Chapter 191

The man she was married to was practically clueless about anything online.

Marguerite, her composure fully restored, steered the conversation back on track. “Let me reintroduce you. This is George, my landlord."

Lindsay extended her hand. "Hello, Mr. Spencer. It's an honor to finally meet you."

George wasn't one for handshakes. He simply offered a warm smile. “Hello."

Lindsay's hand hung in the air for a second before she awkwardly retracted it, feeling a little unnerved. She'd heard he was warm on the surface but cold underneath, and now she was experiencing it firsthand.

Feeling a bit anxious, she asked, "By the way, Mr. Spencer, Maggie and I haven't seen each other in ages. Would it be alright if I stayed the night with her?"

George already knew Lindsay had dropped Marguerite off; the bodyguards had kept him informed. He knew how close they were and that they would have a lot to talk about after eleven years.

But he didn't want anyone disturbing their evenings. There would be plenty of time for them to talk later. Stella had a long day of school and needed her rest.

The refusal was on the tip of his tongue, but then his eyes fell on Marguerite. She stood with her head slightly bowed, revealing the slender, pale nape of her neck. George's heart sank, his fingers tightening. He had already been a killjoy once tonight.

He swallowed the refusal. "Of course," he said. "Marguerite is free to have guests." Lindsay breathed a sigh of relief. "We'll be really quiet, I promise. We won't disturb your sleep."

Marguerite was surprised by how readily George agreed. Her mood instantly brightened. She looked up at him and grinned. “You're a pretty great landlord, you know that?"

The girl's smile was as radiant as ever. George let out an imperceptible breath and adjusted his glasses. "Come in."

as

Since George and Lindsay were strangers and he had work to do in the livingroom Marguerite and Lindsay retreated to her bedroom soon as they got inside and didn't come out. Marguerite was sticking to her punishment: no late-night snack for her misbehaving mouth.

"Wow, this room has barely changed at all," Lindsay marveled.

"Yep,” Marguerite said, heading for the bathroom. "I'm going to take a shower. Make yourself at home."

After Marguerite showered, Lindsay took her turn. In the interim, Marguerite managed to complete a math worksheet.

When Lindsay emerged, they both;

collapsed onto the bed in matching

cartoon pajamas of different

a habit of Marguerites,

buying multiples of things she liked.

It was getting late. Just as Lindsay was about to start their long-awaited chat, her

phone, which she'd tossed on the bed, rang. It was Timothy.

She declined the call. He called again. She declined again. After the sixth attempt, she blocked his number.

"Who was that?" Marguerite asked casually.

Lindsay rolled over, propping her face on her hands to face Marguerite. "My arranged-marriage husband."

Marguerite's eyes widened with curiosity. "When did you two get married?”

Lindsay sighed. "Right after graduation. It's been seven years."

Marguerite's jaw dropped slightly. At

eighteen, she had never even

considered marriage. "You don't seen very happy with him he said confused. "Why don't you get a

divorce? Is it because of family pressure?"