Lin Jiao did not insist.
She picked up a glass of red wine and handed it to him. "Uncle, do you know French?"
"I don't."
"How about Qu Shao?"
Pei Zhi retracted his gaze from her lips and took two sips of red wine. "He can't even speak English well."
"Then we'll have to find an interpreter."
"What?"
"I said…" When Lin Jiao leaned closer to his ear, her lips accidentally brushed past his chin.
She raised her voice. "I told you to find an interpreter!"
Pei Zhi did not react.
His body was all stiff, and all he could think about was that soft touch of her lips.
"Uncle?" Lin Jiao, who did not notice what she'd done, asked in confusion, "Did you hear that?"
Pei Zhi came back to his senses. "Yes?"
"Interpretor."
"I heard you." He finished the wine in his glass to ease the dryness in his throat. "I'll find one tomorrow."
