The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 652

Hawthorne looked at her for a long moment before replying, “No.”

“See? That settles it. I want to stay in our little home.”

With that, she ducked into the cab. Hawthorne waited until the driver finished loading her suitcase into the trunk, then climbed in after her.

“Hawthorne, I’m cold.”

As soon as he settled into the back seat, she edged over, pressing herself close. She rested her head on his shoulder, and her hand slipped into his, seeking warmth from his broad palm.

Her fingers were icy from the wind outside, and when Hawthorne felt her touch, it was as if he’d been burned—his first instinct was to pull away. But she acted oblivious, sliding both hands into his.

“I was standing out there in the wind, freezing. Look, my hands are numb.”

In the end, Hawthorne held her hands, and she was clearly pleased. No matter the circumstances, he always gave in to her—tonight was no exception.

Her dark hair spilled across his shoulder, and as she nestled in, her eyelids began to droop.

“Hawthorne, my chest feels cold too. Maybe you should check…”

Whatever she said next drifted off; Hawthorne didn’t catch it, and had no desire to.

The ride lasted nearly two hours before they reached the place she’d mentioned—the small apartment where they used to live. It was a tidy three-story building, spotless inside. Hawthorne got out first, slipping the driver an extra tip.

“Could you help me carry her inside?” he asked.

The driver glanced at them, curiosity flickering across his face. After a moment’s hesitation, he looked Hawthorne up and down. “She’s not your girlfriend?”

The woman’s outfit was revealing, her coat doing little to hide her curves pressed against the seat. The driver swallowed, uncertain.

Hawthorne glanced at the back seat, at Patti Yale, and said quietly, “No, she’s not.”

Before the driver could react, Patti Yale stirred and sat up on her own.

At that, Patti’s bravado faltered. “Still hung up on what happened back then? Don’t be so petty, okay? I already apologized. I’d had too much to drink, it didn’t mean anything.”

He pushed her hand away, his whole demeanor cold. “Let’s not bring up the past.”

He led her to the bedroom and opened the door. Everything looked just as it had the day she left, years ago.

“Oh, my favorite candle—you left it right where I put it!”

She hurried over to the bedside table, where a green cup still held the scented candle she’d placed there before she left.

Hawthorne stood in the doorway, not coming in. Patti turned to look at him.

“Hawthorne, I knew you wouldn’t forget.”

“It’s late. Get some rest. I’m heading out.”