The Officer's Runaway Wife and Secret Son novel Chapter 462

Clara nodded. "You're becoming quite the planner."

"I used to think I could handle any surprise, but now I realize that planning ahead keeps you from worrying along with me," Rhys said with a small smile. "You always used to say I never left any room for error."

"And what do you think now?"

"You were right. I was too arrogant before. When two people are together, a lot of things need to be discussed. I'm learning."

"You're a fast learner."

Coming from Clara, the words were neither praise nor sarcasm, but Rhys could detect the slight softening in her tone.

He answered earnestly, "As long as you're willing to watch, I can learn to be even better."

A moment of silence fell in the car.

"Rhys."

"Yeah."

"If the play is bad, I'm leaving halfway through."

Rhys's hands tightened on the steering wheel, then a smile touched the corner of his mouth.

"Okay," he said. "If it's bad, we'll leave. We can go see whatever you want."

He understood the subtext of her words.

It wasn't just about the play; it was about the path ahead for them.

If this path became uncomfortable, she had the right to turn and walk away at any time. All he could do was work to make the road smooth, to make her want to keep walking down it.

After they parked and crossed the street, Rhys pointed to a nearby flower shop. "Wait for me here a second."

Clara stood by the roadside, watching him push open the door and disappear inside.

A few minutes later, he emerged with an exquisitely wrapped bouquet of lisianthus.

"For you." Rhys handed her the flowers. "I figured carrying a bunch of sunflowers into a play might be inconvenient, so I got these instead. The florist said the meaning of lisianthus is..."

He paused before saying the words.

"Sincere, unchanging love."

The wind rustled the petals.

As Clara took the bouquet, her fingers lingered on the wrapping for an extra second.

The paper was dry, the stems were neatly trimmed, and the water-soaked cotton at the base was carefully wrapped. The few minutes he’d spent in the shop weren't just for picking out flowers.

"...Thank you, they're beautiful." She hugged the bouquet to her chest and bent to smell them. "Let's go, it's about to start."

They walked side-by-side toward the theater lobby, not deliberately holding hands, but not keeping their distance either. At some point, their steps had fallen into the same rhythm.

On Christmas Eve, the theater entrance was packed with people, almost all of them young couples. A long line had formed at the ticket checkpoint.

As the crowd surged, someone accidentally bumped into them from the side.

Quick as a flash, Rhys stepped forward, forming a protective circle around Clara with one arm. He shielded her from the jostling crowd.

"Hmm?"

"Thank you for coming to the play with me today."

Clara didn't respond.

On stage, lights and shadows intertwined. The story was about a couple who had been separated for many years, repeatedly crossing paths in the same city, missing each other countless times. In the end, though they were reunited, they still couldn't escape another parting.

It was a clichéd plot.

But as she watched, Clara felt her nose begin to sting.

Rhys wasn't watching very attentively. His gaze kept drifting from the stage to Clara's profile.

As the plot reached its climax, amidst the deafening crescendo of music, Clara heard a soft sigh from beside her.

Then, her left hand was gently taken by his.

His fingers laced through hers, one by one, holding them securely.

His palm was warm.

Clara didn't pull her hand away.

As the spotlight on stage blazed, leaving the audience in shadow, her fingers twitched in the darkness, curling slightly to return his grip.

Rhys turned to look at her, his eyes reflecting the faint light from the stage.