Fiction Made Me His Wife (Freya and Louis) novel Chapter 47

Chapter 47 Sweets

Chapter 47 Sweets

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Around eight o’clock, the sound of the door opening echoed through the apartment. Freya looked up from her document just as Louis stepped inside. She hit save casually. “You’re back. Dinner should still be warm. Hungry?”

Louis took off his coat and hung it on the wall hook. The cold air he’d brought in from outside immediately faded in the warmth of the apartment. His eyes swept over to the dining table, where the dishes had been neatly covered.

“I’m okay,”

He didn’t mention that he’d skipped seeing his friends to come home. As he changed into house slippers, he said, “You must be hungry by now. I’ll wash my hands, then we can cat.”

“I’m fine, not really hungry,” Freya replied cheerfully. “I gave in carlier this afternoon–ate an apple and a piece of chocolate. Felt so guilty I decided to eat less at dinner. Now that the hunger’s passed, I probably won’t overeat tonight.” She actually sounded a little proud, as if tricking her own stomach had been a smart move.

Louis paused mid–wash, shaking his head silently. His voice floated out from the bathroom. “Apples are low–calorie. A bit of chocolate now and then is no big deal. Don’t starve yourself into getting sick. I might not always make it back in time. If I’m not coming home, I’ll let you know. You don’t need to wait–just cat.”

“Oh.” Freya figured he probably wasn’t like someone with a nine–to–five. If he didn’t come home, she could just cook something simple for herself without fuss,

Thank goodness, she thought. He didn’t suspect anything else. She failed to notice the curious look in his eyes.

“Oh right, I boiled the chicken soup for a long time today. Drink plenty.” Freya seized the chance to change the subject, pointing to the pot on the stove.

“Alright.” Freya’s chicken soup had always been delicious. Louis liked it a lot.,Soup from restaurants always felt like it was missing something, but hers had a complete, balanced flavor. He knew it wasn’t really about taste–it was the feeling that someone had put care and time into making something just for you.

When he was little, Madam Graham used to make chicken soup for him too. The flavor had been… well, less than ideal. But she always insisted it was good for children, and back then, Mr. Louis had made sure he drank every last drop.

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