At his praise, Vanessa’s smile blossomed brighter than wildflowers, “Theo, if you like it so much, I’ll make it for you more often.” “Cough cough!”

Mrs. Reynolds cleared her throat gently. “Give it a rest, Vanessa. Your hands are made for playing the piano, not for slaving away in the kitchen. Right, Theodore?” Theodore nodded in agreement. “Yeah, you should just share the recipe with Phoebe and let her cook for me in the future.”

His comment managed to offend both women at the same time.

Vanessa felt wounded inside. The recipe was a part of their shared memories, and by passing it on to Phoebe, it felt like an intrusion upon those precious moments. How could she accept that? Phoebe, on the other hand, thought bitterly that if Theodore cherished Vanessa’s hands as treasures too fine for cooking, she was expected to take over and become the household drudge, huh?

The more Phoebe stewed over it, the angrier she got. Catching a glimpse of Theodore’s smug expression out of the corner of her eye, her irritation reached a boiling point, and she kicked him sharply in the shin. “Oof!”

Theodore grunted, the slice of meat he was about to enjoy dropping back onto his plate. Vanessa and Mrs. Reynolds looked on in concern. “Theodore, what’s wrong?”

He felt the sting in his leg but couldn’t just blurt it out, so he said instead, “I just bit my tongue, no big deal. I’ll just have a sip of water.”

Vanessa couldn’t help but giggle and teased, “Theodore, be careful. Is my cooking really that good that you’d risk swallowing your tongue?”

“Yeah, seems like he hasn’t eaten in ages,” Phoebe couldn’t resist adding a snarky quip.

Theodore turned a glare in her direction. She was audacious, daring to pull such stunts under the table-did she honestly think he was unable to handle her?

Sensing the tensions rising, Mrs. Reynolds quickly changed the subject. “Vanessa, I heard you’re about to start shooting a movie?”

“Yes, Auntie. Theodore landed me the opportunity. I’m going to give it my all, so I don’t let down his expectations.” Vanessa glanced at Theodore with bashful yet eager eyes, every word hinting at an intimate connection between them. “The director you’ll be working with is top-notch. A few months under his guidance could teach you more than any classroom. Do well, and when the movie’s out, we’ll rent out the theater for a screening,” Theodore said.

Phoebe kept her head down, focusing on her food. Suddenly, she felt a nudge against her leg. Initially thinking it was an accident, she didn’t mind. However, then a few seconds later, there it was again a deliberate stroke up her leg, growing bolder by the second.

Startled inside but keeping a cool exterior, Phoebe glanced up only to find Vanessa blushing and demurely looking down at her plate.

Phoebe had no doubts about whom the foot belonged to, and she was utterly disgusted by its intentions.

Vanessa was the epitome of deceptive charm, with her air of nobility and grace, it was shocking to see her play footsie with another woman’s husband under the dinner table. Had she no shame?

Phoebe quietly grabbed a toothpick and jabbed it into the offending foot that was caressing her thigh. Vanessa’s face across from her contorted with pain, she let out a stifled groan. Mrs. Reynolds turned her head with concern, “Vanessa, what’s wrong?”

Vanessa’s face flashed between red and white. The pain almost made her spit out her food, she quickly shook her head and, not caring she was mid-bite, said, “I need to use the restroom.” Her trembling voice betrayed the intensity of her pain.

As Phoebe watched Vanessa limp away, a smirk played on her lips, her heart felt instantly gratified.

Theodore caught the smile dancing on her face, his heart unsettled, “What are you laughing at?”

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