Chapter 11: I'll Even Be Your Dog, Wanwan

Jingwan’s warm fingers slid down Congli’s neatly pressed trousers. His breathing deepened, and his arms tightened around her.

She slipped a hand into his pocket and retrieved his phone. When the screen lit up, she lingered over the lock-screen photo: their wedding portrait. She wasn’t smiling at all, while Congli’s lips were curved upward.

She hadn’t begun to show then. In her custom diamond-studded mermaid gown, she’d looked breathtaking. She had held Congli’s arm while thinking of Ji Huaizhi. The memory made her frown.

“The passcode is your birthday,” Congli said above her.

She looked up. He was always so gentle with her, as though he never had a temper. “Got it.”

She entered the numbers, opened the camera, and casually photographed their shadows. Congli grew nervous. It was the first time she had chosen to capture a moment of the two of them.

She looked down at her feet. The soft pink polish made her skin look even fairer, like fine white jade. Congli often painted her nails, and he was very good at it. She pointed her toes and included them in the photo.

Then she handed the phone back. “Here.”

“Keep it. You can look through it whenever you like.”

She blinked. “…Aren’t you afraid I’ll see something I shouldn’t? Business secrets, for example?”

He stopped walking, a glimmer in his deep eyes. “Wanwan, we’re husband and wife. We’re one. I have no secrets from you.”

Guilt pricked her. He hid nothing from her, yet she’d secretly supported Ji Huaizhi. Afraid he’d notice, she pushed the phone back at him. “I don’t want to look.”

From his angle, the neckline of her gauzy dress revealed the alluring curve beneath her collarbone. His voice deepened. “You can look whenever you want.”

* * *

Congli carried her upstairs. Uncle Tang followed at a discreet distance and opened the bedroom door for them. Before leaving, he said, “Sir, Madam, the young master is asleep in his room.”

“Does he still have a fever?”

“The doctor has seen him. It’s still a little elevated.”

Congli set Jingwan on the sofa and rolled up his sleeves. “I’ll go see him later.”

The housekeeper closed the door behind him, leaving them alone.

Jingwan took a cushion and reclined on her side, propping up her head. “I don’t know what happened to him. He went to put my ring away and came back crying and clinging to my leg. I didn’t know what to do.”

She looked like a languid, aristocratic Persian cat. “Huo Congli, do you think Little Yu gets his clinginess from you?”

Congli was very attached to her; father and son were alike in that respect.

“He does. We both seek reassurance from the person we love,” he answered seriously.

She covered his desire-filled eyes with her hand. “Stop flirting and go ask him why he cried.”

Congli played with her hand and noticed her bare ring finger. He stroked it. “Was it our wedding ring he put away? Where?”

“In the bedside cabinet.”

He opened the drawer. Inside was only a sparkling ring; nothing else remained. His brows lifted. Little Yu was usually even-tempered and rarely cried so hard. Something he couldn’t accept must have happened. But what?

Congli brought the ring back. When he’d proposed, he had bought several styles. This aquamarine ring was her favorite, the one she wore most often.

“May I put it on you?”

She offered her hand. A life of luxury had left it fair and delicate, the fingertips faintly pink. He slid the ring onto her finger and kissed the back of her hand.

Still unsatisfied, he kissed her fingertips. The roughness of his tongue against her skin sent a ticklish current through her.

She pulled away in alarm, her fingertips damp. “Huo Congli, were you born in the Year of the Dog? Why do you like licking people so much?”

His breathing grew heavier. He leaned in and kissed her neck. “If Wanwan wants me to be her dog, I’ll do it willingly.”

His kisses left her weak. She pushed him. “Go check on our son. He still has a fever!”

She could tell Congli was frustrated; the night before last, she had cared only about her own pleasure. But with Little Yu still feverish, this wasn’t the time.

Congli kissed her hard, recovering his self-control. His voice remained hoarse. “Can we tonight?”

She turned her face away. “Let’s see if Little Yu still has a fever tonight.”

She didn’t know whether the boy’s fever would return, but his father was already burning up.

* * *

Little Yu was pretending to sleep. He was too miserable to actually doze off, and his head felt dizzy from the low fever. Tears had soaked his pillow. His whole world had fallen apart.

Mommy wanted to divorce Daddy. Their family would no longer be whole.

He rubbed his eyes. He didn’t want to keep crying. He was a man, and Daddy had taught him to solve problems when they arose.

Sitting up, he vowed to stop the divorce and help his parents love each other. His first step had been to hide the agreement.

Mommy hadn’t noticed all afternoon. That meant she wasn’t in a hurry to divorce Daddy—a good sign. It wasn’t too late.

Footsteps sounded outside. He hurried under the covers and pretended to sleep. The door opened, and Congli came in.

Little Yu smelled Mommy’s perfume on him. Daddy must have seen her first.

Congli laid a warm palm on his forehead. Little Yu cracked one eye open. “Daddy, you’re home. An auntie bullied Mommy this afternoon. I protected her.”

“You did very well.” Congli gathered him into his arms, his eyes tender. Three years of caring for the boy alone had given him an almost maternal gentleness. “Does anything still feel uncomfortable?”

Little Yu nearly said no, but an idea struck. His face drooped. “Daddy, I don’t feel well. Can I sleep with you and Mommy tonight?”

He had never slept with both parents together. When he was smaller, Daddy had usually slept with him alone.