Chapter 92
Effie’s cheeks flushed scarlet in an instant.
Lyman let out a dry, rueful chuckle, his gaze complicated as he looked at her. “Nourishing soup? Oh, that was her special little ‘energy booster’ for me.”
Effie suddenly understood, her face burning even brighter. “What? Mom-she… how could she do that!”
Lyman released her hand and rubbed his temples, his tone resigned. “She’s been desperate for a grandchild, you know that. I just didn’t expect her to go this far.”
Effie was mortified, wishing she could sink right through the floor. She glanced at Lyman, guilt gnawing at her when she saw how uncomfortable he looked. “I’m sorry. I had no idea there was something in the soup. I even encouraged you to drink it…”
Lyman shook his head, offering her a weak smile. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known.”
Honestly, he couldn’t even blame Lindy. Isabel had just come back, stirring up all kinds of trouble. Lindy just wanted to take the initiative-she was worried Isabel might try to come between them. So, she’d made that ridiculous soup, probably afraid her own son would prove useless when it really mattered.
A heavy silence settled over the room, awkward and tense.
Just then, the bag Effie had brought in toppled over. Its contents spilled onto the floor-a slinky set of lingerie, a bottle of perfume, and a handwritten note: “Go get ’em! Give me a grandchild soon!”
Effie’s blush deepened all the way to her ears. She scrambled to shove everything back into the bag.
When she looked up, she found Lyman staring at her, his eyes dark and intent. “Effie…” His voice was low and rough, a tremor of restraint running through it. Her heart hammered in her chest. Instinctively, she took a step back. “Lyman, just -calm down, okay? I’ll go get you something to counteract it—”
She turned to escape, but Lyman caught her by the wrist. His palm was burning hot, his grip gentle but inescapable. With a tug, Effie tumbled right onto his lap.
“Effie, do you really want me to calm down?” His breath was warm in her ear, his voice coaxing.
Effie’s heart raced even faster. She knew she should push him away, but her body refused to move.
She bit her lip, whispering, “Lyman, we shouldn’t…”
He let out a soft laugh, his breath tickling her skin. “We’re married. There’s nothing wrong with this. Besides are you really telling me you don’t want to?”
Effie’s mind was a mess, torn between two voices-one telling her this wasn’t right, the other urging her on. You’re married, what’s there to worry about?
Just as she hesitated, Lyman suddenly released her and pulled back, exhaling shakily. “Forget it. I don’t want to force you.”
Effie froze, surprised by the flicker of disappointment in her chest.
She watched him, saw how hard he was fighting to keep himself together, and her heart twisted. She knew Lyman always respected her boundaries—even now, when it was clearly difficult for him, he wouldn’t push her.
“Lyman…” she called softly, her voice tinged with guilt.
He waved her off with a tired smile. “I’m going to take a cold shower. You should get some rest.”
He turned and walked toward the bathroom, his shoulders heavy with defeat.
Effie stood rooted to the spot, her emotions a tangled mess. She looked down at the bag in her hands, took a shaky breath, and finally made up her mind.
“Lyman, wait!” Effie hurried after him, grabbing his hand before he could disappear.
He turned, surprise flickering in his eyes. “What is it?”
Effie’s face was as red as a ripe apple, her voice barely above a whisper. “I… I don’t want you to be alone. We’re married… and I’m ready. If you are…”