Chapter 19: I’ll Buy You Ice Cream
“No.”
Mellie flatly denied it.
“I absolutely don’t think so.”
“How can we be from the same world? You’re officially on the Marquis’s registry, and I’m… not Felton, I’m Enwood. I’m just a lowly noble barely above a commoner.”
At first glance, it might have seemed like she was arguing with him, but in truth, she was simply rejecting the discomfort of being associated with this man. Mellie quickly changed the subject before he could say anything else absurd.
“So, stop saying trivial things and instead say something useful. Otherwise, it’s a waste of time.”
“Something useful?”
Francis considered her words for a moment before letting out a self-deprecating laugh.
“Is this enough? I told Rosaline not to marry the Duke of Felton.”
Mellie’s eyes widened. Trying to calm the flutter of hope in her chest, she asked cautiously,
“And?”
“She said she couldn’t do that, even if it meant cutting ties with me.”
Ah.
That made sense. Yes, that was the truth.
She felt foolish for having even a sliver of expectation. Mellie laughed bitterly.
“In my opinion, that’s far more reasonable than insisting on continuing a relationship after marriage.”
“I know.”
Francis’s voice, calm as he admitted it, sounded faintly sad.
“Still, it hurts.”
“What hurts the most?”
Mellie, despite herself, leaned in to hear his next words.
“Everything she gave me was a ‘first.’ The first embroidery she stitched, the first lace she wove, the first painting she drew, the first song she played on the piano… my first love, my first kiss, my first—”
“Wait!”
Mellie hurriedly cut him off, unwilling to hear more.
“Isn’t… isn’t that a good thing? Aren’t you bragging right now?”
“At first, I thought so too. I thought it must have deep meaning, being someone’s ‘first.’ But then one day, I looked back and realized—everything I had was just a practice work.”
“…”
“She gave me nothing after she became truly skilled at those work. Those all went to others—to people she wanted to impress, to people who mattered more. That’s what hurts the most.”
At that moment, an image flashed in Mellie’s mind.
A handkerchief Edric had carelessly tossed into his drawer the day he returned from a hunting competition.
It was beautiful, with delicate crimson bougainvillea embroidered in the corner. At the end were the initials R.A.
Rosalind Adele.
The handkerchief had been thrown atop a pile of countless other unused handkerchiefs.
Mellie’s sympathy for Francis evaporated.
He had truly loved Rosalind. He had given her everything, poured his heart out with sincerity at every moment.
And what about me?
Mellie looked inward.
What had she done for Edric, apart from making him tea?
Why had she spent so much time practicing embroidery but never gifted him a single handkerchief? Was it because she was afraid? Afraid that even noblewomen’s gifts were treated carelessly, so hers would be discarded even faster?
Had it been her wisdom to hold back? Or was it cowardice? Should she have expressed her feelings directly, instead of burying them in a diary?
The reason Edric and I stayed friends for ten years wasn’t because I tried—it was because I did nothing.
If you do nothing, nothing happens.
Mellie realized this simple truth.
But…
It’s too late.
Edric had already decided to marry Rosaline. By now, the Marquis of Adele was likely drawing up plans for their future together.
There was nothing left for her to do.
Well, maybe…
“Hey, Prince Adele.”
She would at least clear away the obstacles in his life, even if their relationship was merely political.
Even Francis seemed to understand his place now, so it wouldn’t be too hard.
“In my opinion, you’re not a bad person. No, you’re actually decent. Isn’t that why you were chosen as the next head of the Adele family?”
Mellie met his gaze without blinking.
“Plus, loving someone for who they are—that’s a rare strength. So… use that passion for someone better. Don’t waste it, like pouring water into a bottomless pit.”
Objectively, he was a good man.
Black hair, golden-red eyes, almond-shaped with a sharp yet playful glint. A tall, slender build.
If Edric was the kind of man who made you want to lean on him, Francis was the type women sought for when they need comfort and charm.
On top of that, his sharp wit and impeccable memory added more to his charm.
It was a shame, really.
Mellie genuinely wished him well.
“There are plenty of good people. Right now, it feels like you can’t love anyone else, but later, you’ll look back and laugh at yourself for ever feeling this way. Of course—”
Mellie’s heartfelt speech was interrupted.
Francis, while resting his chin on his hand, was staring at her intently.
He was amused, as if he was almost fond of her.
“Maybe this is why the Duke likes her,” he thought.
“Maybe so,” he murmured.
There was something uniquely beautiful about someone who cared deeply, especially to a man like him, who’d lived his entire life surrounded by duties and pretense.
“You’re too thin,” he remarked casually. “You’d be much prettier if you gained some weight.”
“What?”
Mellie froze, startled. Then, realizing the time, she stood abruptly.
“I have to go. It’s almost dinnertime. And it’s been way over an
hour!”
She turned to leave, but Francis pressed her shoulder, gently forcing her to sit back down.
“Wait. I’ll buy you ice cream.”
“Ice cream? Why…?”
“You like it.”
Mellie flinched.
“How does he know that?”
She glanced at the mobile ice cream stand that she’d noticed earlier. She’d only looked at it for a moment—most wouldn’t have caught it.
But Francis had.
Maybe he didn’t even need the diary.
Mellie clicked her tongue, watching him disappear into the crowd.
The sky had shifted hues. A serene light blue stretched across the
horizon, deepening into a tranquil indigo above.
Despite being dragged out, the outing hadn’t been so bad.
The musicians played romantic tunes, and the evening atmosphere was alive with chatter, laughter, and the shuffle of dancers trying to secure better seats.
Mellie reflected on her ambiguous existence.
She was neither fully noble nor truly common.
But that wasn’t entirely her fault.
Her mother had always told her, “You are noble,” but at the same time, she’d warned, “You don’t belong to their world.”
Her identity had always been split.
But now, she felt clarity.
If I give up my noble title, I can be independent.
Her eyes gleamed with determination.
Why had she clung so tightly to the title? Why had she thought she couldn’t let it go?
For the first time, paths opened before her. Uncertain, perhaps rough, but exciting.
Her heart raced with newfound purpose.
Slap—
The sound of a coat hem broke her thoughts.
“You’re faster than I thought,” she said, smiling as she turned.
But the smile vanished.
“Edric.”
But it was Edric who stood before her.
