Chapter 12: Unhappy

Sunlight woke Ban Ban. The curtains hadn’t been fully closed, and the light fell directly across her eyelids. She frowned and rolled over, her arm brushing a warm body. Before her mind caught up, her hand found a firm arm.

Her eyes flew open.

Wen Ting’an lay on his side beside her, breathing evenly, still asleep. His brows were relaxed, his lips lightly pressed together, his jaw sharply outlined in the light.

Ban Ban stared for two seconds, then looked at the bedside clock. Six ten.

“Oh no!” She sat bolt upright, hair falling in disarray over her shoulder. “I overslept!”

Her commotion woke Ting’an. He opened his eyes and watched her scramble out from under the covers, already trying to fix her hair before her feet touched the floor. He glanced at the clock, then back at her.

“It’s early,” he said, his voice rough with sleep. “Six ten.”

“Six ten is early?” She stood barefoot on the floor. “I haven’t rolled the noodles or made the broth. There isn’t time.”

She turned in two circles, hurried back for her phone and checked the time again. Confirming it only made her more dejected.

Ting’an propped himself against the headboard, found a pair of rimless glasses on the nightstand and put them on. He looked quite different from his usual public appearance, gentler, the lines at his eyes softened behind the lenses, several years younger.

“Then skip the noodles. Have Auntie Jiang make sandwiches.”

At the foot of the bed, Ban Ban stared for a moment. It was the first time she’d seen him in glasses, just awake. They softened the sharpness of his features and made him look scholarly.

“I can make sandwiches too.” She recovered and ran out, calling from the door, “We’ll have sandwiches this morning. I’ll make them now. Wait for me!”

Her footsteps went down the stairs.

Ting’an leaned back and looked around the bedroom. In the two months he’d stayed out of it, her things had gradually filled the room: a vase of fresh white lisianthus on the nightstand, jars and bottles of skin care on the dressing table, a corner of a skirt visible through the wardrobe door, an art book beside the pillow.

He smiled. Having a wife seemed rather nice. She cooked, cared about him and had even prepared a new pillow and quilt.

He washed and dressed. By the time he came downstairs, the smell of frying steak filled the dining room.

Behind the open kitchen counter, Ban Ban was sprinkling black pepper over the steak. Having risen late, she’d casually clipped her hair back. A plate beside her held a fried egg and crisp toast, with a cup of coffee nearby.

She looked up at his footsteps and smiled. “It’s ready. Sit down.”

He sat at the table. She brought the steak cut into strips for easy eating, with a fried egg and tomato slices, the plate arranged as carefully as ever.

He forked a piece into his mouth. The meat was tender, perfectly cooked, crisp outside and pink within, its juices sealed in. It had more depth than Auntie Jiang’s usual version.

He sipped the coffee. Neither bitter nor astringent, it had moderate acidity and was just the right temperature. His brow moved slightly. She seemed to have learned even how he liked his coffee.

“You seem to have a talent for cooking,” he said, setting down the cup.

Ban Ban sat opposite with a glass of milk. “Really? You’re the first person to say I have a talent.”

“Your father and sister never said so?”

“They only said it tasted good.” She bit into toast, cheeks full. “Maybe I cooked so often they got used to it and didn’t think it unusual.”

He took another piece of steak without answering, but his eyes softened.

When he finished the last piece, she cleared the plate and asked, “Are you busy today?”

“Not too busy.”

She wiped her hands. “I’m going shopping for clothes today. We talked about meeting your friends, so I need to prepare.”

He stood and took his jacket from the chair. “Be careful. Call me if anything happens.”

“All right.” She saw him off from the kitchen doorway. “Will you come home for dinner?”

He paused while changing shoes and looked back. Morning light from the window behind her wrapped her in a warm glow. “I’ll try.”

Her eyes curved in a smile.

At the office, his secretary followed him in. “Mr. Wen, Miss Lin Rou is here.”

He hung up his jacket without turning. “Send her in.”

The door opened and heels clicked across marble. Lin Rou entered in a champagne-colored dress, long hair loose, makeup meticulous, her perfume noticeable from three meters away.

“Mr. Wen.” Smiling, she stopped before his desk. “You promised last night to take me jewelry shopping today. Does that still stand?”

Ting’an had already sat down and opened a file. Without looking up, he said, “Choose something yourself and tell my assistant.”

Her smile faded for an instant, then returned. She went around the desk and bent close. “I’d like you to come with me. I went to a great deal of trouble handling Mr. Li last night. Otherwise Lin Sang wouldn’t have gotten away so easily. You owe me something, don’t you?”

Her breath brushed his ear. Ting’an set down his pen and looked at her, his gaze cool. “Leave. I’ll find you in two hours.”

She straightened, smiling brightly. “All right. I’ll wait downstairs.” At the door she looked back and winked. “Don’t stand me up.”

After she left, he leaned back and rubbed between his brows. His phone showed one unread message from Ban Ban: “I’m heading out!” followed by a spinning cartoon figure. He looked at it for two seconds, then placed the phone face down.

The mall wasn’t crowded; most customers were browsing. Ban Ban emerged from one shop with five or six paper bags and entered another. She bought three dresses—cream, mist blue and dusty pink—two coats and several scarves to match.

After wandering for a while, she passed a jewelry store. A pair of small, softly lustrous pearl earrings in the window would go perfectly with her dusty pink dress. She looked for a few seconds, then opened the door.

At the counter a woman in a champagne dress held a man’s arm, smiling. “Is this pretty? The diamond’s big enough, isn’t it?”

The man had his back to the door and was looking at his phone. He wore a dark gray suit, his shoulders broad and legs long, hair swept back to reveal the clean line of his neck.

Ban Ban’s grip tightened on her bags. She knew that back too well. She saw him every morning; she couldn’t be mistaken.

The woman pressed half her body against Ting’an’s arm and looked up at him. “Mr. Wen, I want this one. It’s sparkly enough.”

Without looking at the diamond ring, he murmured agreement, still focused on his phone.

Ban Ban stood at the entrance, her fingers white around the handles. The woman held his arm and smiled up at him. He neither pushed her away nor moved aside.

Her chest felt blocked, as though a breath had lodged there and wouldn’t go in or out. She’d known he was a flirt and had many women around him, but seeing it herself was different, especially after he’d held her to sleep last night and eaten the breakfast she’d made this morning.

She turned and left without entering or speaking, walking quickly past the shop, heels striking the tiles in rapid beats.

At a bubble-tea shop around the corner, she stood before the menu for a long time without reading a word.

“What would you like?” the clerk asked.

“Pearl milk tea,” she heard herself say. “Double sugar.”

When she got it, she pushed in the straw and bit its end flat before taking a sip. It was cloyingly sweet, but the sweetness didn’t reach her heart.

She wandered the mall aimlessly with her bags, then went home.

Auntie Jiang looked out from the kitchen. “You’re back, Madam? You bought so much.”

“Mm.” Ban Ban changed shoes, head lowered. “I’m a little tired. I’ll rest upstairs.”

Auntie Jiang watched her listless figure and glanced at the milk tea. “All right. Get some rest.”

Ban Ban put the bags on the bedroom carpet and fell onto the bed, face buried in the pillow, arms stretched out like a boneless rag doll.

Her phone vibrated. Ting’an had sent: “Home?”

She stared for a long time, typed and deleted, typed and deleted again. At last she replied only, “Mm.”

She rolled onto her back and looked at the ceiling. The curtains were half drawn, daylight filtering through white sheers and making the room soft and quiet. She laid the phone on her chest and closed her eyes. Her lips were slightly red where she’d bitten the straw.

She was his wife, legally married, with a certificate. But then she remembered: an arranged marriage, each taking what they needed.

Each taking what they needed.

She opened her eyes and scrolled up their conversation. It was short: “I’m heading out!” “Home?” “Mm.” She tossed the phone beside the pillow, turned over and pulled the quilt over her face.

That morning she’d asked if he was busy. He’d said not too busy. He had time to shop with another woman but didn’t want to shop with his own wife, even if she was his wife in name. She should put away the feelings beginning to surface. Wen Ting’an would never settle down.