Fated Marriage Spoiled by My Ice Billionaire novel Chapter 68

Over the past two weeks, Susie had mentioned that Isabelle hadn't been home for meals much, and the snack supply was running low without time to replenish it. So, taking advantage of her light workload and frequent absences, Isabelle had taken a few personal days.

As for what she'd been busy with during that time—she was likely occupied making those clothes for Damian.

Isabelle pressed her lips together, a faint, private smile touching their corners. Just moments ago, she had been hesitating in the snack aisle, wondering if she should grab a few things and half-expecting him to comment.

Now, she could stock up openly.

At the checkout, Isabelle moved to handle the payment. The cashier shot a mildly disapproving glance at the impeccably dressed, tall man standing idly beside her.

Looks sharp, but clueless about chivalry, the look seemed to say.

Isabelle noticed but said nothing. After all, he wasn't home often—she usually ate alone—and she could easily cover this small grocery run.

Just as she pulled out her phone to pay, Damian took it gently from her hand. He opened the default payment app, selected a card labeled with his name, and tapped to complete the transaction.

Isabelle blinked—the scanner had already beeped.

A soft ding sounded from the phone in his own pocket.

"You never use my card. It makes me feel like I married into your family," he remarked casually, handing her phone back. Then he hoisted all the grocery bags and turned toward the exit.

The cashier quickly suppressed a smile.

Isabelle followed obediently behind him.

"We have some time. Feel like browsing?" Damian asked as they walked.

"Sure," Isabelle replied, sneaking a look at his profile. "Should we put these in the car first? Carrying them is a bit awkward."

"If I can't handle a few grocery bags, how will I manage to carry you someday?"

"Guess we didn't buy enough, then," she said, her lips curving into a subtle, pleased line.

Back when she lived in her own apartment, Gary would often come over for meals. She would always be the one selecting and carrying the groceries while he watched.

Without fail, he'd compare the supermarket produce to the organic vegetables from his family, finding everything lacking.

Even back at her place, eating the meal she'd prepared, he'd keep up the commentary—only stopping once Isabelle reluctantly agreed with his critiques.

The third floor of the mall housed mostly chain clothing stores, nothing of interest, so they took the escalator up to the fourth floor, which was lined with boutique shops and smaller designer stores.

"That brooch you gave me... You made it yourself, didn't you?" she asked as they walked.

"Mhm."

"How does someone like you know how to make jewelry like that?"

Crafting that brooch hadn't just been time-consuming—it required patience and a steady hand, especially for someone who wore glasses for nearsightedness.

"You pick things up," he said simply.

"Do you ever think I'm... difficult?" Isabelle found a vacant bench near a planter and sat down.

She hadn't fully moved on from her past. Sometimes old feelings still surfaced, and they might inadvertently affect him.

Yet he never seemed to show any frustration.

Damian set the bags down beside the bench and took a seat next to her. His gaze drifted to her feet, encased in their elegant but demanding high heels.

And since she'd spent most of that time with Gary, she usually opted for flats. Even when she did wear heels, it never felt entirely natural.

There had been moments like this before, when her feet ached. He'd always say, "If they hurt, don't wear them. Why torture yourself? You have me—you don't need to dress up for anyone else."

Back then, she naively took it as concern for her comfort... or perhaps as a possessive kind of care.

But looking back now, it was likely just his own pride and ego talking.

The truth was, even without dressing up, whenever Isabelle stood beside him, he often seemed more like an accessory. Aside from being reasonably handsome, there wasn't much else to recommend him.

"Wait here for me," Damian said, slipping her shoe back on with care.

"Where are you going?"

Damian didn't answer, just repeated softly, "Wait here."

She glanced down at her foot, flexing it slightly. She could still feel the phantom warmth of his touch.

A soft, unconscious smile touched her lips as she lifted her gaze toward the corner he'd disappeared around—only to unexpectedly lock eyes with Gary, who was watching her intently from the open railing of the floor above.

Her heart gave a hard, painful lurch against her ribs, and her vision blurred momentarily with a rush of heat.

He was sitting by the window of the upstairs bistro, having lunch. And seated across from him... was Nicole.

Were they... back together?

She had thought she could neatly sever those tangled feelings in her heart, but she had underestimated how deeply the roots had grown.