The next morning, neither of them woke up on the sofa.
With nothing to wear, Song Ying slipped into one of Julian Jarvis’s shirts. The crisp white shirt hung down, covering her thighs and leaving only two slender, graceful legs exposed.
The room was set warm, so she walked to the kitchen just like that to make breakfast.
After a good night’s sleep, Song Ying had regained her composure—she looked nothing like the woman who'd been crying and kissing him last night.
Julian Jarvis emerged from the bathroom to the sight of those long, bare legs moving around his kitchen.
The eggs sizzled in the pan. He’d spent the whole night restraining himself, and it seemed even morning wouldn’t spare him.
With a sigh, Julian Jarvis walked into the kitchen and wrapped his arms around her from behind as she poured the milk.
“Song Ying, do you think you might put some proper clothes on?”
Song Ying turned, shrugged, and replied, “Well, you’re the one who didn’t take me home last night. I’ve got nothing else to wear.”
He moved closer, boxing her in between the marble counter and his arms.
Without her heels, Song Ying barely reached Julian Jarvis’s shoulder. She was slender, tilting her head slightly to reveal a delicate neck and a collarbone both graceful and inviting.
Julian Jarvis bowed his head and gave her neck a playful bite. Song Ying gasped and drew back a little.
“Song Ying, I’m a perfectly normal man, you know. This... is awfully hard to resist.”
“Oh? Last night I was starting to wonder if you were.”
Her cool features were tinged with a teasing glint.
Julian Jarvis had held her all night—twice escaping to cool showers for self-control.
He cupped her chin, mock-exasperated. “So, you’re climbing all over me now? Looks like Dr. Song’s gotten even sharper. Maybe it’s time you did a little fieldwork on the subject of men yourself.”
“You have no idea,” Song Ying shot back, stubborn as ever.
“Oh? Well, I wouldn’t mind getting to know this grown-up Xiao Ying.”
He pressed a gentle kiss to her lips and finally let her go. They shared a quick lunch, then called someone to deliver fresh clothes so she could dress properly at last.
It wasn’t until the following morning that Julian Jarvis took Song Ying to the hospital.
Downstairs, they parted ways. Julian Jarvis rolled down the window, his charming eyes drawing hers in.
“Aren’t you going to give me a goodbye kiss?”
It was rush hour. Several coworkers glimpsed Song Ying getting out of a luxury car and couldn’t help but sneak a look or two.
A faint blush rose to her cheeks, but she answered coolly, “No, goodbye, Mr. Jiang.”
…
Julian Jarvis watched her stroll away, lips twitching in an amused shake of his head.
From a distance, Fu Sen appeared, hair a wild mess, breakfast buns and soymilk in hand. Spotting Song Ying up ahead, he trotted to catch up.
“Senior, why did you hang up on me that day?”
This caught Julian Jarvis’s attention, his brows arching as if deep in thought.
Fu Sen, huh…
Then with a little smirk, Julian Jarvis stepped on the gas and drove off.
——
Since the wedding, Cecilia and Mia Moore had shifted all their focus to the upcoming art exhibit.
Most of Cecilia’s pieces were finished—just the final touches left. The bulk of the confirmed works had already been delivered to the gallery that Xavier Foster had arranged.
Originally planned for barely a dozen pieces, the selection had grown to over a hundred after multiple rounds of curation.
The exhibition would cover two floors, stretching from one day to three.
The ever-generous CEO had simply purchased the entire gallery, claiming it was a smart investment for future events.
All artwork would be priced blind—buyers would submit the work’s number along with their offer, and at the end of three days, the highest bidder would win.
A small auction area had been set up upstairs for ten professional artists’ pieces, adding a charity auction twist—every extra cent for a worthy cause.
What surprised Cecilia was that Quentin Zane had sent in one of his own paintings, and even asked her sister Zhou Ya for her contact so they could chat a little.
That kept Cecilia grinning for days—and left someone else sour about it for just as long.
The night before the opening, Cecilia was heading home from the gallery when Xavier Foster came to pick her up.
Night had settled in. He’d been held up a bit, so when he arrived, the petite girl was standing in front of the entrance, gazing up at the building.
The gallery was near Shui Yun Jian, and like that exclusive neighborhood, it had started as a private venue. Who knew how much Xavier Foster had paid for it.
Tomorrow the exhibit would open—at last all the effort was coming to fruition.
Like carefully tended seedlings, the budding flowers were about to bloom—a mix of anticipation and nerves hung in the air.
Xavier Foster saw her silhouette, parked, and hurried up the steps to gather her into his arms.
“Why are you standing out here in the cold? Didn’t I say I’d be a little late?”
Tomorrow was Christmas. The forecast promised snow—if they were lucky, the gallery’s opening would coincide with the first snowfall of the season in the capital.
Cecilia turned around. It was chilly, but she’d been thinking so much about the exhibit that she’d hardly noticed.
Now, hugged close to his warm chest, she realized just how cold she actually was.
Xavier Foster tucked her pale blue scarf closer around her neck and took her icy hands, pressing them against himself. “What’s on your mind?”
Cecilia’s hands—never one for good behavior lately—slipped under the hem of his jacket, searching for abs, as she answered solemnly, “I’m just really happy, you know? The exhibit’s about to start, and if it snows, this place will look magical.”
“Mmm.” Xavier Foster let her mischief pass—she’d picked up that naughty habit recently, and he was more than willing to indulge her, guiding her hands to his abs.
“Come on, baby, let’s get in the car where it’s warm.”
“Okay.”
Hand still pressed to his waist, Cecilia looked at him with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes, as if to say, 'How are you planning to get me to the car?'
The sly, lively look was irresistible; Xavier Foster couldn’t help a quick kiss before bending down to scoop her into his arms.
She let out a startled cry, barely managing to cling to his neck, but the tall man’s steady arms left her feeling safe, even as he teased her.
“Oh? So you wanted me to carry you today?”
“Zhiye, ah, it’s too high.”
There were seven or eight steps at the entrance—pretty steep. “Don’t be scared, I’ve got you.”
Cradled in his arms, Cecilia tucked her head into his neck, worried about being dropped.
Xavier Foster set her carefully in the passenger seat, then hurried around to the driver’s side, turning up the heat inside.
The car rolled away from the gallery, and after a while, Cecilia noticed they weren’t headed home.
“Zhiye, where are we going?”
“There’ll be fireworks by East Lake tonight. I remember you like watching them. We can grab dinner too—it’s Christmas Eve.”
Fireworks…
She faintly recalled mentioning it in passing last year. Back then, Zhiye had gone out of his way for a New Year’s display—even as she’d been planning her departure.
Yet he’d remembered, all this time.
“Yes, I do like them. Especially with you.”
She turned to Zhiye, voice soft. He was all ears.
The car paused at a red light. Xavier Foster reached over, palm up. Cecilia slipped her small hand into his—warmth radiated between them, and they shared a quiet smile.
As long as the past hurts could be forgotten... that was enough.