My Beloved, Whom I Desire to Kill - 234

In a movie theater, a kiss is vulgar, but holding hands is a reserved yet affectionate expression of love that he enjoys. He wanted to give up on just watching the movie and letting time pass by meaninglessly and make his feelings clear.

But just as he was about to grab her hand, Giselle quickly pulled hers away, thwarting his attempt. He couldn’t help but notice that his gaze, which had frozen in shock and confusion, was fixed on her, but Giselle stubbornly stared straight ahead, as if she were determined to ignore him.

Edwin tilted the popcorn bag in his hand toward Giselle. As expected, she had been watching him out of the corner of her eye and immediately shook her head.

—No, I’m good.

He handed the whole bag to Giselle. Despite saying she was good, a moment later she began to nibble on the popcorn. Of course, what Giselle was refusing wasn’t the popcorn, but Edwin. It was the first time in his life he had ever been rejected by a woman. Giselle was the type of woman to do so, but he hadn’t anticipated being rejected in the middle of a date. He had interpreted her accepting the date as a sign that she was still open to him and was willing to give him a chance.

He could think that she was only refusing his hand and not him, but their relationship wasn’t so distant that holding hands would be too soon. Was she just playing hard to get, then? Hmm… Usually, when a person does that, they shut the door but leave the window ajar, leaving room for the other person to push through. But the woman who wouldn’t even look at him had her doors and windows firmly shut, as if he were an unwelcome guest.

Giselle, then why didn’t you turn down this date?

On the other hand, a suspicion that had arisen when he faced Giselle this evening became even more plausible.

Could it be that she genuinely just wanted to know what I had to talk about?

Edwin Eccleston could fall to the level of an ill-mannered scoundrel, but Giselle Bishop had to remain a lady. To make it seem as though Giselle wasn’t a fickle woman who betrayed her date for another man, but rather a naive person who fell for Edwin’s cunning plan, he had pretended to skip the word «date» and instead used the word «talk» as bait. He had trusted that her sharp senses would see through it and realize it was a date, but was he wrong?

Did I beat around the bush too much?

—The future Duchess might not like it, you know?

He had blatantly expressed his determination that there would be no other woman for him but Giselle by getting her name tattooed on his body, but her abrupt criticism had left him confused. Was she testing his sincerity, or did she have no idea what his name being re-inked meant?

—Guess. Why do you think I’m giving you this bouquet?

—Ah, it’s a penalty then. In that case, I’ll take it without thanks.

At that moment, the latter feeling grew stronger. She wouldn’t pretend it wasn’t a date if she knew it was.

Giselle, you don’t even know this is a date, do you?

Whether Giselle was rejecting him mid-date for some unknown reason, or if she was unaware it was a date in the first place, would be revealed when they left the theater. If it was a rejection, she would try to part ways without listening to the story he had promised to tell, because she would know what he was going to say. From that moment on, Edwin truly hoped that the couple on the screen, whom he had no interest in, would overcome all their hardships and find love. Only then would the movie end.

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They left the theater and walked the bustling streets, but the Director remained silent.

Why is he acting like this?

He wasn’t a very talkative person to begin with, but this silence felt different from his usual quietness. She could see the car parked on the side of the street. They needed to decide on a destination.

—You said you’d talk over a drink, right? Where should we go?

What was so funny about that question? His smile seemed pleased but also looked hollow.

—Why are you laughing?

—Giselle.

—Yes?

—Because you’re so cute.

Just as she was about to frown at his sudden treatment of her like a child, something suddenly plopped down on her. Giselle, who had reflexively closed her eyes, flinched at the warm touch of a hand stroking her cheek and opened her eyes again. The Director’s hand was wet.

—It’s raining. Get in the car.

Only a drop or two had fallen, but he wrapped his arm around Giselle as if it were a downpour, leading her to the car and helping her into the passenger seat. By the time the Director got into the driver’s seat, it was starting to pour.

—Do you know a place nearby? If not, we can go to the one I looked up.

—I do. It’s a bar called the Royal Oak that I used to frequent in the old days. It’s about two blocks from here.

It was a place she and her friends had often visited during college, almost like a second library. Since it had been chosen by a bunch of rich kids, it would likely suit the taste of the Duke of Eccleston.

It would be better than the mess of a pub at the Army headquarters, which is like a stable for wild horses. Besides, the Director hardly drinks anyway, so it doesn’t matter.

The man in the driver’s seat nodded without a single objection and started the car. Two blocks later, a sign with a crown on a pot-bellied keg came into view.

—It’s over there.

Am I the only one who has to go to work tomorrow morning? It was late Sunday night, but the streets were packed with cars, leaving no place to park.

They finally found a vacant spot about three buildings down, and the car came to a stop. The Director got out, picked up an umbrella from the car floor, and opened it. Only small raindrops were still scattering on the car window; it was just a light drizzle.

Giselle pulled her officer’s hat, which she had been holding, down low and got out of the car. As she closed the door, the Director, who was just stepping from the road onto the sidewalk, made that hollow expression again. This time, he didn’t laugh, but sighed.

—Giselle Bishop, can’t you wait for even a moment?

—What’s the big deal about getting a little wet? Do you think I’m made of sugar that’ll melt in water?

—To me, you are.

He approached and held the umbrella over her, delivering a honey-sweet line with a playful smile. She should have laughed and treated it like a joke, but as if she really were sugar, her mind melted away, and only a sigh echoed in her empty head.

Oh God, why are you testing me again?

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The dim pub was, as usual, shrouded in cigarette smoke like a thick fog.

‘Am I really the only one who has to go to work tomorrow morning?’

It was almost 10 p.m on a Sunday night, but there were no empty tables. The only seats available were at the bar.

With the bartender standing right in front of them, it wasn’t a great place to have a private conversation. The fact that they had to sit side by side made it even more unappealing.

‘Should we go somewhere else?’

……she thought to herself, but couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud. Her eyes caught his one wet shoulder. The umbrella was big enough for both of them, but she had kept her distance from him while they were walking here, and that must be why his shoulder was wet.

It was better to sit side by side at the bar than to walk around looking for an emptier pub while pressing their bodies together again. At least at the bar, they would be farther apart than they would be under an umbrella.

—Good evening. What can I get for you?

As soon as they sat down, the bartender approached and asked what they wanted. There was no way he didn’t recognize Giselle. She had been coming here for four years, and she had even been here with her friends just a few days ago. He usually greeted her familiarly and recommended a drink of the day, but now he was pretending she was a new customer and just taking her order. It seemed he had decided it was better not to give away that she was a regular with her male companion. It wasn’t necessary, but it was a good thing that he wasn’t recommending hard liquor like whiskey or rum, as he usually did.

—A beer, please.

She had to bring up a difficult subject tonight, so she had to keep a clear head.

—The same for me.

The bartender opened two bottles of beer, poured the contents into two glasses, and left the bottles on the bar. Giselle lifted her glass to her lips, but the Director lightly clinked his glass against hers.

From the bouquet to the toast, he’s acting like someone with a reason to celebrate. Could it be related to the conversation we’re going to have tonight?

However, even after coming all this way for a drink, he didn’t get straight to the point.

—How was the movie?

—Better than I expected.

Small talk wasn’t a bad thing. Giselle, after all, couldn’t just blurt out, «Let’s keep our distance from each other from now on.»

—I was on the edge of my seat, worried that the male protagonist was going to die and it would end in a sad ending. I couldn’t relax until the very end. I’d say the story, acting, and direction were all captivating.

She was rambling on, recalling the impressive scenes, and the Director’s head was getting closer to hers. Not only his different cologne but also the bitter scent of beer on his breath and the faint scent of mint that had long since faded were intensely stimulating her senses, making it difficult to breathe. The moment she thought his face was too close, he closed the distance even more and whispered in Giselle’s ear.