Chapter 92.1

Chapter 92.1

Holding Miran’s hand, André led her out of the shampoo room, frowning as he looked her over. Her ripped jeans were soaked through, clinging precariously to her hips, and the outline of her bra was starkly visible beneath a short, tight tank top.

“Put this on.”

He draped the jacket he’d been carrying over her shoulders. Miran, already shivering, slipped her arms into it and pulled the front closed. She never seemed to adjust to air conditioning; the moment she stepped indoors, she was always cold.

With his arm around her shoulders, André guided her through the crowd—until someone blocked his way.

[Well, well. We meet again.]

Lorraine’s eyes locked on Miran, who was pressed against André’s side, her expression one of astonishment. Then her lips rounded in an exaggerated O, and she slapped a hand over her mouth.

[Oh. My. God. So that’s it. I knew you couldn’t possibly have come here alone.]

André’s brow furrowed sharply as he started to speak, but Lorraine cut him off, jerking her chin toward Miran.

[Aren’t you going to introduce me?]

[Move.]

Miran looked between them in confusion before turning to André.

“Do you know her?”

He pulled her closer, angling his body to block Lorraine’s gaze.

“…We went to the same school.”

“Ah, classmates.”

Her anxious eyes darted sideways, sneaking a glance at Lorraine.

That was when Lorraine tugged hard on André’s arm. Grinding his teeth, he whipped around to glare at her, then drew Miran behind him, shielding her from Lorraine’s line of sight.

Lorraine’s lips curved into a cruel smile, thinly veiled in elegance.

[Your taste seems a little… unusual, doesn’t it?]

[Shut up, Lorraine Cabot.]

He growled menacingly, and she suddenly burst out laughing with a snort.

[My, my. André de Lafayette… You finally have a weakness.]

André spun around, wrapped an arm around Miran’s shoulder, and pulled her close.

“Let’s go.”

Miran followed at his side, glancing back once. The elegant beauty—Grace Kelly come to life—met her gaze, smiled wryly, and gave a little wave. Miran gave a brief nod before turning away. For some reason, she disliked the woman on sight.

They stood on the curb of Sixth Avenue, waiting for a yellow cab. With her arms looped around his waist and her cheek resting sideways against his chest, Miran suddenly jerked her head up and called out to him.

“André!”

“Mhm.”

He brushed the damp strands of hair off her forehead as he answered. Miran pouted her lips.

“I don’t like that woman. Her way of talking was so weird. Was that even English? I couldn’t understand a word.”

Lorraine, having grown up between America and England, clung to her aristocratic roots by insisting on a British accent. In New York society, women praised “Lady Lorraine’s” accent as the textbook example of posh refinement.

For Miran, accustomed to American English, it was only natural that Lorraine’s speech was difficult to follow.

“I don’t like her either.”

When André said it with complete sincerity, Miran bit her lip, obviously fighting the urge to laugh.

Just then, André spotted an empty yellow cab. Curling his thumb and middle finger into a ring, he stuck them in his mouth and let out a sharp whistle. Startled, Miran gave a little shiver.

But before the taxi could stop, a couple darted out of nowhere and slipped inside.

“What the heck! And I thought Americans were supposed to be good about keeping order!”

Fuming, Miran stamped her foot. André chuckled and patted her reassuringly.

“It’s fine. Another one will come.”

Turning to check for a taxi, she leaned her back against André’s chest. He draped an arm loosely over her collarbone, holding her shoulders as he kept his eyes on the road. Then Miran started fidgeting, puffing out little pfoo, phew noises.

He looked down to see her with a finger in her mouth, blowing air through it. His chest shook with a silent laugh. Catching that, Miran spun around.

“Do that whistle from before, just once more.”

When he pretended not to hear and kept his gaze on the street, she muttered under her breath.

“So stingy. What’s so hard about showing me just once—”

The moment she turned her head away, he let out a sharp, piercing whistle.