"I liked you better before," she lamented. Couldnât you just be your quiet, handsome self? Isnât it better to be a silent handsome boy?
Why did you suddenly become so talkative, so eloquent that even she couldnât outtalk you now?
"Before, you werenât this frustrating," she sighed. Just a little irritating, thatâs all.
But then, you would only annoy her two or three times a year.
Unlike now, when you irritate her every single day.
So frustrating!
"Would you be happy if I didnât come home for a year, if I didnât see you even once?" James Black tightened his hold on the person in his arms, his face inching closer to hers, his gaze filled with threat, "Hmm? Or perhaps, youâd be happiest if you became a divorcee?"
Jane Sampson blinked her eyes, saying nothing.
"In your dreams," James Black whispered as he kissed her eyes and continued, "Then you might as well die of frustration."
"..." Jane Samptonâs face was a picture of bewilderment.
It must be that she wasnât approaching this right, otherwise, how had his ability to annoy her suddenly perfected to such an extent?
What did he mean by dying of frustration?
"You wish! Iâm not going to be frustrated to death!" Jane Sampson retorted dryly, with a profoundly disdainful expression, rubbing her face hard against James Blackâs pajamas as if to scrub away the tactile memory of him from her eyelids. James Black could feel the person in his arms seething with frustration because of his words, but Jane Samptonâs emotions always came and went quickly; soon after, she fell into a deep sleep in his arms.
She slept with an expression of serenity, utterly unguarded and peaceful.
James Black had recently discovered that she slept more soundly in his arms than usual.
In the past, he might not see her face two or three times a year, and most of the time, he wouldnât even think of Jane at home. But now, it seemed things were not the same anymore.
When he couldnât see her, he truly missed her.
He wondered what she was doing, with whom she was spending her time.
Sometimes he even thought about picking up the phone just to hear her voice, which wouldnât be too bad.
The term âwifeâ had begun to take on a different flavor.
It shifted from being like a job title to becoming a vivid, animated Jane Sampson.
At the Black Residence, the moment he heard Jane Sampson talk about babies, a strong desire for a child surged within him.
In fact, having a daughter like her wouldnât be so bad.
It would be a bit worrisome, true, but having one Jane already, it seemed nice to think about having another little lass just like her.
Or perhaps, a handsome boy would do.
When he was busy with the guard team, having a child to accompany her at home would make her think more about this childâs father.
And if he could have her bring the child to visit him at the guard team, that seemed even better.
However, wishful thinking aside, James Black knew that the present Jane Sampson wouldnât want a child; she was much younger than him, in the prime of her youth, with plenty she wanted to accomplish and was striving towards.
Besides, how could a person constantly contemplating divorce entertain the thought of a child?
James looked down at the sweetly sleeping figure in his arms, his voice a soft murmur, "Jane Sampson, you should put the idea of divorce out of your mind."
It was like issuing her a notification â no need for her answer, no need for her opinion. Her silence was taken as consent.
After saying this, James Blackâs mood lifted considerably. He gently touched Jane Sampsonâs nose with his hand, chuckled softly, and contentedly fell asleep embracing the tender person in his arms.