The Reborn Wife Strikes Back ( Gordon Holmes’ )
Chapter 43

Chapter 43 

“Could it have been made by someone else?” I asked with a light smile. 

My confidence might have wavered when it came to other dishes, but beef spaghetti was my strong suit. 

What appeared to be a simple bowl of spaghetti noodles required careful attention to the noodle’s texture and hue, the beef’s tenderness, and the selection of sides. 

Missing any step could detract from perfection. 

Gordon was evidently hungry as he sat down and immediately began to eat heartily. 

Watching him devour the spaghetti with such enthusiasm, there was no need to ask if he enjoyed it-the 

answer was clear. 

Hunger struck me, too, and I started on my own modest bowl. 

We ate quietly without engaging in conversation. 

Soon, he finished his serving, pausing to clean off the sauce before asking, “Is there any more?” 

“There’s more beef remaining. I’ll boil an extra portion of spaghetti for you.” 

“Alright, add a few more beef slices. It’s delicious,” Gordon remarked, his voice deep. 

Perhaps good food genuinely brightened the mood because Gordon’s expression visibly softened, a faint smile playing on his lips. 

“I cooked plenty of beef, planning to freeze it so we could have it ready whenever we want,” I said with at smile before heading back to the kitchen. 

I prepared another portion of spaghetti for him’in no time. 

His appetite seemed insatiable as he quickly polished off the second bowl. 

After the meal, he contentedly wiped his mouth with a napkin. 

He then looked at me with a rare expression of gratitude. 

“How did I not know that you could cook spaghetti?” 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” I replied, blinking and smiling. 

After all, no one disliked being praised. 

“That’s great. You should cook more often when we’re both home in the future,” he said, smiling again. 

The future? Was he considering a long–term future with me?  sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ Find_Nøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

I paused, slightly taken aback by his words. 

I then said calmly, “Let’s talk about it in the future.” 

Clupter 

Gordon didn’t catch the hidden meaning in my words, merely checking his watch before saying, “It’s getting late. Let’s head to the gals early to check on the arrangements. Wait for me. I’ll go change.” 

With that, Gordon stood and headed upstairs. 

Known for his meticulous cleanliness, he always preferred to shower and change clothes after a meal before hending out. 

It wasn’t long before he descended in a fresh, custom–tailored suit, looking dashing. 

My gown was overly expensive, so it wasn’t sent home but directly to the hotel’s VIP dressing room, where I planned to change into it just before the gala started. 

I remained in my casual clothes, anticipating a change into the gown later. 

Fortunately, perhaps buoyed by the satisfactory meal, Gordon did not comment on my current dress. 

Chamer da 

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