Dangerous Love: You Are My One and Only Bride novel Chapter 1878

There was a stoplight ahead. Aristotle stopped the car while it was red and gazed outside the window, his eyes grazing the stream of traffic.

“Nothing of importance. Just the usual load of bull that never fails to irritate me.”

He had had a rather strained relationship with Mark since he was a kid. More specifically, after he was three.

All these years, the Tremonts’ father and son were connected only by a thin thread, formed from distant phone calls and nothing else. Even if they had enjoyed a close bond before the incident, the fact that it had been so loosely maintained for so long could only have sped up its deterioration.

Every challenge, quandary, and storm Aristotle encountered in life, the young man had to brave through alone for nineteen long years. That was it; the toll of Mark’s steadfast commitment as a husband was negligence to his duty as a father. Aristotle had tried to be as charitable as he could, but it was an especially tall order when Aristotle himself suffered just much.

Not living together for so many years only made it difficult for the father and son to genuinely understand each other.

The pair finally reached their destination: a fine-dining restaurant. Aristotle ordered a bottle of red wine while Cynthia went for fruit juice. She watched him raise his glass and took a sip with a practiced flourish, and asked, “Wow. When did you learn to drink fine wine?”

“You have no idea,” came his placid reply. “I wasn’t living alone in France. Father had dispatched some of his underlings to watch me. Lessons on etiquettes of high society, classes on the know-how on how to manage the company, the likes of it. Now that I’m home, I can at least relax a little for a few days.”

Cynthia was not the least bit surprised. This was the Tremont Family they were talking about; no matter which corner of the globe Mark found himself in, he would always find a way to train his eyes on his only son.

So, she nodded and raised her glass to her lips for a sip. It shielded her eyes from catching Aristotle furtively sizing her up.

Out of nowhere, he asked, “You’re turning nineteen this year, aren’t you? Looks like I’m gonna be there for your birthday this time.”

Cynthia perked her head up in surprise. “You never remembered my birthday before. Is this an act?”