AFTER NEVER (Charlotte's Story)

Chapter 65/137: Into Tottenham Again

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My head was in so much daze to take the incidents that followed my and Rickard Ellington Conway's agreement yesterday. All I know was that he left wordlessly after we broke our... promise kiss.

My face flamed for a second, as I recalled our agreement.

'You'll have to trust me. Again.'

It's weird, to think I directly agreed. For a second, his words felt like what I exactly needed.

I stepped out of the bed I was in, and realized it was the room he gave me in his palace. I sighed, searching for my shirt and skirt, but found them not.

Looking at myself, I was casually dressed in a slightly baggy nightgown, and my hair was let down to cascade in random curls.

I headed towards the wardrobe, hoping to find something to wear better than a nightgown.

My jaw dropped and shattered when I opened it.

It was full.

Like literally full with hundreds of shirts and skirts tidily hung in order.

And they looked my size.

God, when had this happened, I'm sure when I bathed days ago there was nothing.

I flushed, and pulled out a random pair, as I dressed up quickly.

Exactly my size, kill me.

Exiting the room, I headed to the kitchen without any hesitation, I was starving.

Reaching there, the kitchen was empty, hmm, so they don't have breakfast now.

Speaking of which, what time was it?

I eyed my phone's watch, and saw it was four in the morning. Wow, I'm quite early.

I let out a soft breath, and thought for some seconds.

I calmly scanned through the wooden cupboards, making sure all the ingredients for what I had in mind were present.

And I started with my work.

Well, to be honest, I have always depended on my mom or Katy for this, but I actually knew how it's done.

It's easy somehow, because it's not exactly luxurious or anything, but humbly tasty!

.

.

.

Thirty minutes later, I gazed proudly, fondly at my cute, fluffy pancakes, smiling adorably at me. I placed them at that bar, and took place at one of the two seats placed on either sides of it.

I made myself a plate, and poured some chocolate syrup over them.

Then I gazed at another empty plate I had placed before me unconsciously.

Geh, Char! What are you even thinking off!

Of course he won't eat from your humble cooking, silly! So why did you prepare such a relatively huge amount!?

I sighed, and frowned at my plate.

It was at that that I heard a series of fast, yet even and confident footsteps approach the kitchen.

They were unmistakable.

I jumped, softly, as the tall, muscular silhouette of President Rickard Ellington Conway made entrance into the kitchen where the innocent, humble Char-pie was about to have her humble breakfast.