Dangerous Love: You Are My One and Only Bride novel Chapter 861

Mark felt irritation. “Oh, so you treat us like we’re Uber, huh? Alright, fine then. My God, can you just look at how much the child’s suffering? He looks absolutely pathetic! Gah, is that mucus dripping into his mouth? Someone wipe that away now, urghhh…”

Seeing the disgust in his face genuinely irritated Arianne. “Are you — are you repulsed by your own son?! Mark frickin’ Tremont, did you just suggest wiping his snot as something too dirty for your royal hands?”

For some reason that only Mark knew, he was downright averse to the idea of cleaning his son’s mucus, as though the very act really was the most dreadful thing he ever had the misfortune of being asked to do.

Once in the car, Mark automatically took the passenger seat and left the backseat for Arianne and Mary. Arianne, meanwhile, gave out masks to Mary and Brian, as she wanted to reduce the number of people her son could infect. To have the entire Tremont estate be struck by the same malady at the same time was to spell chaos.

En route to the hospital, Smore began to mewl for milk. Unfortunately, the milk they had brought along was just enough for one feeding; for now, they did not know how much farther they were from the hospital and if the milk would be enough.

Arianne wanted to breastfeed her son, but the imagery made her sheepish. She was still rather new to the business of motherhood, so she was reasonably reticent to the prospect of breastfeeding publicly — even if she was in a car with very few people.

Mark hated noises, so his son’s cry peeved him a little. “He’s complaining, whining. Why in the blaze is he whining?”

“Looks like he’s hungry,” Arianne replied quietly, her head low.

He turned his head to face the two expectantly. “Well?”

Arianne shot him a silent but violent glare.

He quickly relented and took off his blazer before holding it out to her. “Use this. Then sate him.”

Meanwhile, as the car went on its way to the company, Mark could not stop sniffing an odd scent that permeated the air — milk. It smelled like a mix of infant and milk.

He did not hate it, per se; he just did not think it would help prop up his dominance if he smelled like milk while bossing around his employees. He had thought that getting outside the car and having natural winds blowing around him would make the smell fade, but for some reason, the scent stuck. He felt both fuzzy inside and earnestly awkward.

Brian was not one to mince words. “Sir, do you think the Young Master had, er, spit some milk on your blazer? Back in the car when he was being fed, I’m sure that he had coughed quite a few times…” he pointed out. “My point is, you smell like milk. You smell like you frequently take care of the baby at home.

Mark cocked an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting that, in reality, I don’t? Do you think I'm cold-blooded? Well, I’ll tell you straight away — this scent is terrific. I like it, so is it wrong for me to wear it? It’s my son’s smell and I feel happy sniffing it. Is there anything wrong with that?”

Brian was bullied into speechlessness until he finally replied, “You know what? Forget I said anything, Sir.”