No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 69

Eleanor nodded.

"What did you two talk about?" Ian surprised her by actually showing some interest.

She replied mildly, "Nothing much."

Ian frowned but didn't press further. After he finished his soup, Joslyn served him a bowl of rice. He ate leisurely, occasionally calling for Princess, their golden retriever, under the table. Princess brought over her bowl, tail wagging, and happily accepted bites of food from her master.

Meanwhile, Eleanor's mind wandered back through old memories. How had she managed to get hold of Ian's phone in the past? Sometimes she'd simply snatch it from him, other times she'd coax him playfully, or use the excuse of ordering takeout. Once, she'd even sent their daughter to "borrow" it for her.

But now, after nearly four months of cold silence between them, she couldn't think of a single way to get his phone without raising suspicion.

Unless things warmed up between them.

But that would mean she'd have to make the first move—compromise, seek peace, maybe even give in to his demands as a husband.

"How about we pick up Evelyn and go out for dinner tonight?" Eleanor finally decided to enlist their daughter for help.

"Evelyn's not coming home tonight," Ian said.

Eleanor blinked. "But she has school tomorrow!"

"My mother will bring her in the morning."

Eleanor wanted to protest, but Ian looked up and said, "Let's go out for dinner tonight, just the two of us."

She could tell he was trying to smooth things over too, which left her feeling unexpectedly conflicted.

She'd often wondered why Ian refused to divorce. She figured there were two reasons: first, she was like an old habit—comforting but unremarkable, and he wanted to keep the family together for Evelyn's sake. Second, Vanessa, his girlfriend, was smart and accommodating, content to stay on the sidelines and never make a fuss. So Ian got to keep his picture-perfect family at home and his colorful love life outside.

"Alright," Eleanor agreed.

They drove toward the city center, the skyline glowing in the golden dusk.

Ian had made reservations at a restaurant they used to love—a quiet, elegant place with live piano music and a romantic atmosphere.

Eleanor propped her chin on her hand, lost in thought. Ian handed her the menu; she glanced over it and named a few dishes.

He ordered a few more and then leaned back, arms folded, studying her in the warm light—his gaze more assessing than affectionate.

Eleanor turned her attention to the city lights outside, trying her best to ignore him.

Just then, Ian's phone rang. He glanced at the screen. "I need to take this."

"Who is it?" Eleanor asked suddenly.