"Alright." Daxton Lancaster slipped into the bed and, like Violet Zimmerman, leaned against the headboard. When the time was right, he opened his mouth toward her. The man who usually disliked greasy foods surprisingly ate several bites of the chicken leg.
After placing the chicken bones on the greaseproof paper, Violet Zimmerman was about to get out of bed when Daxton Lancaster grabbed her arm.
"Where are you going?"
Violet turned her head in confusion, "To wash my hands, you see, they're covered in oil."
Violet showed her oil-stained hands to Daxton, whose lips curled into a faint smile as he suppressed a sense of discomfort and said, "You wait in bed, I'll go get a wet towel."
"No need, I'll just wash it myself."
"Behave!" Daxton frowned and looked at Violet, saying, "I'm your husband; can't I even do this little thing for you!"
Violet no longer insisted and leaned against the bed, watching as Daxton walked into the bathroom and emerged with a damp towel.
