A Wedding Night Gone Terribly Wrong novel Chapter 234

"No."

Yet, watching him wield the silverware with his left hand, effortlessly twirling the Clay Pot Vermicelli, he looked completely natural.

"This is amazing!" Leland said, taking a bite. "The hometown food of the beautiful Winifred definitely lives up to the hype."

He nudged the tray closer to her. "You have to try this."

Being naturally left-handed, Winifred smoothly grabbed a bite, blowing on it gently before eating.

"It's really good," she agreed.

Leland then picked up the heavy, scalding clay pot. In perfect synchronization, Winifred lifted the plate of Grilled Goat Skewers in front of her, and they swapped. The heavy, piping hot noodles went onto the table, while the lighter skewers rested on his tray.

They repeated this dance about six times. The lighter, spill-proof items stayed on the tray Leland held. Whenever he tasted something exceptional, he'd slide the tray toward her. "Try this one."

Winifred would take a bite of pan-fried rice cake, and the tray would glide back.

Their dining arrangement was bizarre—no one within miles was eating like this. But it created an undeniably funny, endearing atmosphere. Winifred couldn't even look at him without breaking into a fit of laughter that lasted for minutes. By the time they were halfway through the meal, her cheeks physically ached from smiling.

She had no idea that a nasty rumor about her was already brewing nearby.

"Holden, did you find a table?" Kian called out from the center of the food court. He had just returned empty-handed and was standing next to Iris.

Holden heard him and gestured from the crowd that he had struck out too.

"He didn't find one either," Yvette sighed, fanning her face. The people at the next table were eating Pungent Fermented Tacos, and the smell was suffocating her. It looked revolting, and the smell was easily a six-star hazard.

This was her first time eating at an open-air countryside food stand. She could excuse the rough environment—it was a rural town, after all. But what she couldn't tolerate was the sheer lack of space. The four of them had ordered dozens of dishes, and even pushing two small square tables together wasn't enough. They desperately needed a third.

She scanned the area, hoping to spot an opening. Suddenly, her eyes lit up.

The nerve. How could some country bumpkin in the middle of nowhere be wearing a knockoff of her CEO husband's clothes?

"Disgusting," she muttered, rolling her eyes.

Yvette patted her arm to soothe her. "It's just some young guy wearing a fake."

She had spent over fifteen thousand dollars buying Holden that complete set—jacket, pants, and hiking boots—just yesterday. A regular person couldn't afford it.

Still, it bothered Iris. Even if it was a knockoff, it shouldn't be a knockoff of Holden's clothes.

Seeing her sister-in-law's irritation, Yvette took another look at the man in the matching outfit.

Right at that moment, the man lowered his head to take a sip of his drink. As his broad frame shifted, the woman sitting across from him came into view.

Yvette gasped in shock. "Winifred?!"