Chapter 6: Ice Cream and Confessions

“Rachel, y-you stop crying, okay? Listen to me.”

His voice was unsteady, like he’d never comforted a girl before. I almost felt sorry for him—almost.

I looked at him even more desperately, as if his words could decide everything for me. My eyes were wide, glossy, pleading. I could see my reflection in his pupils, the image of the wounded heroine.

Marcus opened his mouth, but couldn’t say anything. He opened, closed, then opened his mouth again, like a fish out of water.

Just as my tears were about to stop, they started up again. I closed my eyes and sobbed silently, shoulders trembling. A single tear slipped down, right on cue. I’d perfected that look in the mirror for weeks.

I must look so beautiful and fragile right now. Because I’d deliberately used super-waterproof makeup—even a rainstorm wouldn’t ruin it. I even practiced in front of the mirror for ages. No ordinary woman could cry with both such sadness and beauty. OMG, Rachel is so broken. Someone come hug her!

I thought, if there’s an Emmy for mall meltdowns, I’d have it in the bag.

Marcus gripped my wrist, his palm slightly sweaty. His hands were shaking, and I could feel his pulse racing. I almost pitied him.

“You’re really overthinking it, Rachel. What photo? We don’t know anything about that. It must be a misunderstanding. Please, just stop crying, okay?” He sounded on the verge of panic, voice cracking just a little.

I cried a little longer, then gently pushed his hand away. “Sorry, Marcus, I’ve troubled you. Sorry.” I wiped away my tears forcefully. “Yeah, I was overthinking it. Let’s go.”

The sales associate came over and asked softly, “Miss, your dress and purse…?”

Her voice was gentle, almost tiptoeing around the tension.

“I’ll take them,” I said with a forced smile. “And that other purse too—take them all.”

I looked at Marcus and said quietly, “I’m accepting these things. You and Derek must be happy now, right? He finally has a reason to dump me. I’m a gold-digger, not presentable, and he doesn’t have to bother finding evidence of me cheating.”

My voice was low and even, like I was just stating facts.

Marcus said awkwardly, “Stop talking.” He looked at the floor, clearly wishing he could disappear.

Heh, whether I say it or not, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m a gold-digger. Hand it over.

I tossed a glance at the cashier and held my head high. If I was going to be accused, I might as well enjoy the perks.

Marcus was silent the whole way, paid, and followed me out carrying the bags. He shuffled behind me, weighed down by guilt—and Gucci.

After a while, he turned and suddenly said, “Rachel, actually—”

His words hung in the air, heavy with regret.

I immediately raised my hand to cover his mouth, my soft palm pressed against his lips. His eyes widened in shock, then softened. There was a beat of awkward intimacy. Then, as if burned, I quickly pulled my hand back.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to. I was just too anxious.”

I clenched my right hand into a fist, twisting it nervously. I dug my nails into my palm, playing up the nervous energy.

“Marcus, I don’t know what you want to say, but I’m scared. Let’s just pretend nothing happened, okay? Please don’t tell Derek about this.”

I kept my eyes on the floor, shoulders hunched, as if the world was too heavy to carry.

Marcus was silent for two seconds before asking, “You like him that much?”

His voice was small, almost jealous.

I nodded without hesitation. “Yeah.”

I looked up at him, my expression steady and earnest.

“What do you like about him?”

He sounded genuinely confused, almost childlike in his curiosity.

I couldn’t help but smile a little. It was a soft, sad smile—the kind you give when you know the joke’s on you.

“I don’t know, I just really, really like him. I’m happy whenever I see him. I want to stick to him all the time, and if he pays attention to me even once, I’m happy for days.”

Then I looked at Marcus, moved a little closer, and said: “Marcus, what do you think of me? Do you dislike me?”

My voice trembled a bit, letting the vulnerability seep out.

Marcus said decisively, “How could I dislike you?” He said it with conviction, but his eyes darted away.

“Then can you say something nice about me in front of Derek?”

I smiled at him ingratiatingly. “Just say, ‘Rachel is actually pretty nice, not that annoying,’ and tell him to pay more attention to me when he’s free. Okay?”

I clasped my hands, eyes wide with hope.

Marcus: “……”

His jaw worked, but he finally nodded, defeated. I looked at him expectantly, my eyes still a little red. But with the seamless light brown contacts I’d chosen, my eyes must look bright and gentle. I’d spent extra on those contacts—worth every penny for the effect.

He looked away awkwardly, saying, “Okay.” His voice was hoarse, like he was holding back more.

I immediately smiled. “Thank you! Are you feeling hot? You’re sweating. Let me get you some ice cream—the ice cream here is supposed to be really good.”

I bounced away before he could answer, making sure he saw the cheerful side of me.

With that, I ran off to get some ice cream. I ordered two scoops of rocky road and made sure the waffle cone was picture perfect.

Heh, he was sweating bullets, feeling guilty, with dirty little thoughts. He probably thought I was still crying, but really, I was savoring the victory.

When I came back, Marcus was still holding all the bags, waiting for me. He stood awkwardly by the bench, arms full, eyes scanning the crowd like he wanted to escape. He wanted to take the ice cream, but his hands were full, so I quickly scooped some and fed it to him.

He blinked, surprised, then opened his mouth as if on autopilot.

“I’ll feed you,” I said with a wink, teasing, “Open up, Marcus, it’s not poisoned.”

Marcus said uncomfortably, “Rachel, you don’t have to do this.”

He tried to turn away, but I kept smiling, spoon poised. “I’m afraid you’ll be unhappy and won’t say nice things about me.”

I stuffed the spoon into his mouth, giving him a big, sweet smile, staring at him without blinking.

He chewed slowly, his cheeks going pink. So innocent and infatuated. Pretty and lovesick.

I made sure to look up at him through my lashes, the picture of sweet helplessness. The more you look, the more lovable she seems.

The sales associate peeked out of the store and smiled knowingly. I could have sworn she winked at me.

I’m really satisfied with my persona today. Apparently, so is Marcus. He looked like he’d melt faster than the ice cream.

After I fed him a bite, he didn’t rush to take me to Derek. Instead, he found a mall café and sat across from me. The air smelled like espresso and cinnamon rolls, the kind of place where secrets felt safe.

He said, “Rachel, I don’t know what photo you’re talking about, but it must be a misunderstanding. As for Derek, have you ever thought that maybe you two just aren’t right for each other?”

He sipped his coffee, eyes soft but searching.

My smile froze, and my eyes turned red instantly. I let my lip tremble just enough for him to notice. “Not right for each other? What’s wrong with me? I can change.”

I looked down at the table, tracing the pattern with my finger.

Marcus raised his hand, as if wanting to touch my face, but pulled back at the last second. His hand hovered, then fell back to his lap. I made sure he saw the tears gathering in my eyes.

But I grabbed his hand and held it tightly, like it was my last lifeline. My fingers wrapped around his, squeezing desperately.

“Marcus, weren’t you going to say nice things about me? You can’t go back on your word—you promised.”

My voice was a whisper, barely audible above the café chatter.

Marcus’s hand was a little stiff, but he let me hold it. He squeezed back, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.

“No, that’s not what I meant. There’s nothing wrong with you.” He said softly, “It’s Derek who doesn’t deserve you.”

He looked at me, something like regret flickering in his eyes. For a moment, I almost believed him.