A Vicious Tongue, but You’ve Kissed It 23: Chapter 23: Call Me Sister-in-law?
A Vicious Tongue, but You’ve Kissed It While Silas Thorne and her grandmother settled in to chat, Joyce Monroe excused herself to the washroom, taking the photo album with her.
“That girl,” Monroe said with a laugh.
“She’s not a child anymore, but she’s still so reckless.
Just looking at some photos, and she goes and snatches the album right out of your hands.
Silas, please don’t take it to heart.”
“I won’t.”
“There aren’t any photos of Kian in the rest of it.
It’s mostly just group photos of Joyce with her classmates and friends.
I imagine you wouldn’t find that very interesting.”
Silas Thorne simply smiled.
Meanwhile, Quentin Walsh and Felix Dalton exchanged a look.
‘Not interested!’
‘Their boss was *very* interested!’
‘He had just chased off one rival, and now an ex-boyfriend had to pop up and cause more trouble.’
Joyce Monroe, meanwhile, had found a corner in the hallway and was pulling all the photos of her ex-boyfriend out of the album.
Not long after her breakup, news had come that her grandfather was gravely ill.
She spent the summer in Northgate, then immediately began arranging to go abroad, completely forgetting that photos of her ex-boyfriend were still at the old family home.
‘What a jinx!’
She was busy pulling out the photos when a voice suddenly sounded from behind her.
“What are you doing?”
Joyce Monroe’s heart leaped in fright.
Her fingers trembled, and a few photos slipped from her grasp.
By the time she turned around, Silas Thorne had already bent down to pick them up.
He glanced at the pictures, his expression unchanging.
But when Joyce Monroe thanked him and tried to take them from his hand, she found he was gripping them tightly.
“Mr.
Thorne?”
“What?
Are you planning to take your ex-boyfriend’s photos home to treasure them?”
‘Treasure them?’
‘She was going to destroy them!’
“Do I look like the kind of person who goes back to an ex?”
The light returned to Silas Thorne’s eyes.
“You were head over heels for him back then.
I remember it clearly.
When you were eighteen, you were willing to…
for him…”
Realizing what he was about to say, Joyce Monroe instinctively reached out and covered his mouth.
“Mr.
Thorne!”
‘Some parts of my cringey past are better left unmentioned.’
Silas Thorne just smiled.
With her hand over his mouth, his lips curled, pressing warmly against her palm.
The hot breath that escaped his nose fell on the back of her hand, spreading a searing heat.
Joyce Monroe’s breath hitched.
She was about to pull her hand back, but Silas Thorne had already taken hold of it, gently moving it away from his mouth.
“Covering my mouth with your hand?
Don’t want me to say it?”
“I was young and naive back then.”
“So you know you were wrong now?”
“I’ve known for a long time.”
“Then don’t you owe me an apology?
You gave me quite a few dirty looks over that whole affair.”
Bringing up the past, Joyce Monroe knew she did owe him an apology.
Still, she felt a little resentful.
‘Just a moment ago, he’d threatened and coaxed her into drinking that ginger tea.
Now, she owed him an apology.
It was one thing that she couldn’t get the upper hand with him, but why did he always have her at a disadvantage?’
Lost in her vexation, she seemed to completely forget that Silas Thorne was still holding her hand.
Her fingers were fair and slender, her nails filed smooth.
From years of embroidery—hooking silk and pulling thread—her knuckles showed some wear, and the pads of her fingers were almost smooth.
But she took good care of her hands, and the rest of her skin was delicate.
Warm.
Soft.
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, his palm pressing against the back of hers, the heat scorching.
The heat made Joyce Monroe’s skin tingle, and she quickly pulled her hand away.
“Mr.
Thorne, about what happened back then…
I was in the wrong.
I’m sorry.
And thank you for stopping me from doing something stupid.”
“I bet you never imagined back then that you’d end up marrying me.”
Joyce Monroe nodded.
“Speaking of which, I once had the chance to become your senior.
You would have had to call me Sister-in-law!”
“You’re six years younger than me.
If I called you Sister-in-law, would you dare to answer?”
“If you have the guts to say it, why wouldn’t I have the guts to answer?”
Silas Thorne smiled at her, shuffling half an inch closer.
“If you really want to hear it, I can indulge you.”
They were barely half a step apart.
Their eyes met, and Joyce Monroe felt scorched by his gaze.
He looked…
serious.
“What are you going to do with the photos?” Silas Thorne changed the subject.
“Destroy them.”
Silas Thorne nodded, gesturing for her to give him all the photos.
“I’ll have Quentin Walsh handle it.
You should go wash your hands and get ready for dinner.
Don’t keep Monroe waiting.”
Joyce Monroe shoved the photos at him and fled.
‘They’re husband and wife now.
And he wants to call me Sister-in-law?’
‘What kind of twisted fanfiction is this?
Is he out of his mind?!’
Silas Thorne watched her back as she retreated, the corners of his lips curling up.
‘Senior?’
‘Sister-in-law?’
‘In her dreams!’
He glanced down at the photos, his gaze darkening abruptly.
His fingers tightened, instantly wrinkling the prints.
**
During dinner, Monroe brought out some of her private stock of wine.
Afraid of drinking too much like last time, Joyce Monroe made an excuse about having work to do later that evening and declined a drink.
“You silly girl, don’t tell me you’re planning to embroider late into the night.
You’ll ruin your eyes!”
“It’s not embroidery.
I have other things to take care of.”
“It sounds like you’re not planning to stay the night, then.” Monroe’s voice was tinged with disappointment.
She then turned to Silas Thorne with a smile.
“It’s raining, and we’re quite a ways from the city.
Why don’t you stay here for the night?”
“I have business tomorrow, so it wouldn’t be convenient.
Thank you for your kind offer.”
“You’re too kind.
You’re Kian’s friend.
If my hospitality is lacking, I’m afraid that boy will hold it against me.”
…
Silas Thorne didn’t seem to hold his liquor well.
After just a little wine, he was already showing signs of being drunk.
So, after dinner, Quentin Walsh and Felix Dalton proactively offered to take him back to his hotel.
Monroe naturally didn’t insist they stay, and Joyce Monroe seized the opportunity.
“As it happens, I didn’t drive.
Could I trouble you for a ride?”
“Joyce,” Monroe frowned.
“I’ll have our driver take you.
You aren’t necessarily heading in the same direction, so don’t be a bother.”
“It’s no trouble at all,” Quentin Walsh said with a smile.
‘After all…’
‘They were returning…’
‘To the same home.’
「Inside the car.」
The rain had stopped, but a wave of muggy heat had returned in its place.
The car’s air conditioning was blasting.
Seeing that Silas Thorne seemed to be asleep, Joyce Monroe lowered her voice and asked Quentin Walsh, “Mr.
Walsh, can I ask you something?”
“Ma’am, you’re being too formal.
You can just call me Walsh.” Quentin Walsh wouldn’t dare let her call him ‘Mr.
Walsh’.
“Whatever you need, please just ask.”
“What did Mr.
Thorne say to Julian Griffin today?”
“Well…” Quentin Walsh, sitting in the passenger seat, glanced at Silas Thorne in the back out of the corner of his eye.
“Am I allowed to say?”
Joyce Monroe frowned.
“Why not?
He’s drunk anyway.”
Quentin Walsh nodded.
The rooms at the Monroe family’s old house weren’t exactly soundproof, so he and Felix Dalton had heard the conversation inside quite clearly.
He proceeded to give Joyce Monroe a rough summary.
“He really said all that?” Joyce Monroe struggled to hold back her laughter.
“How can he be so vicious with his words?”
“I honestly think he could poison himself just by licking his own lips.”
Just as Joyce Monroe was laughing, a hoarse, deep voice cut in abruptly.
“My mouth…
is poisonous?”
The voice was low and raspy, sounding as if it were right beside her ear.
Joyce Monroe’s breath caught in her throat.
She instinctively turned her head, only to fall into a pair of deep, dark eyes.
The moment their gazes met, Silas Thorne, who had been leaning against the seatback, straightened up and moved closer to her.
His breath, carrying a cool note and the scent of wine, washed over her.
Joyce Monroe’s heart constricted.
“Mr…
Mr.
Thorne…
Weren’t…
weren’t you asleep?”
“I wasn’t.”
“You’re not drunk?”
“Just a little tipsy.”
‘So his drunkenness was just an act.
That black-hearted schemer.’
“Crack a window, let’s get some air in here,” Silas Thorne instructed Felix Dalton.
The post-rain wind was cool and damp, and it began to disperse the lingering scent of alcohol inside the car.
Joyce Monroe forced a faint smile.
She was still holding the bouquet of red poppies, and she looked down to fiddle with the petals.
“My mouth can poison people to death?” Silas Thorne arched an eyebrow.
“I was exaggerating,” Joyce Monroe said, embarrassed at being caught talking behind his back.
“You, of all people, should know best whether my mouth is poisonous or not.”
“What?” Joyce was confused, not understanding what he meant.
But Silas Thorne’s next words made her brain completely short-circuit.
He leaned another half-inch closer and murmured,
“Because…”
“You’ve kissed it.”
The words were as light as a butterfly’s wings, but they unleashed a tornado in her heart, sending her pulse into chaos and her breath into a frenzy.