Chapter 551 She's my wife
Natalie was speechless; if he kept talking, she feared she'd lose her appetite completely.
Such delicious food, it’d be a shame not to enjoy it.
She wasn't a spoiled lady with a silver spoon in her mouth, accustomed to delicacies.
Natalie tossed her empty paper bowl into the trash and wiped her mouth and hands with a wet wipe. Then she noticed the pricey cake Oliver had bought was gone.
"Hey, where's the cupcake you bought?"
"I threw it away," Oliver said.
"Why buy it if you're not going to eat it?" Thank goodness Oliver was a good earner, or else his pickiness might bankrupt him one day.
Oliver pressed his lips together, remaining silent.
He had bought it just because of the vendor's passing comment about a girlfriend. Clearly, Natalie hadn’t caught on to that.
Walking down the bustling street, they faintly heard the sound of drums and singing.
The old town's bars and lounges were renowned for their vibrancy, with hard-rock venues that rivaled the hottest nightclubs in the big cities, with flashing lights, rambunctious crowds, and intense DJs...
Natalie’s eardrums nearly burst as she pulled on Oliver's sleeve, hurrying past the bar scene.
Oliver's gaze lingered on the delicate fingers clutching the hem of his shirt – soft, tender, stirring a warmth in the pit of his stomach.
Further on was a gathering place for food stands and lounges.
A crowd had gathered around a small stage, all heads tilted upward.
An open-air second floor of a historic building became a natural stage, where a band was playing. The lead singer, a guy with trendy braids, was half-seated on a barstool, crooning an entrancing folk song; the bassist harmonized.
The performance was on par with bands Natalie had seen back in Paykston.
As the song ended, the applauding tourists brightened the mood, and a few were drawn upstairs to the lounge.
Natalie, who had been sullen all day, finally felt her spirits lift, relaxing as she listened to the folk songs from the band above.
That was until a spotlight found her.
"Congratulations to this lovely lady for becoming our eleventh lucky listener tonight – you get to request any song you like!" the charming host from the second floor announced with a smile.
It took Natalie a few glances around to confirm she was indeed the lucky audience member.
A staff member from the lounge approached her with a microphone in hand, inviting her to make a request.
The employee was quite the charmer, seeing how attractive Natalie was, he offered, “Miss, feel free to sing a song yourself, and as a bonus, your drinks are on the house tonight.”
"She won't need to," Oliver intervened.
The spotlight operator quickly expanded the beam to envelop both Natalie and Oliver, revealing that the stunning beauty was accompanied by an equally striking man.
"Are you guys newlyweds here on your honeymoon?" quipped the staff with a smile. "Here at Silvercrest, we get a lot of young couples every year. You two are so good-looking. "
Everyone around them looked on, playfully egging them on. Natalie's face flushed with embarrassment, but she couldn't quite bring herself to snap at them since there was no ill intent.
She decided to go with the flow.
Oliver, as stoic as ever, was none too pleased about the unsolicited spotlight. His eyes, deep and cold, didn't betray his annoyance.
"We're not here for a honeymoon, but I can sing a number," said Natalie, then turned to the staff member, "Keep an eye on my friend here, he's not great with directions."
She wasn't really worried about him getting lost; Natalie just hoped to prevent Oliver from causing a scene.
Her offer to sing upstairs was twofold: to clear up the honeymoon misunderstanding and to get some space from Oliver, easing the awkwardness.
The staff member chuckled, warmly engaging Oliver: "Handsome and directionally challenged, huh? But with a caring friend like her, you'd be lucky to make her your girlfriend!"
Oliver looked at him as if he were slow: "She's my wife."
"My what?" The folks at Silvercrest didn't usually say ‘wife’ in such formal terms; they preferred ‘spouse’ or just ‘partner’."
Oliver was sorely tempted to throw him out.
Truth be told, Oliver hadn't expected Natalie to choose to sing, especially not a romantic Russian song that enlivened the atmosphere.
Her diction was flawless, the lyrics clear, and the articulation of each syllable near perfect.
Whether it was her pronunciation, her pitch, or her emotional delivery, it was all professional grade.
This was a side of Natalie that Oliver had never seen before.
She sat on the bar stool, her legs crossed, casually strumming a guitar without so much as a glance at the strings, yet hitting every note.
Singing and playing as if that little corner of the venue was her own world to command.
Confident, earnest, relaxed, and sublime... these were facets of Natalie that Oliver had seen on the runway, now unveiled in a different setting.
He knew her Italian was impeccable, and she'd modestly claimed to have a bare understanding of Russian.
Yet here she was, impressing with her seemingly native pronunciation, her so-called "bare understanding."
He also knew she was quite the pianist, and seemed to have a knack for the cello, but hearing her strum the guitar with such skill was unexpected.
Since meeting her, Oliver had never witnessed a spontaneous jam session like this. And there she was, deftly fingering the strings with practiced ease.
A grin spread across Oliver's face as pride swelled in his chest for Natalie.
Two seconds passed, and his smile slowly stiffened.
Because in that moment he realized, despite knowing how bright and insightful and outstanding Natalie was, he'd barely scratched the surface of who she truly was.
This distance, this gap in understanding, stirred a twinge of unease and guilt in him.
“Wow—”
“Amazing—”
“Encore, gorgeous!”
Applause and cheers capped off the performance.
The vibe was electric, drawing the curious from nearby pubs.
"You're incredible, was that song not in English?" Someone from the crowd bantered with the surprise talent.
Natalie nodded, "It was in Russian."
"Do you study Russian?"
"Just the basics," she replied modestly.
Oliver rested his hand against his forehead, chuckling helplessly, yet indulgently.
There she goes with 'just the basics'.
Being fluent in Russian himself, Oliver knew how to gauge her proficiency. Not to mention, Natalie's Italian was near professional, yet she'd humbly claim to know "a bit."
More cheers from the audience.
The band began scouting for the next lucky participant.
Natalie slipped down from the second floor, guiding Oliver out discreetly while the crowd was distracted.
Oliver felt her liveliness, her step lighter than usual, a good mood all but radiating.
“Happy?” he asked.
Walking half a step ahead, Natalie glanced back, tilting her head, “How did I sound?”
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