Chapter 60
Alia POV
I moved to sit beside Marco, staring at the food arranged on the small table in the hospital room, my brow furrowed. The elderly Italian woman–Mary, 1 recalled had prepared at least ten different dishes, most of which looked mouth–watering but were very rich, completely unsuitable for someone pist recovering from a high fever.
A plate of spicy Arrabbiata pasta with a rich red sauce, seafood swimming in chili oil.
After surveying everything, my gaze settled on a bowl of vibrant, appetizing vegetable soup on the table–at least one dish suitable for a sick person.
Marco usually ate light meals, and this woman prepared all his food. Why would she make such heavy dishes during his illness?
Marco’s lips curled into a slight smile. ‘I’ve already eaten,” he said, his voice still slightly hoarse from illness. “This is all for you. I asked Mary to prepare your favorites.
‘For me?” I blinked in surprise.
Marco nodded.
With that simple statement, the gloom that had settled in my heart today vanished. It turned out that not only did I worry about him, but he was thinking of me too.
“Thank you!” I smiled at Marco, picked up my chopsticks, and began eating.
Today, because of Marco’s situation, I had been too worried to eat breakfast, and lunch had been delayed until now. I was really hungry, so my eating wasn’t particularly elegant.
Marco watched me with his deep gaze for a long time, then asked: ‘Did something upset you today?”
I wasn’t someone who cried easily, and Marco had been particularly struck by my tears earlier. He instinctively felt that I must have been upset about something.
I paused mid–bite, looked up to glare at him, and said with a nasal tone: I was indeed upset.”
“Tell me about it. If someone dared to bully you, I’ll make them pay.” Marco’s words sounded like a joke, but he was carefully watching every subtle change in my expression.
“The person who upset me was you.”
I wanted to say that, but thought better of it. Even if I did, he couldn’t exactly slap himself, could he?
Knock knock-
A sudden knock interrupted their conversation. Julio pushed open the door and placed a document in front of Marco: “Mr. Vittorio, this document needs your signature.”
Julio brought the document before Marco’s eyes, turning the pages one by one for him to see.
I tried not to listen to their conversation, but I caught fragments of key words, something about an acquisition.
As they talked, Marco finished reviewing the document and quickly signed his name with the pen Julio handed him.
After Julio collected the document and left, Marco’s gaze casually swept around, landing on a thermal container on the coffee table.
Marco remembered that container well; the last meal I had prepared for him had been stored in it.
“What’s that?” Marco looked toward the thermal container on the coffee table and asked softly.
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Chapter 60
I followed his gaze and saw the container 1 had brought, then stammered: “N–nothing.”
‘Hmm? Mafco raised an eyebrow, watching me silently.
His gaze made me nervous, so I had Ito tell the truth: It’s macaroni soup I made for you. I was worried you wouldn’t like it, so I didn’t take it out.
Marco coughed lightly and said very seriously: “Alia, you’re not a mind reader. How do you know I wouldn’t like it? You never asked me, never gave me a chance to choose. How can you so easily make decisions for me?”
At the time, when he decided to marry Alia, he was willing to try to accept everything about her, but lately, Alia gave him the feeling that she didn’t trust him, didn’t trust him, still didn’t trust him!
I lowered my head like a child who had done something wrong and said quietly: “Yes, in the future, I won’t make decisions for you without asking your opinion first.
Seeing me with my head down like a wronged wife, Marco found it somewhat amusing: “I’m actually hungry. Go get it and serve me a bowl.”
“Okay.” I brought over the thermal container and said as I ladled the soup, “This is vegetable macaroni soup. It might be a bit bitter. I hope that’s okay with
you.”
“I’m not picky about food.” In fact, Marco was extremely picky, just not about what I made. During our time together, whatever I cooked, he would eat.
Like last time, even knowing he was allergic to onions, Marco still ate them, and ended up on an IV drip all night at the hospital.”
Since our marriage, Marco had been trying hard to be a good husband.
‘Is it good?” I watched him, smiling.
“Not bad.” This time Marco didn’t spare his praise, taking another big spoonful as he spoke.
Watching Marco enjoy the soup I had made with my own hands, a sweetness spread through my heart, as if we had grown a little closer.
While Marco was drinking the soup, Luca and a doctor knocked and entered.
The doctor was the one I had seen in the morning, who had given Marco his injection.
The doctor’s gaze swept over me briefly before settling on the bowl of soup Marco was eating: “Young master, your fever hasn’t completely subsided, and it could lead to complications at any moment. Please refrain from eating other foods for now. If there’s a bacterial infection, it would be problematic.”
Hearing the doctor’s words, I felt uncomfortable. He was clearly implying that what I made wasn’t clean.
Yes, I admit I haven’t known Marco as long as they have. They’ve all been by Marco’s side for a long time and have deep relationships with him, but I am Marco’s wife.
Just as I was feeling dejected, Marco suddenly put his arm around me. His deep, slow voice sounded firm and resolute by my ear: ‘Dr. Bernardo, let me formally introduce you to Alia, my wife!”
Alia, my wife!
Those simple words directly pierced my heart, instantly melting it into tender waters, and I looked at Marco with gentle eyes.
That’s right, from the day we got our marriage certificate, I was no longer Miss Rossi–but Mrs. Vittorio.
Marco looked at me again, his gaze much softer: “Alia, these people have worked with me for a long time. On the surface, we ha relationship, but in reality, we’re all friends. They’re like family to me.”
employer–employee
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