Bride Behind The Mask (Frederick and Marguerite)

Chapter 462

Marguerite fumbled with her seatbelt. She was confused.

Frederick, it seemed, didn’t dislike her as much as she had imagined.

A small thrill of victory zipped through her as she pondered this.

But then, as if on cue, fat snowflakes began to flutter down from the sky, quickly blanketing the streets and bringing traffic to a standstill, trapping the two of them on the road.

Marguerite had dashed out in such a rush that she only threw a peacoat over her usual dress, she didn’t even put on socks.

She felt a chill creeping in, her hands, now rosy with the cold, rubbed together for warmth.

Then came the “click” of a button being pressed, and the next thing she knew, a wave of warm air enveloped her. Suddenly, her heart felt a touch warmer, and she turned to the man beside her to ask, “Are you cold, too?”

“Mhm.” Frederick’s reply was terse, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, a picture of icy detachment.

Yet, the next moment, his eyes inadvertently flicked towards Marguerite’s exposed ankles, just beyond her boots, and his expression tightened ever so slightly.

In truth, Marguerite wanted to ask if Frederick had turned on the heat just for her, but his response made her feel like she was reading too much into it.

even the snowy scene outside seemed more enchanting.

cocooned in the tight space of the car,

aware it was an illusion, but she couldn’t

go ungranted, and Maurice Winston’s

been sending Marguerite a bunch of messages, all of which she had purposefully

ringing phone shattered the rare peace inside the car, forcing her

Maurice’s irritable voice was unmistakable, even through

to you where I am?”

what the hell are you playing at? I

glanced at Frederick, who had started the engine, and only then realized that the traffic had begun

I’ll be right there.” Marguerite hung up, frustration lacing

called, and she

to be taking her home. Instead, he took a turn at the next

was puzzled. “Aren’t we going

her gaze, his eyes deep and unreadable. “Dinner first.”

Marguerite blurted out a suggestion. “How

had intended to confess his feelings to her three

one hand, his decision not to take her home didn’t seem to bother her. On the other, why was she so eager to go to Bluebell Bistro? He

reluctance, Frederick found himself pulling up to the Bluebell Bistro.