While she changed and rested in the comfortable room he had given her—which she suspected was his own room, since itcarried the faint scent of him—he had gone to the market and was now preparing dinner.
She had never seen him cook before, but it suited him—this quiet certainty, the way his hands worked with practiced ease. He had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, revealing the strong, sure movements of his forearms as he deftly chopped a bundle of spring onions and set them aside. A pot of rice steamed on the stove, its fragrant warmth curling through the air.
She tilted her head. “You never mentioned you could cook.”
Wang glanced at her, the corner of his mouth quirking. “You never asked.”
“That smells divine,” she admitted.
“Simple food,” he replied, turning back to the stove.
“You are a man of many talents. Is there anything you can’t do?”
This time, he chuckled. “There are many things I can’t do. I can’t sing. I can’t play any instrument. I can’t dance. Just to name a few.”
He tossed in thinly sliced pork into a heated pan, the sharp sizzle filling the room as the meat browned, its edges crisping. A splash of rice wine sent up a fragrant puff of steam before he added a handful of mushrooms and varied vegetables she couldn’t identify.
Another pot sat beside it, where noodles boiled, their surface glistening. Wang plucked one up with his chopsticks, testing the texture before nodding in satisfaction. Within moments, he strained them, then tossed them in a dark sauce, finishing with a sprinkle of freshly chopped herbs.
Esther leaned forward, inhaling deeply to capture the smells, the warmth, the utter competence with which he moved.
“You look completely at home in the kitchen,” she mused.
A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “A hungry boy learns quickly.”
She was beginning to realize just how many skills he had that she had never thought to ask about. His life was so rich, his experiences so vast. She could spend a lifetime discovering every aspect of him and it still wouldn’t be enough. But she very much liked the idea of trying.
This quiet domesticity, in this lovely house. No multitudes of servants or any other people around. Just them. The thought filled her with joy and warmth. If it weren’t for Elizabeth, she wouldn’t mind staying here with him. Or recreating this life in London. If he wanted to, of course.
But there was no point in pondering what ifs. The reality was that she didn’t know if he wanted to live in England, and she could not stay. Her daughter came first. She was the reason Esther was working so hard to get better. And what would she do when Elizabeth married, as she would probably do in a year or two? Maybe then she could return to this cozy house. Or Wang would—
“It’s ready,” he announced, pushing a plate toward her.
With a smile, she surveyed all the dishes in front of her—a bowl of tomato and egg stir-fry, the pork and greens, and the noodles—everything looked and smelled delicious.
“This looks almost as good as you did while cooking it.”
His lips curled in quiet amusement, but she detected the hint of a blush. “Eat, before you decide you’d rather watch me cook all night.”
Esther lifted the chopsticks that she had finally mastered and took a bite. Chewy and savory noodles, laced with warmth from the scallions. Soft and velvety eggs. Flavorful pork, bursting with spices.
It was comforting in a way she hadn’t expected.
She swallowed, met his gaze, and smiled. “This is delicious.”
Wang picked up his own chopsticks and began to eat, his expression unreadable but just a little pleased. She realized heenjoyed doing things for her. Pampering her. And she wanted to do the same for him. Ease his burdens, make him happy. What a wonderful thing.
CHAPTER 17
Morninglightfilteredthroughthe curtains, soft and golden, as Esther lay still, both anticipating and dreading the moment she would have to rise.
What day was it? The days blurred together, a steady cycle of effort, pain, and quiet moments of comfort. Her body ached, deep in the muscles, in places she hadn’t even realized could ache. Sometimes she longed for the laudanum. For the relief it could provide. She squeezed her eyes shut. Perhaps today, just today, she could take—
No. She couldn’t. Wang hadn’t asked her not to take it. He had left it in her hands. Her decision. He trusted her that much. But after learning what he had suffered because of it… She was determined not to take it ever again. And she was succeeding. She had not touched opium in months. But sometimes, sometimes she longed for the relief.
A kiss on her forehead.
Kai.
