dreading Sheila’s nagging, quickly tapped Pierre’s arm. “Quick, help me sneak back to my room.”
Pierre, caught off guard, felt like he was part of a childish escapade. “Miss Hampton, your room is upstairs. We have to go through the living room.” Sheila was in the living room. How could he possibly cover for her?
“Through the window!” Gemma suggested, pointing to the nearby wall. “You’re tall enough. I can climb over using your shoulder.”
Pierre eyed the wall. It wasn’t particularly high, but still a challenge for Gemma. Was this really suitable for someone of her delicate nature?
Concerned about her tendency to become breathless when excited, Pierre responded seriously, “That’s too dangerous.”
“Just trust me!” Gemma insisted, gathering her dress and tying it into a knot, her expression determined. “If Sheila sees me covered in mud, she’ll not only scold me but also call Corey. I’ll be in real trouble then.”
As she spoke, Sheila’s stern voice grew closer. “Miss Hampton, aren’t you coming in yet?”
Gemma tugged at Pierre’s sleeve urgently. “Hurry.” She enticed him with a promise. “Whether it works or not, I’ll give you a bonus.”
She held up a finger, suggesting, “A hundred thousand, okay?”
Pierre looked at her for a moment before agreeing. It wasn’t the money that influenced him. It was the earnest plea in Gemma’s eyes-irresistible.
Pierre positioned himself beneath the window of her room and crouched down.
As Gemma stepped onto his shoulder, Pierre secured her ankles, advising, “Hold on tight.”
Her soft hands clutched his coarse hair.
Pierre directed, “Once I stand, grab the window ledge.”
Gemma nodded. “Okay.”
Knowing she was ready, Pierre stood up abruptly. Gemma suddenly found herself over two meters off the ground, her heart clenching, her legs weak. She gasped, sitting down suddenly.
The silk dress she had loosely tied opened wide like a blooming flower.
Pierre found himself unexpectedly enveloped by the fabric.
Silence fell.
Gemma’s cheeks turned a deep red, whether from embarrassment or strain, she couldn’t focus on that now, struggling to get to her feet.
Her increasing panic only made her movements more awkward. Her soft inner thighs brushed against Pierre’s face and head, almost causing him to lose his balance.
“I’m sorry, I… I can’t get up,” Gemma stammered in panic, attempting to cover herself with her dress, but her flustered movements hindered her.
She had never anticipated such an incident. The itch and discomfort from Pierre’s coarse hair against her delicate skin nearly brought her to tears of embarrassment.
Pierre, seeing her distress, effortlessly lifted her by the waist. “Sheila is coming,” he whispered urgently, his voice a strained murmur. “I’ll hold you up. Get inside quickly.”
Dazed, Gemma followed his instruction. She stepped on his head to climb through the window.
“Miss Hampton!” Sheila called out again, her tone exasperated. “Oh dear, I’m already busy cooking… Are you still out there playing with the mud?”
Pierre, managing his tumultuous emotions, walked over to a flowerpot and feigned busyness with the soil.
Sheila then peeked outside. Seeing only Pierre in the garden, she paused. “Where’s Miss Hampton?”
Pierre, not adept at deception, averted his eyes. “I don’t know. I didn’t see her.”
“I just saw her!” Sheila was convinced Gemma was hiding and searched the garden, finding no trace of Gemma. She muttered to herself, “Where did she go?”
Pierre, having regained some composure, replied more convincingly, “It’s just been me here.”
Sheila, familiar with his usual honesty, didn’t press further, wondering aloud, “Did I see it wrong?”
Pierre continued tending to the soil, his thoughts elsewhere. Her lingering scent and the delicate touch he had felt on his skin left his expression complex.
Gemma emerged from a hot shower, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she replayed the awkward incident earlier in her mind. She took a deep breath, reminding herself it was just a mishap and nothing to fret over.
A chilly breeze sneaked in through the window, prompting Gemma to sneeze. As she closed the window, she noticed Pierre still outside, cleaning the mud off himself. Seeing him reignited a dull ache in her backside from the earlier bump.
Pierre, feeling her gaze, paused and looked up.
Caught off guard, Gemma met his eyes and offered a small wave.
The wind tousled her hair, accentuating her delicate face and the faint blush on her ears, causing Pierre’s heart to flutter. Pierre quickly reminded himself of his professional boundaries and merely nodded.
Later that evening, Gemma began feeling slightly ill. Not wanting to worry Sheila, she took some medicine and went to bed. However, the sound of heavy rain disrupted her sleep.
Suddenly, Sheila burst into Gemma’s room, her voice laden with worry. “Miss Hampton, may I take the night off? My grandson’s school bus had an accident, and he’s seriously hurt. I need to go to him!”
Gemma was immediately concerned. “Of course! I’ll have the driver take you,” she offered quickly.
Sheila declined. “No, thanks. My son is on his way to pick me up.” With Gemma’s approval, Sheila wiped her tears and noticed Gemma’s pallid face. “Miss Hampton, are you alright? You don’t look well.”
Gemma stood and forced a smile, walking toward her dressing room. “I’m fine.” She retrieved a card and handed it to Sheila. “Here, this has a few million dollars on it. Please, take it.”
Sheila attempted to refuse, tears brimming in her eyes, but Gemma insisted. Sheila quickly left with the card.
Too exhausted to see Sheila off, Gemma collapsed into a chair. Outside, thunder rumbled and rain battered the windows. Suddenly concerned for the flowers in her garden, Gemma hurried outside.
To her surprise, as she reached the stairway, Gemma found Pierre entering, soaked yet carefully protecting a pot of flowers from the rain.
Gemma rushed over, relieved to see the plants were only wet but otherwise unharmed. “Thank you, Pierre!” she exclaimed, her anxiety dissolving as she gently touched the flower buds.
“It’s no trouble,” Pierre responded, noticing Gemma’s light attire and feeling the rainwater on his own clothes. He stepped back. “You should head back to your room. I’ll take care of the flowers.”
Gemma, who had ventured downstairs out of concern for the flowers, now found herself too weak to return to her room. Seeing her wobble a bit, Pierre instinctively reached out to steady her. Upon touching her, he realized she was unusually warm. Without hesitation, he lifted her into his arms.
With Sheila absent and the night deepening, the remaining bodyguards maintained their vigil outside.
Alone in the vast villa, Pierre assumed responsibility for Gemma’s care. He swiftly attended to her sudden low fever, administering medicine and applying a cooling patch as he wrapped her in a blanket, which soon became damp with sweat. He remained by her side, softly wiping her hands and cheeks to help lower her temperature.
When Gemma eventually awoke, their eyes locked, and time seemed to pause momentarily. An unspoken connection lingered in the air between them.
In Pierre’s gaze, Gemma discerned a blend of concern, hesitation, and something more profound, which stirred an odd sensation in her heart.
Gemma pondered what Pierre might see in her, not wanting to be perceived as merely a substitute for someone else. With a slight frown, she gently pushed him away.
Regaining his composure, Pierre observed Gemma curled up, the delicate contours of her ears visible. He continued to watch over her quietly until her fever subsided.
As Gemma drifted back into sleep, the only sound was her stomach rumbling softly.
Meanwhile, Pierre went to the kitchen and prepared some easy-to-digest porridge.
“Miss Hampton?” Pierre called out softly.
Gemma opened her eyes slightly.
“I made some porridge. Would you like some?” Pierre offered.
Feeling genuinely hungry and enticed by the aroma, Gemma licked her lips, propped herself against the headboard, and…
Gemma opened her mouth.
Pierre hesitated, taken aback.
“Feed me,” she said weakly.
Pierre stiffened. It felt far too intimate. Yet, as it was his duty to comply, he could not refuse. He spooned some porridge and carefully fed her.