Chapter 24

"Get lost."

She tried to push away the clingy man by jabbing him in the chest with her elbow. When he bent over, groaning, she thought it had worked, but Winston used his other arm to pull Sally into his embrace and asked,

"Shall we go straight to the room, darling? What about room service?"

Muffled laughter erupted from the staff standing behind them. Frustrated by being toyed with, Sally couldn't see straight. She stomped hard on Winston's expensive shoes with the heel of her shoe.

"Is that a forceful yes?"

He sneered and let her go. Sally immediately broke free and stood by the door. The bellhop, who had been watching the two, opened the elevator door for them.

As they walked down the corridor following the bellhop, Winston leaned in close and whispered,

"Your toes won't break with just a light stomp."

She had stomped hard, but he called it light. Her pride as a soldier was wounded, and she shot back sharply,

"Be glad the heel is blunt."

"Got no high heels, darling? I can buy you some on the way back tomorrow morning."

"Don't call me that."

"Embarrassed, are you, darling?"

Winston grabbed the strap of her handbag. Sally yanked her hand away and mocked,

"Quite the expert in torture, Captain."

"Torture…"

The man, who had been grinning and teasing despite being jabbed and stomped, finally lost his smile.

"Sally, since you don't know, let me give you some advice. It's polite to link arms with a man here."

He spat out the advice as an order. Despite her resistance, Winston grabbed Sally's hand and placed it on his arm.

"For the lady, we'll have a quiche with morels and spinach…"

Sally, who had been silently watching Winston order, suddenly interjected,

"No, I've changed my mind. I'll have a Porterhouse steak instead."

The waiter looked at Sally in surprise. Winston was equally surprised.

A Porterhouse steak, with its T-shaped bone, is a large portion usually ordered only by big eaters. It was almost unheard of for a woman, who is typically conscious of others' opinions, to order such a dish.

Sally tilted her head and smiled. She intended to make him lose his desire by embarrassing him in front of others.

He's a lecherous dog in front of her, but in public, Winston is the epitome of manners and dignity. The thought was that if he had to spend four hours with a woman who lacks both manners and dignity, he would quickly lose interest.

Winston narrowed his eyes at Sally, then let out a small laugh and corrected the order.

"Then the lady will have a Porterhouse steak."

After the waiter left, Sally started picking at the fuzz on her cardigan. Winston, who had been watching her, snorted.

"Miss Bristol."

"Yes?"

"If I call you a lady, you should act like one."

"What does acting like a lady mean?"

Sally feigned ignorance, though she had learned the manners and deportment of the upper class during training for missions.

"Ladies don't order Porterhouse steaks."

"Is that so? That's unfair."

"And usually, you should apologize before interrupting, shouldn't you?"

"Should I? I'm sorry."

Winston, about to point out more, let out a short, exasperated sigh.

"One more thing. Ladies should decline dessert."

"Then you shouldn't have brought a lady here."

He looked at Sally with an ambiguous expression, unsure if he was amused or annoyed, and asked,

"Are you done pretending to be a good maid in front of me?"

"I'm done because you're done pretending to be a good master."

Winston twisted his lower lip and bit it hard, trying to suppress a laugh. Just then, the waiter brought the wine, and he took a large sip as soon as his glass was filled.

Sally, pretending to check the labels on the fancy silverware and plates, occasionally glanced up at the opposite side.

Winston crossed his legs and snorted at his dirty shoe. He wiped the dirt off with a napkin and casually dropped it on the floor.

"What do you think? Do you like it here?"

He leaned back in his chair, resting his crossed hands on his knee, and asked. Sally scanned the restaurant with her eyes and replied indifferently,

"I understand why you brought me here."

Winston tilted his head and raised an eyebrow, then lowered it, asking what she meant.

"Rustic."

Leon couldn't hold back a sudden burst of laughter. Here he was, the most rustic person, calling someone else rustic. Leaning on the armrest and rubbing his forehead with his index finger, he laughed intermittently.

"I find you amusing."

If he had lied and said he liked her like a duchess, she would have become a boring woman instantly.

"You need to make me bored. So far, you've failed."

The woman ate the steak, which was as big as her face, without leaving a single piece.

Isn't it polite to savor the meal and have a conversation?

But the woman ate the meat at a terrifying speed without saying a word. When he pointed out the sunset outside the window, she only replied, "Yes, that's when."

Leon's veal dish had gone cold from watching her. When only the large T-bone was left on her plate, he placed his knife and fork together next to his half-eaten dish.

"…You really ate all of that."

They moved to a café. The woman, who was reading the menu with a serious expression, replied indifferently,

"Did you think I couldn't eat it?"

The drinks were at the back, but she was flipping through the front of the menu, where the cakes were.

"Even cake… do you eat it?"

Instead of answering, the woman asked Leon to order two cakes she wanted. He ordered the cakes and coffee, feeling bewildered, and watched the woman, who was only looking out the dark window.

This date was going completely differently from what he had expected. He had always naturally taken the lead in any group since he was young. Every situation was under his control.

He had expected to do the same today, but he felt strangely as if he was being led by that cheeky fox.

When the cakes were served, the woman ate them silently. Leon, curious about how much more she could fit into her small body, ordered another cake and asked,

"Do you often visit Madame Benoit's café?"

The woman finally stopped her fork and looked at him.

"Yes."

From the brief silence before her answer, Leon sensed that she knew he had been watching her for a long time and was confused by it.

"You eat everything so well."

The woman, without even the courtesy to ask why he wasn't eating, alternately put three pieces of cake into her mouth.

When a white cream stuck to her pink lips, she extended her tongue to lick it off. The slightly darker flesh slid over the fine wrinkles. Her tongue disappeared into her mouth, and then her wet, red lips opened to bite a cherry.

Such a vulgar act.

Leon crossed his legs and took a deep breath, but he couldn't suppress his impulse.

"But you don't eat mine?"

The woman didn't even show signs of being annoyed. She shook her head rudely without looking at him.

"Aren't you afraid of being fired now?"

Not only that, but she was also ignoring him.

"Miss Bristol, how about trying acting if you get fired?"

"Hmm, me?"

"You cried so well in my office last time. Now I see you were just fooling me."

The woman frowned and stabbed her fork into the cake.

"It wasn't acting. I was afraid of being fired then."

The woman's face soon became expressionless. There were not enough signals from her body to determine if she was lying.

"But now?"

"Now, I'm wondering if I should continue earning money by enduring such humiliation."

Leon's face turned cold.

Humiliation? I am the one who is humiliated.

A prominent landowner and a promising military officer. He, who has nothing lacking from his lineage to his abilities, is constantly driven to beg a mere maid. This is the true humiliation.

Leon furrowed his brow and reached into his jacket. He roughly opened the cigar case and spat out his words.