He Swore He Hated Seafood, So Why Did His Lips Taste Like Oysters? - Chapter 42: Chapter 42
You are reading He Swore He Hated Seafood, So Why Did His Lips Taste Like Oysters?, Chapter 42: Chapter 42. Read more chapters of He Swore He Hated Seafood, So Why Did His Lips Taste Like Oysters?.
Whether it's engagement or wedding planning, knowing the bride's details is standard procedure.
Liam smiled slightly. "She values her privacy. Can't share that yet."
Whatever the billionaire says goes.
Kieran just nodded politely.
Hearing Kieran agree to personally handle the proposal seemed to satisfy Liam.
He stood up. "Work out details with my assistant. Budget's not an issue."
A minute later, my phone lit up.
Clingy Boyfriend: [I'm in your building's stairwell. Come out.]
[Can't. In a meeting.]
Clingy Boyfriend: [Should I come find you then?]
No choice. I made some excuse and slipped out.
The second I opened the stairwell door, someone pulled me into their arms.
Complete opposite of the cold businessman from the conference room.
Now his eyes were soft, gentle smile playing on his lips.
"Not happy to see me?"
I nodded. "Yeah, since you shot down my proposal."
"Now I won't get as big a bonus when I quit."
He laughed. "Little money-grubber. What's mine is yours—why do you need this little money?"
I wrinkled my nose. "It's not about big money or small money. I like earning every penny myself."
Suddenly remembered: "You made him do the proposal thing on purpose?"
He leaned down, kissed my cheek softly. "Maybe. So what?"
Then whispered: "He owes you a wedding. This way, he can pay it back."
I went still.
Right. He knew everything about Kieran and me.
Four months ago, I met Liam Cross at what should've been Kieran's and my wedding venue.
Getting married was supposed to be about both of us.
But the wedding? That was all my project.
Under the sunset, I watched workers tear down the archway and floral arrangements on the lawn.
My chest felt tight and achy.
There was this boy who sat in front of me because he was smart.
Neat haircut, sharp profile—he opened the door to my first crush.
Turns out liking someone can actually motivate you.
Two years later, I got into the same high school.
Luckily, same class too.
But I never had the guts to confess.
I didn't think I was good enough.
I was the kid raised by a grandma who collected trash.
Plain family, plain looks—no matter how many times I showered, I felt like I still smelled like garbage.
Years later, I watched this movie where everyone was laughing, but I was crying.
All I could hear in my head was that cruel playground chant:
"Monday morning, misty and gray, trash pickers lining up for the day, whistle blows and Savannah goes, diving deep where the garbage flows, old shoes and socks flying high, broken dreams beneath the sky..."
Not kidding—in elementary school, my eyes would literally light up seeing empty water bottles. Money!
That was my life with Grandma.
She collected trash and recycling, pinching every penny so I could go to school.
I didn't have the courage to confess.
At the age when girls care about looking pretty, even my underwear came from Grandma's bargain hunting at underground markets.
After a few washes, everything would be saggy and loose.
Thank god for oversized uniforms hiding my shame.
Sometimes I'd look at Kieran's shoes and think bitterly: One pair costs more than hundreds of my bras.
Then I got the flu and missed two days of school.
Grandma was out collecting cardboard.
Someone knocked.
I opened the door in a daze and froze.
This gorgeous guy stood there like sunlight streaming into a dusty room.
Backlit, he said: "Brought you flu medicine. Want some?"
That day I was mortified.
Not just me—the cockroaches scurrying everywhere too.
Our walls were stacked with sacks full of Grandma's collected bottles in every color.
Below the sacks were piles of cardboard where the roaches loved to hide.
This was my life, my home—surrounded by trash, surviving because of it.
But he didn't even flinch.
Picked up the kettle, rinsed a cup, poured water and handed it to me.
"Take the medicine first. You're burning up."
Actually, I wasn't red from fever—I was red from shame.
"Thanks for coming on behalf of the class."
He laughed softly. "I came for myself."
"Savannah, want to apply to the same college together?"
I stared at him, heart pounding.
"Savannah, after graduation—will you be my girlfriend?"
I always thought Kieran and I would get married, have kids, grow old together.
Until I stood at the wedding I'd planned myself.
Just me. No him.
That's when I knew we were over.
That day I let myself fall apart, sobbing into the bouquet.
Right when I looked my absolute worst, Liam appeared.
At first I figured he was just some hotel guest.
"Groom ran off? That hurt?"
I shook my head. "No, I'm crying for my wasted youth."
"I threw my twenties away on him. Supported his business for years, and our wedding gets canceled all because of one word of his little protégé. Even made my grandma so upset she's in the hospital, and I don't know how to fix it. Why?"
I'm not someone who spills personal stuff to strangers.
But that day, something about this random guy made me word-vomit everything.
He didn't seem annoyed.
"How about we make a deal?"
Liam smiled slightly. "She values her privacy. Can't share that yet."
Whatever the billionaire says goes.
Kieran just nodded politely.
Hearing Kieran agree to personally handle the proposal seemed to satisfy Liam.
He stood up. "Work out details with my assistant. Budget's not an issue."
A minute later, my phone lit up.
Clingy Boyfriend: [I'm in your building's stairwell. Come out.]
[Can't. In a meeting.]
Clingy Boyfriend: [Should I come find you then?]
No choice. I made some excuse and slipped out.
The second I opened the stairwell door, someone pulled me into their arms.
Complete opposite of the cold businessman from the conference room.
Now his eyes were soft, gentle smile playing on his lips.
"Not happy to see me?"
I nodded. "Yeah, since you shot down my proposal."
"Now I won't get as big a bonus when I quit."
He laughed. "Little money-grubber. What's mine is yours—why do you need this little money?"
I wrinkled my nose. "It's not about big money or small money. I like earning every penny myself."
Suddenly remembered: "You made him do the proposal thing on purpose?"
He leaned down, kissed my cheek softly. "Maybe. So what?"
Then whispered: "He owes you a wedding. This way, he can pay it back."
I went still.
Right. He knew everything about Kieran and me.
Four months ago, I met Liam Cross at what should've been Kieran's and my wedding venue.
Getting married was supposed to be about both of us.
But the wedding? That was all my project.
Under the sunset, I watched workers tear down the archway and floral arrangements on the lawn.
My chest felt tight and achy.
There was this boy who sat in front of me because he was smart.
Neat haircut, sharp profile—he opened the door to my first crush.
Turns out liking someone can actually motivate you.
Two years later, I got into the same high school.
Luckily, same class too.
But I never had the guts to confess.
I didn't think I was good enough.
I was the kid raised by a grandma who collected trash.
Plain family, plain looks—no matter how many times I showered, I felt like I still smelled like garbage.
Years later, I watched this movie where everyone was laughing, but I was crying.
All I could hear in my head was that cruel playground chant:
"Monday morning, misty and gray, trash pickers lining up for the day, whistle blows and Savannah goes, diving deep where the garbage flows, old shoes and socks flying high, broken dreams beneath the sky..."
Not kidding—in elementary school, my eyes would literally light up seeing empty water bottles. Money!
That was my life with Grandma.
She collected trash and recycling, pinching every penny so I could go to school.
I didn't have the courage to confess.
At the age when girls care about looking pretty, even my underwear came from Grandma's bargain hunting at underground markets.
After a few washes, everything would be saggy and loose.
Thank god for oversized uniforms hiding my shame.
Sometimes I'd look at Kieran's shoes and think bitterly: One pair costs more than hundreds of my bras.
Then I got the flu and missed two days of school.
Grandma was out collecting cardboard.
Someone knocked.
I opened the door in a daze and froze.
This gorgeous guy stood there like sunlight streaming into a dusty room.
Backlit, he said: "Brought you flu medicine. Want some?"
That day I was mortified.
Not just me—the cockroaches scurrying everywhere too.
Our walls were stacked with sacks full of Grandma's collected bottles in every color.
Below the sacks were piles of cardboard where the roaches loved to hide.
This was my life, my home—surrounded by trash, surviving because of it.
But he didn't even flinch.
Picked up the kettle, rinsed a cup, poured water and handed it to me.
"Take the medicine first. You're burning up."
Actually, I wasn't red from fever—I was red from shame.
"Thanks for coming on behalf of the class."
He laughed softly. "I came for myself."
"Savannah, want to apply to the same college together?"
I stared at him, heart pounding.
"Savannah, after graduation—will you be my girlfriend?"
I always thought Kieran and I would get married, have kids, grow old together.
Until I stood at the wedding I'd planned myself.
Just me. No him.
That's when I knew we were over.
That day I let myself fall apart, sobbing into the bouquet.
Right when I looked my absolute worst, Liam appeared.
At first I figured he was just some hotel guest.
"Groom ran off? That hurt?"
I shook my head. "No, I'm crying for my wasted youth."
"I threw my twenties away on him. Supported his business for years, and our wedding gets canceled all because of one word of his little protégé. Even made my grandma so upset she's in the hospital, and I don't know how to fix it. Why?"
I'm not someone who spills personal stuff to strangers.
But that day, something about this random guy made me word-vomit everything.
He didn't seem annoyed.
"How about we make a deal?"
End of He Swore He Hated Seafood, So Why Did His Lips Taste Like Oysters? Chapter 42. Continue reading Chapter 43 or return to He Swore He Hated Seafood, So Why Did His Lips Taste Like Oysters? book page.