Chapter 23%
Rosalie cried out again, the pain no longer something she could hide. “Weston, my stomach hurts; please, come in quickly.” Her nightmare had likely unsettled her pregnancy, and Weston was a doctor–he was the only one who could help her now. Weston hurried inside, his hands steady and sure. With a few gentle techniques, the sharp pain in Rosalie’s abdomen began to ease.
Sweat dampened her brow as she asked anxiously, “Is the baby okay?”
“The baby’s fine,” Weston assured her softly. “It’s just your mind playing tricks on you. I’ll prepare a calming herbal tonic to ease your restlessness. That way, you’ll have fewer nightmares, and the baby won’t be disturbed again.“}]
He turned to leave, but Rosalie’s voice stopped him. “Wait.”
“What is it?” Weston paused and looked back, his eyes meeting hers.
The clock on the wall showed 2:00 a.m., and silvery moonlight spilled through the window, casting a quiet glow. Both in pajamas, their shared glance held a fleeting, tender warmth.”
Rosalie’s eyes remained calm, unreadable. “Weston, I’m sorry for waking you in the middle of the night. Why don’t you just write down the recipe for the calming tonic? I’ll have the maid prepare it so you won’t be troubled.”
Weston paused briefly, then smiled warmly. “It’s no trouble at all. My concoctions are very particular; if the maid follows the recipe but misses the timing, it won’t work as it should. That means it won’t calm you properly. I’d rather make it myself.”
“But it’s so late already…” Rosalie began to protest.
Before she could finish, Weston interrupted gently, “Rosalie, are you saying that since you’ve already turned down my confession, you want us to keep our distance? Should our bond remain that of a doctor and a patient’s family, nothing more? That we shouldn’t get too close to avoid crossing any lines?“}
Rosalie said nothing, but her silence spoke volumes.
Weston smiled softly, though a trace of sadness lingered in his eyes. “After your rejection at the beach, I thought it over carefully. You were right; my confession was rushed. Maybe what I loved was only the image of you as an artist, not the real you. After all, I don’t truly know you yet.”
“So I want to take back those words. What I feel now is more like the deep respect between kindred spirits. Whether you’re willing to move forward or not, I believe, for now, we should just be friends. After all, it’s rare to find someone who understands your heart.” Rosalie hesitated, then finally nodded. “Hmmm.“}
“Then, as a friend who truly understands you, I’ll go brew that calming tonic myself,” Weston said with a warm smile.
But the moment he turned away, that smile vanished, replaced by a deep sorrow lurking in his eyes.}
So–called “close friends” were often a refuge when love couldn’t be. Even though Rosalie had rejected him, even though her heart still clung to a lost love, he still longed to stay near her.
If he couldn’t love her in the way he dreamed, then he would protect her in another way. Weston was the kind of man who, once he chose, chose for life.
From that day on, Rosalie and Weston grew closer, their interactions smooth and natural, with no hint of awkwardness from the confession that had failed. Yet neither ever mentioned it again. Everything seemed to settle back into place, familiar, yet somehow different.
One day, Weston drove Rosalie to the seaside so she could paint.}
Halfway through her work, she suddenly set down her brush and looked at him. “Weston, would you like to hear my story?“>
arrying My Late Husband’s Twin Brother To Save My Son
