His Majesty's Devious Sins

Chapter 221 - Securing the Bottles

Chapter 221 - Securing the Bottles

Lydia placed her hand into his, and was surprised at how small her fingers were in comparison to his long ones. His fingers instantly wrapped around her hand and he helped her out of the car and then locked it.

Soon, they were surrounded in pitch-darkness and Lydia was terrified. The haunted house didn't scare her because she knew it was safe and there were actors inside. But in a dead forest like this, where her senses were on high alert, and murderers could be lurking in the trees, she was frightened.

"D-don't walk ahead of me," Lydia said, holding onto his arm in fear. "Please tell me you have a flashlight."

Weston was surprised by a sudden surge of strength. He didn't realize it sooner, but his body felt lighter than usual. It must've been the powers of the Golden Rose.

Regardless, Weston glanced at her.

"Now, who's the Damsel-In-Distress?" he said, his lips curling into a smirk.

Lydia glared at him. If she wasn't so scared, she'd shove him away. Suddenly, he wrapped an arm around her waist and tucked him to his side.

"I don't have a flashlight," Weston said. "Pure-Bloods can see perfectly in the dark."

"Well I can't," Lydia remarked.

Weston snickered. He began walking and she instantly walked with him, holding onto his shirt like a scared little kid. Now that he knew her fear, he'd use it to his full advantage.

Suddenly, he let out a loud, "Boo!"

Lydia screamed and punched him in the face. Weston's head flew to the side and he let out a scoff in disbelief.

"Well, aren't you a violent little thing?" Weston said, rubbing his jaw. He could hear her heart threatening to jump out of her c.h.e.s.t. It was going a thousand miles per hour and she was visibly shaking.

"How could you do that to me?!" Lydia cried out in disbelief.

"I was hoping you'd hide behind me," Weston muttered.

"I'm not like you," Lydia snapped at him.

Weston wryly looked at her. She wasn't lying when she said she was great at punching. Had he been a human, the punch would've left a bruise.

"Does your hand hurt?" Weston asked, as he began to pull her in a familiar direction.

"No," Lydia lied.

Lydia wondered what he always chewed on for his face to be this angular. His jawline was sharp as a jagged rock, and as hard as one too. She felt like she had dislocated her knuckles from the simple punch.

As they began to walk deeper into the forest, fear weighed Lydia down. Lydia looked over her shoulders and she saw pitch-black nothingness. Suddenly, they fell into an eerie silence where she heard chirps and the rustle of grass.

"Weston…" Lydia trailed off, suddenly grabbing onto his shirt again as his arms tightened around her waist. "What if someone slashes your car tires and we can't go home? I don't think there's a signal out here."

"Then we die."

"Weston!" Lydia complained.

Weston chuckled. He turned his head as he saw the meadow in the distance.

"Your irrational fears are interesting. I see you're an anxious overthinker," Weston commented.

Lydia scowled at his words.

"I'm not—" her voice died in her throat when she saw their surroundings.

Finally, they had walked out of the dense trees and into a beautiful clearing. Her breath caught in her throat as she took in everything. It was absolutely beautiful here.

The moon was bright in the sky, illuminating the flowers of the meadow. The clouds were thin and barely lingering in the dark blue night sky. The breeze was soft and it was the perfect weather to have a meal outside. She saw hundreds of glowing fireflies surrounding a table set up. Immediately, her fear began to melt away.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Weston asked.

Weston grabbed her hand and pulling her towards the table in the center of the flower meadow. There were candles, flower vases, and food prepared for them. There was also a blanket laid out not so far away, so that they could lay down and have a talk if they'd like. Or… do more than talking.

"Yes, very," Lydia agreed, as she looked down.

There was a basket of freshly baked bread, spring salad with fruits and cheese, rosemary grilled sea bass, clam chowder, and all of her favorite small cake bites. She was impressed by the spread and looked up at him.

"Did you prepare all of this?" Lydia asked, astonished and touched by his actions. She had never told him her favorite food, but it was all sitting in front of her.

"My people set it up, but it was my order to do so," Weston told her.

Weston pulled out a chair for her and she took a seat. He pushed her in and unraveled the crown-folded tablecloth and dr.a.p.ed it over her l.a.p.

Lydia was taken aback by his gentlemen's behavior. She had never been treated this way before. He walked to his own chair and bent down, reaching into a basket. Her brows shot up at the sight of the hot towel.

"Here," Weston said, handing the moistened hot towel to her.

"Thank you," Lydia responded with a slight smile.

Lydia realized his employees didn't leave that long ago, since the hot towel was still warm. She used it to wipe the corners of her mouth and then her hands. After he wiped his own mouth and hand with the towel, he took hers and placed it back into the basket.

"I didn't think you'd prepare this much," Lydia admitted. "These are all of my favorite foods."

"I know," Weston deadpanned. He reached into a different basket, revealing a chilled wine bottle. "Your favorite wine as well."

Lydia's eyes lit up at the sight of the deep green bottle.

"Where did you get that?" she breathed out. There weren't that many bottles of wine anymore and it was a rare commodity.

"At an auction house. They were selling ten bottles of it," Weston remarked.

Weston pulled out a cork screw and began to take out the cork of the bottle. Once it popped, an aromatic smell filled the air. He took her wine glass and began to pour her at an exact angle.

"I'm guessing it wasn't a pretty number," Lydia remarked, knowing this wine was loved by wine connoisseurs all over the world, and getting a hand on it was practically impossible.

"It barely scratched my bank account," Weston chuckled.

Weston settled the wine glass in front of her, watching her eyes light up with child-like happiness. At the sight of her joy, he knew securing the bottles was worth it.

Lydia swirled the wine in the glass, taking a waft of the delightful scent. She took a sip and nearly m.o.a.n.e.d at how good it was. She loved good wine, especially this kind.

"You really know how to impress a date," Lydia told him, placing the wine glass down as he poured one for himself, smiling at her words.

"I don't really go on dates," Weston admitted. "You're the first, in what? A century?"

"You're that old?!" Lydia sharply asked.

Weston scoffed. "Just wait until you find out the age of the King."

Lydia swallowed hard. She stared at him and wondered if she even wanted to know their actual age. But she decided curiosity killed the cat, and she'd rather be ignorant.

"Try the salad before it wilts," Weston said, knowing it was time to change the subject.

"Oops," Lydia remarked, as she looked away, a knowing smile on her face.

Weston narrowed his eyes in her direction. This damn tease.