Try Begging - Chapter 149.2
Out of all the available seats, the woman chose the one directly behind the man who had entered earlier. It wasn’t until she sat down that the waiter realized the bulge in her cape was no illusion.
Are you comfortable?
Yes, I’m fine.
Despite the evident discomfort of being pregnant, she sat with her back to the stranger, only a hand’s breadth away.
She kept her sunglasses on and scanned the menu on the table. Although her eyes were hidden by the sunglasses, her bright red lipstick looked striking rather than garish, suggesting she was quite beautiful.
Hmm…
She pushed her black hair, which fell to the nape of her neck, behind her ear as if thinking for a moment and then placed her order.
I’ll have the cream tea, please.
One cream tea. I’ll bring it right away.
The waiter responded and walked away.
Grace sighed, rubbing her belly.
Yes, I’m hungry too. Just a little longer.
She spoke to the baby that had been kicking her the whole way from the tram station. Since the six-month mark, the baby’s movements had become much more noticeable and active. It seemed to express its desires through constant kicking, waking her up several times a night.
With so much energy, was it a boy?
In truth, she didn’t care about the gender. She just wanted to be rid of the heavy, cumbersome burden as soon as possible.
[ “Will the royal family’s new member be a prince or a princess?” ]
How envious.
Grace sighed deeply as she listened to the radio news about the Queen’s third child being due in about six weeks. She still had to endure this state, at least until May.
She was already bored waiting for her tea and scones to arrive.
Opening her handbag, she took out one of the neatly folded newspapers and spread it out on the table. As soon as she turned the first page, she frowned.
Her eyes met those of the man.
Again?
She was annoyed. She had barely escaped, only to see his face every day.
She had expected a flood of articles right after the raid, but she thought it would quiet down by the end of the year. Yet there was a surprise announcement of his ennoblement, a promotion, and just a few days ago, the ennoblement ceremony.
For an entire month, he had dominated the airwaves and newspapers, causing endless buzz.
Front page, political section, economic section, society section, columns, analytical articles, four-panel comics, even the entertainment section – he was everywhere.
A big star, indeed.
She thought the articles would finally decrease after his picture graced the front page the day after the ennoblement ceremony. But now, here was another article with the headline Hero’s Return beneath a photo of Leon Winston arriving back in Winsford, splashed across page three.
‘You did it. A title, a promotion, and revenge. Your father would be proud.’
Grace smiled at the man in the photo, a serene smile that made the corners of her mouth twitch.
The Leon Winston in the photograph was still as elegant as a swan, as perfect as a god. She had expected him to be utterly devastated the moment she disappeared, though why did he still look so composed?
No, if he was still looking for her, then behind that mask must be a different story.
She forced her smile wider, this time letting it reach her eyes.
‘Hello, darling. Are you doing well without me?’
Should she call and tease him like that?
Grace let out a small sigh, feeling like she was being childish. She grabbed a few pages of the newspaper and flipped them all at once. When the classifieds section appeared, she began to read the job advertisements one by one.
There was only one word Grace was looking for among the many ads.
Butcher.
It was a term the Blanchard revolutionaries secretly used to refer to themselves. They likened themselves to butchers as they were dealing with the royal pigs.
After the raid on Blackburn, there had been an increase in ads where ‘butchers’ were either looking for work or seeking others. These ads often had a sequence of meaningless numbers disguised as a phone number or mentioned a rough city location where no slaughterhouse would typically be found. This was code used by the remaining revolutionaries.
These were the remnants who had narrowly escaped the raids on their main hideouts and safe houses throughout the kingdom. They would gather and establish new hideouts, posting ads to inform and recruit others.
They hadn’t yet put in a phone line, and they didn’t know when to move the new hideout to do so. If there was an advertisement in the newspaper that a butcher was looking for a slaughterhouse, those who had already found a hideout nearby would post a job advertisement stating the date and location of the meeting.
And the advertisement she saw last week had this code on it.
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