Chapter 84.1

Chapter 84.1

“André’s not that old. He’s just thirty-one in Korean age. What’s this nonsense about ‘sugar-dating’?”

“Is his name André? But thirty-one is kind of an ahjussi, isn’t it?”

Miran sighed as she looked at Hyunjung’s youthful face. To Hyunjung, who had just turned twenty, thirty-one might seem like an “ahjussi.”

“I’m twenty-five.”

“Right, you’re older, unnie. Whoever spread that ‘sugar-dating’ rumor is such a lowlife. By the way, can I ask what he does?”

Miran hesitated before giving a vague answer.

“He just works at a company.”

When it seemed Miran wouldn’t say anything more, Hyunjung held out her beer can. Miran clinked her can against it weakly. Hyunjung took a big gulp and clicked her tongue.

“Tsk! Don’t worry too much about what people say. What’s wrong with living together in this day and age? The ones gossiping about it are the same ones who go to clubs and have one-night stands. You’re the queen at our language academy, unnie, and your boyfriend looks super attractive, so they’re just jealous and spread weird rumors. The guys who go along with it wanted a chance with you, but they lost it because they heard your boyfriend picks you up in a Rolls-Royce.”

Miran fiddled with her beer can in silence.

In Korea, an Arirang taxi driver mistook her for a call girl. In New York, people called her a high-class escort or accused her of “sugar-dating.” Beyond the absurdity, it hurt her heart. She felt even worse thinking André might be seen as some lowlife because of it.

“No lie, unnie, you really look like a model from Non-no magazine. You’re tall, and you have this exotic beauty. That’s why your boyfriend cherishes you and picks you up every day. The people spreading nasty rumors are just jealous, so don’t let it get to you.”

Miran smiled bitterly at Hyunjung, who gave her pain and the remedy.

“Okay. Thank you.”

—

André worked in his study until 3 a.m. before reluctantly heading to the bedroom. He forced himself to lay in bed, but he couldn’t sleep, and he tossed and turned for three hours. Finally, he kicked off the sheets and got up. His patience finally ran out.

‘I’ve endured long enough.’

On the phone last night, Miran said she’d arrive in New York around 5 p.m. Her voice sounded more subdued than usual, probably from exhaustion.

‘Why’s she traveling so much? What’s there to see out there?’

André, who had barely slept for two nights, took a cold shower to clear his foggy mind. He roughly dried his hair, threw on whatever clothes he grabbed, and headed to the underground parking garage to start his sports car, which hadn’t been used for a while.

Whenever he felt frustrated, he used to drive his sports car at dawn on quiet highways. But since Miran came to New York, he hadn’t needed those drives. He didn’t have the time, and he slept better, too.

Leaving New York at 8 a.m., André drove like a madman and covered the five-hour distance to Washington, D.C. in just three hours. He pulled into the parking lot of a small hotel on the city’s outskirts and turned off the engine. The roaring engine quieted, and silence settled in.

Staring blankly at the hotel entrance, he felt a subtle sense of self-reproach for coming all this way. About ten minutes later, three men and two women walked out through the automatic doors.

Miran appeared, wearing a floral mini dress with tiny buttons running from the neckline to the hem.

The breeze fluttered her skirt and revealed her slender thighs. As her hair swept in the wind, she slowly combed it back with her fingers, and shaded her eyes from the glare of the sun.

She was smiling and chatting with a woman beside her, and two men standing nearby cast sidelong glances at her. They were the guys before he’d seen at the dorm, and their eyes lingered on her.

André roughly turned the key, started the engine, and drove toward the entrance. A man pulling a suitcase into the hotel turned his head to look at Miran, tripped over a rug, and barely caught his balance.

With a scowl, André gritted his teeth and parked at the hotel entrance.

‘No more trips without me,’ he vowed to himself.

As Miran stood with her language academy classmates, waiting for the van their coordinator, Seongsu, was driving, a silver sports car pulled up in front of her.

“F*ck, is this a dream?”

Hongseok rubbed his eyes, muttering as if he was talking to himself.

“Isn’t that… a  v?”

Taeyoung, standing next to Hongseok, let out a gasp.

“Wow, sh*t. Look at that vibe. They actually drive cars like this in America.”