Thorns Grow After Betrayal (Celeste and Chester) novel Chapter 23

Gideon lifted his chin ever so slightly, signaling for her to go on.

Celestine took the cue without hesitation, sensing nothing odd in his gesture.

Vernon, on the other hand—what?!

His eyes widened in disbelief.

Was he witnessing the impossible? Like Mars crashing into Earth, or a black hole being plugged by an asteroid?

Was his young master actually sipping, with perfect composure, the very nourishing soup he'd always hated?

As an exemplary secretary, Vernon's curiosity grew exponentially.

Gideon shot him a sidelong glance. "Vernon, do you not have work to do?"

Vernon smiled politely. "Just remembered—I left some urgent paperwork at the office that needs my signature. Good day, sir."

With that bold-faced lie, Vernon turned on his heel and made a swift exit.

The old man had introduced Gideon to so many potential brides, yet somehow, he'd overlooked the "already married" variety!

Gideon, so ascetic all these years, suddenly blindsided by this kind of drama—it was almost too much to process.

Vernon's perfect 20/20 vision had caught everything: when Miss Selwyn was spoon-feeding the medicine, Gideon's gaze was practically glued to her.

He understood now.

No wonder, when Gideon had taken a bullet through the shoulder, he'd insisted on recuperating at home, toughing it out. But now, for a relatively minor injury, he insisted on staying in the hospital—asking the doctor to wrap him up like a mummy, no less!

That wound had scabbed over the very first night, yet he was still here, milking it for all it was worth.

Vernon wondered how the old man would react if he knew. He almost looked forward to it.

Affairs among the elite really were every bit as melodramatic as in the novels.

Celestine finished feeding Gideon the last spoonful.

When she lowered the bowl, he looked at her, almost reluctant, and asked, "That's it?"

She paused, a bit surprised.

This particular soup was medicinal—it lacked the comforting aroma of a regular broth, and even had a faint bitterness.

Strictly speaking, it wasn't something people enjoyed.

She'd made it for her two children before—both had hurled their bowls and spat out the soup right then and there.

"If you like it, Mr. Prescott, I'll make more next time." Celestine's expression was calm as she gathered up the dishes.

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