The meal stretched on in comfortable conversation, punctuated by Xi Jinwei's obvious pleasure every time Yang Zhilan complimented his cooking. By the time they finished, the sky outside had deepened to indigo, city lights beginning their nightly performance across the skyline.
"I'll clean up," Xi Jinwei said, already gathering plates.
"Let me help—"
"Absolutely not." He gave her a look that brooked no argument. "You've had a long day. Go settle in. Make yourself at home."
Yang Zhilan wanted to protest, but she was really exhausted. "Okay," she relented. "But next time, I'm cooking."
"Deal." His smile was warm as he shooed her toward the bedroom.
The next hour passed comfortably. Yang Zhilan unpacked her clothes, hanging them in the spacious closet beside Xi Jinwei's impeccably organized suits and casual wear. Her colorful dresses and comfortable sweaters looked almost playful next to his monochrome elegance, but somehow it worked—like two different aesthetics finding harmony.
She arranged her books on the shelf he'd cleared in the study, set up her laptop on the desk by the window, and she placed a small photo on the dresser which consisted of her mother, Yang Chu, and her during her graduation.
By the time she finished showering, the apartment had fully embraced the night. The bathroom was like she remembered , pure luxury—marble surfaces and a rainfall shower. She'd changed into her usual sleepwear—an oversized black and white stripped t-shirt that hung past her hips and soft cotton shorts.
Yang Zhilan climbed into bed—*their* bed—her slightly damp hair leaving spots on the silk pillowcase. She pulled out her phone, scrolling through financial news to distract herself from the nervous energy humming under her skin.
They'd shared a bed before, she reminded herself. When they were teenagers. But that was different. They'd been children then, practically. Now they were adults. Engaged adults. About to be married adults who were supposed to be expecting a child.
The bathroom door opened, releasing a cloud of steam.
Yang Zhilan's mouth went dry.
Xi Jinwei emerged in gray silk pajama pants that hung low on his hips, the matching shirt unbuttoned and revealing planes of muscle that definitely hadn't existed when they were teenagers. His hair was wet, water droplets trailing down his neck and disappearing into his collarbone. He was casually rubbing a towel through his hair, completely unselfconscious about his state of undress.
She very deliberately returned her attention to her phone, though the words on the screen might as well have been ancient Sanskrit for all she could comprehend them.
"Lan'er."
"Mm?" She kept her eyes glued to her screen, watching her reflection in the darkened glass rather than looking at him directly.
"Dry my hair?"
Her head snapped up before she could stop herself. He stood there holding a hairdryer, that knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing to her.
"I—" Her face heated. "Fine."
He settled onto the edge of the bed, and she took the hairdryer with hands that were definitely not trembling. But as she reached for his hair, something mischievous sparked in her chest.
Yang Zhilan grabbed a handful of his wet hair and tugged, not hard, but enough to tilt his head back.
Xi Jinwei gasped, his eyes widening in surprise.
YOU ARE READING
Batter My Heart,Mr Xi (Book 2)
Romantik(Sequel to Ties and Fate.) Yang Zhilan's idyllic village life is shattered when her late adoptive father's past comes back to haunt her family as he had double-crossed a very powerful mercenary group. Adding to the turmoil, she doesn't remember t...
