Fated love: the unwanted bride
Chapter 1202: She’s Not Three Years Old

Chapter 1202: Chapter 1202: She’s Not Three Years Old

Jasmine Yale didn’t make a sound, too sleepy.

Sylvan Cheney rested his chin on her shoulder and gently caressed her waist, not doing anything over the line, just holding her.

He had intended to just check on her and hadn’t expected her to be awake.

"I can sleep..." she mumbled fuzzily, her voice very soft, as if she was talking in her sleep, "I can sleep..."

"Mm."

Sylvan didn’t disturb her any further, simply embracing her, pressing her little head into his chest.

His bathrobe was soft, and his chest was warm.

Jasmine turned over, facing him.

Her two little hands clutched tightly at his bathrobe; this seemed to be the most comforting sleeping position over the past couple of days.

Perhaps it was something deep in her subconscious at work, but she fell asleep quickly while nestled in his arms.

Having tossed and turned all night without sleeping, now she fell asleep quickly.

Her breathing gradually steadied, no more tossing and turning; she lay like a well-behaved kitten in his arms.

Just like many years ago, when she couldn’t sleep, he used to soothe her the same way.

Sylvan stroked her soft hair, the warmth in his palm.

This time she didn’t fuss but slept peacefully, occasionally smacking her lips.

The bedroom was dark; he couldn’t see the expression on her face, but he knew she was sleeping sweetly.

The silhouettes of the trees outside the window loomed, dark and silent.

That night, Jasmine didn’t turn over, contentedly nestled in Sylvan’s embrace.

This time, Sylvan didn’t hold her back but instead, when the morning sun rose, kissed her forehead.

Sunlight spread across the floor, the lazy sun slowly ascended from the east.

Daylight broke, clear of fog, a sunny day.

"Mr. Cheney..."

"Hm?"

"Is it daylight now?"

"Mm."

She nestled in his chest, her warm breath teasing his neck.

"When did you come over? I didn’t even notice." She complained, clutching his collar with a sense of grievance.

"What do you remember, you sleep just like Chale Cheney."

"That’s not true; I remember I couldn’t sleep last night."

She pouted, slightly unhappy. How could he compare her to a three-year-old?

She wasn’t three after all.

"Still sleepy?"

"I won’t sleep now; I can sleep on the plane, 12 hours, enough for me." She whispered to him, as if sharing household news on an early morning awakening.

His tone was gentle, and her attitude was tender as well.

"Then let’s get ready to get up."

"No... Let me snooze a little longer." Jasmine grabbed his clothes, rubbing her little head against them in protest.

Sylvan’s lips curved slightly, and he raised his hand to pat her butt, "Get up."

"Why?" Jasmine was annoyed, "So annoying."

"If you don’t get up now, you’ll miss the flight and don’t cry about it. I won’t compensate you for another ticket."

"..."

Reluctantly, Jasmine had no choice but to sit up on the bed, against her wishes.

She habitually sat dazed on the bed for a while, a hangover effect of waking up in the morning.

But Sylvan was quite efficient, getting out of bed, changing his clothes, and washing up.

Standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sunlight elongated his silhouette. His white shirt crisp and stylish, his long legs elegantly poised, his every move exuding dignity and grace.

Jasmine hugged a pillow sitting on the bed, turning her head to gaze at his figure in a daze.

He held a cigarette between his fingers, seeming to sense her gaze, turned around, his voice low and crisp, "Go wash up."