Chapter 50 Very unladylike.

Arwen blinked in surprise as she watched Aiden wrap an apron around his waist. "You are going to cook for me? You know how to cook?" Aiden chuckled softly, moving to the refrigerator and then to the cabinets to gather the ingredients. Arwen followed him, waiting for a response but when none came, she sighed and asked again, "Tell me, I am already very confused." "I am preparing Fettucine Alfredo for you. What else do you want to know?" he asked, walking to the counter. Arwen trailed behind him, her gaze narrowing slightly. "Why?" she asked, her tone laced with curiosity. Aiden turned to look at her with his brows raised. "Why what?" "Why Fettucine Alfredo?" She studied his expression, trying to read into it, but found nothing unusual. Aiden smirked a little before taking the washed veggies to start chopping it finely with the needed precision. Arwen watched, quite impressed by his skill. "That's because it's the only thing I know how to cook," he admitted. And Arwen's initial surprise quickly shifted into a bright cherry smile. "Such a perfect coincidence," she said, adding playfully, "Fettucine Alfredo is my favourite, and it just so happens to be one dish you know how to make, If someone didn't know better, they might think you learned it just for me." Aiden held didn't respond, nor did Arwen mind. She simply watched his skilful hands as they worked, chopping the chicken breast with practiced ease. "The way you are cutting those vegetables, I don't think I will be disappointed. And if I am not, you will have to cook this more often for me. I would love that," she said, excitement evident in her voice. Aiden back his chuckle, knowing it might make her shy away. He preferred her like this —showing her true self, free from the mask of sweet decorum she wore around others. "You said you were confused. What's making you confused?" he asked, knowing her confusion wasn't just about what he was cooking. Arwen hummed in response. "You," she said, catching his full attention. "The Winlow name goes back a long way. I remember hearing my father mention it several times when I was younger. But now, I can't find anything. Not even on the internet. In trying to meet those high expectations, Arwen had long forgotten how to simply be comfortable. But it seemed that wouldn't be necessary around him. "So?" she asked, bringing back the conversation back to the topic she had started earlier. *** Meanwhile, Ryan had returned to Foster Villa. Entering the house, he headed straight to the dining space, knowing both his mother and father would be there. "Mom! Dad!" he greeted upon seeing them seated and having dinner, as he had expected. But his greeting wasn't met with the usual warmth. Beca glanced at her son, with furrowed brows. "Why are you here today? It's not the day you usually come for dinner." "Mom, I came back because I wanted to have dinner with you. Why? Am I not welcome?" Ryan asked, though his tone was tinged with resignation. Beca so wanted to tell him that he wasn't welcome, not after ruining her chance of having the perfect daughter-in-law. But he was her son, and she couldn't shut him out of the house. Sensing his wife's thoughts, Morgan Foster reached out to pat her hands before speaking to his son. "Sit and have dinner, then. Don't upset your mother more than she already is." Ryan wanted to argue that her mood was unreasonable, but after such a complicated day, he didn't feel like getting into another confrontation. So, he sat down and served himself a plate. After taking a few bites, he asked cautiously, "Did Arwen complain to you again?" Beca's eyes zeroed in on her son as she asked, "What did you do today, Ryan?"