?Chapter 254:


    Rachel gestured towards the two sses of water before her. “I’m sticking with water. Alcohol doesn’t agree with me; I get tipsy too easily.”


    Andres settled back into his chair, his tall silhouette easing into a more rxed posture. A yful smile began to form as he spoke. “It seems a bit unfair. You’re paying the bill, yet you’re not joining me in a drink?”


    Considering hisment, Rachel replied, “You make a fair point. I’ll have a cocktail then.”


    She selected a cocktail from the menu.


    Soon, the waiter arrived with a blue cocktail for her.


    Rachel lifted her ss toward Andres with a look of gratitude. “Mr. Garrett, I’m really thankful for the two times you’vee to my rescue.”


    “It was nothing.”


    Rachel felt the effects of the cocktail not long after starting her drink. She began to speak more lively. “See, I warned you I’m not great with alcohol! Please go ahead and enjoy—the drinks are on me tonight.”


    In the dim light of the bar, Rachel’s features were softened more by the intery of light and shadow.


    Andres gently turned his ss in his hands.


    With a curious nce, he inquired, “And how do you know that I can handle my drinks?”


    Slumping slightly against the couch, Rachel looked up, bewildered. “Oh, that? Yvonne taught me a bit about reading faces. She says that people with your kind of features usually have a good tolerance.”


    Andres’s smile widened at her exnation. “And aren’t you concerned about being mistaken? What if my tolerance is impotent? You’d have to look after me then.”


    Feeling increasingly overwhelmed by the cocktail, Rachel’s head sank lower onto the table.


    Her thoughts were foggy, snippets of conversation floating through her mind.


    She touched a finger to her lips, whispering, “Shh, a man should not admit his impotence.”


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    A mix of feelings flickered across Andres’s face. He opened his mouth to respond, but Rachel quickly sped his hand. “Stay still!”


    “Something wrong?”


    “Why?” she stammered slightly, gesturing with her other hand absently. “Why do you remind me so much of him?”


    “Who might that be?” Andres inquired.


    “My fiancé,” Rachel answered, her tone waning. “Though perhaps not for much longer.”


    “Why so?”


    Laying her head down on the table, she looked up through the blur of lights, her face etched with a detached smile. Mocking her own situation, she said, “Once, he didn’t want me, and now I don’t keep loving him.”


    “Do you still love him?”


    Rachel paused to sip her cocktail, her eyes shimmering with a mix of dreaminess and sorrow. “It runs deep.”


    In truth, her love had been unwavering for a decade. Yet, what was the value of such love? It seemed utterly pointless.


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