“Next time, wait for me to come back and cook. These hands of yours are made for painting, not for kitchen accidents. What if the injury had been worse?”
His eyes were full of worry as he looked at her red, scalded hand.
Something about his expression tugged at her heart.
‘The concern on his face—it doesn’t look fake. So maybe… maybe some part of this whole act isn’t a lie. Maybe, just maybe, there’s a little truth in how he treats me.’
“You haven’t eaten yet, right? I’ll go grab something for you.”
Just as he turned to leave, he froze.
Following his line of sight, Solenne looked up—just in time to see Chesca walking toward them.
She instantly noticed the way his body tensed as Chesca’s eyes lit up in surprise.
“Rockwell? What are you doing here? Are you sick?”
The moment he saw her, Rockwell stiffened, his expression faltering with guilt.
“No… it’s nothing. My sister-in-law burned herself cooking. My brother’s not around, so I had to bring her in.”
“Oh, I see,” Chesca nodded in understanding.
Solenne watched the unease on his face—the way he scrambled to explain himself, desperate not to be misunderstood.
She gave a bitter smile and looked away.