Chapter 70
In the end, she quietly sent Lyman a message, telling him not to order any more food for the group and that she’d make her own way home when things wrapped
up.
When Lyman saw her text, he couldn’t help but let out a helpless little laugh.
Was he really someone who needed to be kept a secret?
Most women would love to show off a successful husband, to let everyone know they had someone powerful in their corner. But only Effie preferred to keep things so understated.
Then again, maybe that was exactly why he saw her differently from everyone else.
Tucking her phone away, Effie finally felt herself relax a little.
After dinner, she said goodbye to everyone and caught a cab home.
When she got back, Lyman still wasn’t there he was out at a business dinner. Effie took a shower, and just as she stepped out, she heard the front door open.
She hurriedly threw on a robe and came out to the hallway.
“Mrs. Etheridge, Mr. Etheridge had a bit too much to drink,” Luther said, looking a little awkward as he helped Lyman inside.
Effie’s heart tightened at Luther’s words, and she quickly walked over.
Lyman was leaning heavily on Luther’s shoulder, cheeks tinged pink, eyes unfocused-he’d clearly had more than just a drink or two.
“How did you end up drinking so much?” Effie frowned, her voice laced with worry. Normally, Lyman knew his limits.
Luther replied, a little helpless, “The people at dinner kept pushing drinks on him tonight. Mr. Etheridge couldn’t refuse, so he ended up having a few more.”
Effie nodded and said softly, “Luther, could you help him over to the sofa? I’ll take care of him from here.”
Luther looked relieved and quickly nodded. “Of course, ma’am. I’ll leave Mr. Etheridge in your hands, then.”
Effie murmured her thanks, and Luther quietly slipped out.
Lyman slumped onto the sofa, his voice rough. “Effie…”
“I’m here,” she answered gently. “Sit down, I’ll get you some water.”
But Lyman shook his head, reached out, and caught her hand. There was a stubbornness in his tone. “Don’t go…”
Effie froze for a moment, her heart skipping as she looked into his drunken but still intense eyes.
She soothed him softly, “I’m not going anywhere. Just let me get you some water, I’ll be quick.”
Only then did Lyman release her, and Effie hurried to the kitchen.
As she turned away, Lyman’s eyes suddenly cleared; the deep, obsidian gaze
was sharp and sober, not a trace of drunkenness left. He watched her retreating figure in silence, a faint, secretive smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Effie poured a glass of honey water and grabbed a damp washcloth before heading back to the living room.
She handed Lyman the glass and said quietly, “Drink some water, it’ll help.” Lyman took the glass, drank a few sips, and set it on the coffee table.
Effie gently dabbed his forehead and cheeks with the washcloth, her movements tender and careful.
Lyman leaned back, eyes closed, letting her fuss over him. Gradually, his breathing evened out and the flush on his face faded a little.
“Effie…” he murmured suddenly, his voice low and husky.
She paused, concern in her tone. “What is it? Are you feeling unwell?”
“How much longer do I have to wait?” His deep voice caught her off guard, leaving her cheeks burning.
She stammered, “You’re drunk… um… not much longer now…”
“You promised,” he insisted, sounding almost like a little boy, still clinging to her hand.
Effie couldn’t help but smile as she soothed him, “I won’t go back on my word.”
Out of her sight, Lyman’s lips curved into a tiny, satisfied smile.
If he’d known that playing drunk would earn him such sweet attention, he would’ve tried it much sooner.