She never told anyone, yet he somehow knew.
She looked up, gazing at this dreamlike garden, and the heavy oppression in her eyes had somehow been quietly dissolved by the full bloom.
In the center of the garden, there was a square table.
The table was covered with a simple ivory linen cloth, with delicate vine patterns embroidered along the edges.
On the table were two sets of cutlery, and the silver knives and forks glinted faintly in the candlelight.
Two white candles burned quietly.
The firelight flickered gently, casting a warm halo.
"Are you hungry?"
Tristan lowered his head, his profile appearing especially soft in the candlelight.
Vivian intended to shake her head and say she wasn't hungry, her throat moved.
Just as she was about to deny it, her stomach betrayed her with two loud grumbles.
She instantly felt her cheeks heat up, hurriedly lowered her head, and her bangs fell forward, trying to cover her flushed cheeks.
