CHAPTER 79: CHAPTER 79: NATALIE VAUGHN DRUNK

Natalie Vaughn was dead drunk, and James Vaughn was worried and wanted to take her home, but Zane Thorne refused.

"I’ll take good care of her."

James Vaughn furrowed his eyebrows; the reason Natalie became like this was because of Zane, so naturally, he was uneasy. But then again, he remembered they were husband and wife now.

When it comes to matters between a couple, it’s best not to meddle as an outsider, even as family one needs to avoid suspicion.

"Nina has a strong personality and is rather straightforward. She doesn’t know much about emotions and needs your patience in many things. My parents and I just want her to be happy."

Zane Thorne nodded solemnly.

He hadn’t interacted much with James, but from the few encounters they had, he could see James was a very measured person.

He truly cherished and protected Natalie.

"Brother, don’t worry."

Hearing this address of "brother," James was quite surprised. He was a few years older than Zane, but he never really felt the age gap in front of him.

Zane Thorne was also a proud man; this "brother" was more than just a simple term.

It represented how much he valued Natalie.

James nodded in agreement.

"Hangover will be uncomfortable; it’s best to prepare some hangover soup."

After saying that, he glanced at Natalie, who was almost asleep and sighed before leaving first.

Normally considered pretty lively, Natalie became much quieter when drunk and simply leaned quietly in Zane’s arms, peaceful and silent.

The man looked down at her fair face tinged with a drunken flush, a trace of pity passing through his eyes.

The table had yet to be cleared, her plate lay there with the lamb leg he grilled for her, untouched.

"Stubborn little donkey."

Zane Thorne sighed softly, almost inaudibly, and leaned down to pick up Natalie, placing her in the car.

The movement must have been a bit much, as she furrowed her brows and reached up to scratch her face.

His hand paused while buckling her seatbelt. Seeing her not minding her strength, nearly scratching her face raw, he quickly held her hand.

Seemed she was still uncomfortable, Natalie’s brow furrowed tighter.

If she woke up, it would only feel worse.

Zane carefully examined the spot she kept scratching and realized it was a small black insect from the mountaintop that had bitten her; it probably had some toxin, causing the itchiness.

There was no ointment in the car, so after searching for a while and finding nothing, he pressed his lighter against the bitten spot.

Fortunately, the metal casing was cool enough in the breeze; Natalie’s tightly knit brows relaxed considerably.

The journey home took over an hour, during which Natalie slept peacefully until the car stopped in the underground garage when she seemed to suddenly dream of something and began mumbling.

The murmur was as faint as a mosquito’s buzz, so Zane didn’t catch it.

Only when he lifted her from the car, her lips brushing against his chin, and her head resting against his neck did he finally hear it clearly.

"Jerk of a man."

Zane couldn’t help but laugh a little.

Even in her dreams, she’d curse him.

Natalie had indeed lost quite a bit of weight; Zane just felt the weight in his arms was too light.

She was nearly five foot seven, not one to skip meals, so how was she this light?

Zane’s chest was broad, his steps steady, and from the basement to their home, Natalie hadn’t stirred awake.

Until they reached the door, and he had to use her fingerprint to unlock it.

Unsure which finger was correct, he started with the most common index finger. Wrong. Then the middle finger. Wrong again.

Natalie woke up when he tried the ring finger.

Her mind still fuzzy, she only knew her hand felt uncomfortable being played with.

"What are you doing?"

The voice was dry, a little hoarse.

Hearing this, the man looked down at the girl in his arms; her eyes were still unfocused, with a sleepy sheen, looking pure and confused.

Like a fawn lost in the forest, separated from its mother.

Zane swallowed, instinctively softening his voice.

"Open the door."

"Oh."

Probably too tired, Natalie let out a tiny yawn, her eyelids drooping. Then, as if recalling something, a hint of slyness and satisfaction flashed in her eyes.

"No one will guess which finger I use."

With that, she closed her eyes again.

Zane: ...

Were his hands not occupied, he’d definitely photograph her smug expression.

Finally, after several more tries, Zane discovered the answer.

Her left pinky finger.

Who would have thought she’d choose such an awkward option for most people?

She truly was like a little girl, always wanting to do things a bit differently.

Zane originally intended to place Natalie directly into their room but worried he couldn’t attend to her if anything happened, he decided to lay her on the couch.

Then, for the first time in nearly thirty years, a man who rarely entered a kitchen decided to try making hangover soup himself.

Perhaps it was partly out of a sense of making amends, or because Natalie boasted shamelessly about his unique treatment of her before others.

Zane genuinely wanted to cook for Natalie this time.

But, unfortunately, he overestimated Natalie; the kitchen and fridge were void of any ingredients for hangover soup. So the man had to call someone to purchase and deliver the items.

During this time, he sat on the other couch, watching Natalie with deep eyes.

To ensure she slept comfortably, Zane hadn’t turned on the main lights, leaving the room dim, his gaze unabashed. After a while, the man let out a long sigh.

In the darkness, Natalie opened her eyes.

Zane forgot his gaze was too intense; Natalie had always been sensitive to his stares. Even in a drunken state, being watched by him like that for so long forced her awake.

She wasn’t exactly clear-headed, but she remembered most of the night’s events.

What was he sighing about?

But her body didn’t allow her much time to ponder as waking up triggered a delayed physical reaction. Witnessing Natalie’s abrupt dash to the bathroom, Zane sprang up from the couch.

"What’s wrong?"

Taking big strides to keep pace, his unfamiliarity with the layout compared to Natalie left him bumping into the furniture, yet he pressed on without hesitation.

In the bathroom, Natalie didn’t even have time to turn on the light, clutching the toilet as she began to vomit.

Zane paused, switched on the light, and the sound of flushing followed suit.

There sat the girl, collapsed on the floor, her eyes reddened, face pale.

Zane crouched beside her, gently patting her back.

"Feeling sick?"

Natalie wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then glanced disdainfully at it, wanting to get up and wash, yet finding herself too weak.

The man, quick on his feet, caught her by the waist, preventing a fall, and effortlessly carried her to the sink.