The Officer's Runaway Wife & Secret Son novel Chapter 87

Traffic was light on the highway to the airport.

Clara reclined her seat, turned her head, and closed her eyes to rest. Since getting up this morning, Rhys had acted like the perfect husband.

He personally carried the suitcases downstairs, arranged them neatly in the trunk, and even checked if her small carry-on bag contained her favorite lipstick shade—asking about such trivialities.

Before getting in the car, he had specifically tidied up the passenger seat and added a new lumbar support.

"Why aren't you talking? Still sleepy?"

At a red light, a warm, large hand covered hers where it rested on her knee, his thumb rubbing against the back of her hand rhythmically.

Clara didn't pull away, nor did she hold back; her hand lay limp in his palm.

"A little." She didn't open her eyes, her tone perfunctory.

"I told you to sleep earlier last night, but you wouldn't listen," Rhys said with a helpless tone. "You can catch up on sleep on the plane."

Clara hummed an acknowledgment. She hadn't slept well last night, true, but it wasn't for any other reason than Rhys insisting on sleeping holding her. He only liked that sleeping posture.

The car stereo played soothing songs, Rhys's preferred style. In the past, Clara had specifically learned the lyrics to these songs to cater to his taste, even though she actually preferred noisy rock music. Listening to it now, it felt like a lullaby.

Her phone vibrated.

Clara couldn't be bothered to move, so Rhys glanced at it.

"Message from Simon," he said.

"Ignore it."

"We're about to leave; what is he still worried about?" Rhys smiled. "Afraid I'll sell you?"

Clara said, "He's afraid I'll sell you. You're worth a fortune. I could get a pretty good share if I sold you."

Rhys gave her a mild look and turned to the bar. Clara leaned back in the sofa, watching him busy himself at the counter. He was meticulous, scalding the cup with water first, carefully using the tongs to avoid the pastries that looked greasy.

Soon, he returned with a tray. A cup of skim milk, a plate of whole wheat toast, and strawberry jam on the side.

"Eat a little. It'll be a while after takeoff before they serve the meal."

Rhys pushed the tray toward her and placed his own black coffee to the side.

Clara looked at the bright red jam. It reminded her of the strawberries he had carried separately that day.

"I'm not hungry."

"Good girl." Rhys cut a small piece of toast, spread jam on it, and held it to her lips. "Don’t take it out on your body. You've lost so much weight these past few days."

Clara's temper flared, and she raised her hand to block his. "Rhys, I said I don't want to eat."