Chapter 880 Knitting A Sweater

Ethon smiled. He had never seen his mother be so gentle, but he knew that his mother could make a sweater. Malcolm had told him that the sweater he wore when he was a child had been made by Monica.

However, Ethon had already forgotten those things. For him, his mother was not a capable housewife at all. First, Monica did not know how to cook, and second, she seldom managed the family. It was basically up to Malcolm to decide everything.

Seeing that Monica was knitting a sweater, Fiona felt a little strange. She could not tell why. She smiled at Ethon, took his hand, and walked toward her parents-in-law.

"Mom, why are you being so gentle and domestic today? You're knitting a sweater? I didn't know you could knit a sweater," Ethon joked with a smile, making the atmosphere at home lively but comfortable.

"What is that supposed to mean? Are you saying that I'm not a gentle woman?" Monica said in an unpleasant tone.

"I was just kidding. Why don't we ask dad then? Dad, do you think Mom is being very gentle today?" Ethon smiled, still feeling that his mother was being a little weird today.

Malcolm nodded in agreement and said, "Yes, and it's indeed a little strange. When I came home from work, I saw her knitting a sweater on the sofa. The woman who can't even peel a piece of fruit is actually making a sweater today."

Ethon laughed and continued to tease Monica, "What's wrong with you, Mom? What made you do this?"

Monica's face darkened. She could not help frowning. She answered, "What nonsense are you talking about? What's wrong with me doing this? You're a married man, but you still talk like a child. Nana, you have to discipline him for me."

Ethon pursed his lips in confusion. He did not understand why Monica

such a person."

"Oh? Didn't you? What kind of person would you like me to be then?" Ethon retorted with an unfathomable expression on his face.

"I used to think you were a cold person and a little too serious. Now it seems that you're raunchy." Fiona chuckled, heat rising to her cheeks once again and painting them red.

"Nana, all men are like this. They like having a little fun with the women they love," Ethon said.

"Should I feel flattered?"

"No need. I love you. You don't have to feel flattered." Ethon lowered his head. His deep eyes were like a vast, bottomless lake—mysterious and strangely attractive.

Fiona stretched out her slender, snow-white arms and wrapped them around Ethon's neck. "Will you love someone else one day?" she pouted.

Ethon looked into Fiona's eyes seriously and said, "Never. I will only love you for the rest of my life." He wanted her to know that what he said was a promise to her.

With a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, Fiona replied flatly, "I trust you."

In truth, sometimes the word "trust" was warmer than "love." One could love without trust, but if there was trust, then there must be love.