Try Begging Novel - Chapter 24

“Get off me.”

She jabbed her elbow into his solar plexus to dislodge the clinging man. He grunted and bent over, making her think it had worked, but Winston used his other arm to trap Sally in his embrace and asked,

“Shall we go straight to the cabin, darling? How about room service?”

Suppressed laughter burst from the staff standing behind them. Furious at being played by his vulgar antics, Sally saw red. She stomped her heel hard on the expensive tip of Winston’s shoe.

“You have a very aggressive way of saying yes, don’t you?”

He sneered and released her. Sally immediately pulled away from Winston and stood by the door. The pageboy standing nearby glanced between them, then opened the elevator doors.

As they walked down the corridor, following the pageboy, Winston leaned close and whispered lowly,

“Stepping on it that lightly won’t break a toe.”

Lightly? She had stomped with all her might. Sally’s pride as a soldier was wounded, and she retorted sharply,

“You’re lucky my heel was dull.”

“Does my darling not have high heels? Shall I buy you some on the way back tomorrow morning?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Are you shy, darling?”

Winston tugged at the hand holding her handbag strap. Sally yanked her hand away, scoffing,

“You truly are the kingdom’s finest torture expert, Captain.”

“Torture, you say…”

Finally, the smile vanished from the lips of the man who had been grinning vulgarly and teasing her, even after being jabbed in the solar plexus and having his foot stomped on.

“Sally, since you don’t know, I’ll give you a piece of advice. It’s polite to link arms with a man in places like this.”

He uttered the word “advice” as a command. Winston, however, still grabbed Sally’s hand and placed it on his arm against her will, as she refused to obey.

“For the lady, a quiche with truffles and spinach as the main course…”

Sally, who had been quietly watching Winston order from the waiter, suddenly interrupted.

“No, I’ve changed my mind. I’ll have the porterhouse steak instead.”

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

Porterhouse steak, with its T-shaped bone in the middle, was a large portion and rarely ordered by anyone who wasn’t a big eater. It was almost unheard of for a woman, who was usually conscious of others’ eyes, to order a dish synonymous with gluttony.

Sally tilted her head and smiled sweetly. She intended to make his desire for her cool down, even if it meant embarrassing him in front of others.

In front of her, he was an aroused dog, but in front of others, Winston was the epitome of courtesy and dignity. For him to be stuck for four hours in front of others with a woman who lacked both manners and dignity? Her calculation was that he would be instantly disgusted and leave.

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

“Then for the lady, the porterhouse steak.”

When the waiter left, Sally began picking at the pilling on her cardigan. Winston, who had been quietly watching her, snorted again.

“Miss Bristol.”

“Yes?”

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

“What does it mean to act like a lady?”

She had learned the manners and etiquette of the upper class during training, as she sometimes had to infiltrate them, but Sally feigned ignorance.

“Ladies don’t eat porterhouse steak.”

“Is that so? How unfair.”

“And usually, shouldn’t you apologize before interrupting?”

“Did I? My apologies then.”

Winston, who was about to point out something else, let out a short, exasperated sigh.

“One more thing. A lady should decline dessert.”

“Then you should have brought a lady to this table.”

He looked at Sally with an ambiguous expression, a mix of amusement and displeasure, then asked,

“Are you no longer pretending to be a good maid in front of me?”

“Because the Captain stopped pretending to be a good master.”

Winston twisted his lower lip and bit down hard. He was suppressing laughter. Just then, the waiter brought the wine, and he took a large gulp as soon as his glass was filled.

Sally ostentatiously flipped over the ornate silver cutlery and plates, pretending to check the brand, occasionally darting her eyes across to him.

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

“How is it? Do you like it here?”

He leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped on his knee, and asked. Sally only rolled her eyes, scanned the restaurant, and replied indifferently,

“I know why you brought me here.”

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

“It’s tacky.”

Leon couldn’t suppress the sudden burst of laughter. For the tackiest person here to boldly call it tacky. He rested his elbow on the armrest and rubbed his forehead with his index finger, intermittent bursts of laughter escaping him.

“This is why I find you interesting.”

If she had lied and said she liked it, like the Grand Duchess, she would have instantly become a boring woman.

“You need to make me tired of you. So far, you’re failing.”

The woman devoured the steak, which was as big as her face, leaving not a single piece.

Isn’t it polite to savor a meal and converse slowly?

But the woman ate only meat at a frightening speed, without saying a word. When he pointed to the sunset outside the window and said it was setting, she only replied curtly, “Yes, it’s that time.” That was all.

His veal dish, which Leon had ordered, grew cold as he watched her exasperating behavior. When only a large T-bone remained on Sally’s plate, he gathered his knife and fork beside his half-eaten meal.

“…You really ate all of it.”

They moved to a cafe. The woman, who had been seriously perusing the menu, replied indifferently,

“Did you think I couldn’t?”

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

“You… eat cake too?”

Instead of answering, the woman demanded that Leon order two cakes she wanted. He, feeling bewildered, ordered the cakes and coffee and watched the woman, whose gaze was fixed on the dark window outside.

This date was unfolding completely differently from his expectations. Since childhood, he had naturally taken the lead in any group. Every situation was under his control.

He had certainly expected the same today, but he had a strange feeling that he was being swayed by this cunning fox.

When the cakes were served, the woman again ate in silence. Leon, curious to see how much that small body could hold, ordered another cake and asked,

“Do you sometimes go to Madame Benoit’s cafe?”

The woman finally stopped her fork and looked up at him.

“Yes.”

From the short silence before her answer, Leon sensed it. She was confused, knowing that he had been watching her for quite some time.

“You eat everything well.”

The woman didn’t even bother with the courtesy of asking why he wasn’t eating, and instead popped three slices of cake into her mouth, one after another.

When white cream clung to the corner of her pink lips, she even subtly licked it off with the tip of her tongue. The flesh, a slightly deeper shade than her lips, slid over fine wrinkles. Her tongue disappeared into her mouth, and then her lips, glistening with clear saliva, parted again to bite into a bright red cherry.

Utterly vulgar.

Leon crossed his legs towards the window and took a deep breath. Still, he couldn’t suppress the impulse.

“But you won’t eat mine?”

The woman no longer even showed displeasure. She even committed the rudeness of shaking her head without looking at the person speaking.

‘Is she no longer afraid of being fired?’

To make matters worse, she ignored him.

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

“Hmm, me?”

“You cried so well in the office the other day, didn’t you? Now I see I was completely fooled.”

The woman frowned, stabbing her fork into the cake.

“It wasn’t acting. I was scared of being fired then.”

The woman’s face soon returned to impassiveness. There were too few physical tells to judge whether she was lying or not.

“And now?”

“Now I’ve started to wonder if I really need to earn money by enduring such humiliation.”

Leon’s face hardened coldly.

Humiliation, she says. Me, too.

For him, a great landowner and a promising military officer, who was outstanding in every aspect from lineage to ability, to be constantly aroused by a mere maid and forced to beg was the true humiliation.

Leon frowned and reached inside his jacket. He pulled out his cigar case, roughly opened it, and bit out his words.