Chapter 12

Max's POV

I anxiously awaited Priscilla's reply, my mouth falling open in surprise as she suddenly burst into tears. My heart began to race, pounding in my chest, as I struggled to understand what I could have possibly said to elicit such a strong reaction. Did I unintentionally utter something hurtful? How am I going to navigate this delicate situation? A throbbing headache began to form at the base of my skull, adding to my growing sense of unease.

"Priscilla, did I say something to upset you?" I inquired, attempting to regain control over my own emotions, whether it be anger or annoyance.

She sobbed even harder, and at that moment, I longed for the presence of Liz, my trusted confidante. If only she were here, she would surely know how to handle this distressing situation. However, I couldn't burden my dear grandmother with this matter, as she was already advanced in age and might have become overwhelmed herself.

"Priscilla, I apologize if my words were amiss. Please try to calm yourself. If I have erred, please enlighten me," I implored, my voice filled with genuine concern. Yet, her sobs only intensified, making it increasingly difficult to decipher the cause of her distress.

"Priscilla, did you happen to hear about the newly opened ice cream shop? It made its grand debut today. Wouldn't you be interested in giving it a try?" I suggested, hoping to divert her attention and provide some solace.

A smirk tugged at the corners of my lips as she glanced at me, revealing a hint of deception. It became clear that she had been feigning her emotional outburst all along. Priscilla's behavior was truly perplexing, and I couldn't help but find her actions utterly baffling.

Priscilla's POV.

I couldn't help but gulp audibly as Max's words reached my ears. Ice cream. The mere mention of it sent a surge of longing through me. I had been craving it since the morning, but circumstances had conspired against me, denying me the pleasure of indulging in its creamy sweetness. And now, Max was about to catch me in my act of feigned tears. I couldn't help but wonder why he possessed such an abundance of patience. Couldn't he simply chase me out of his house and spare me this torment?

"Priscilla," he began, his voice laced with temptation, "they have an array of flavors when it comes to ice cream. I've heard that they are not only tasty but also incredibly delicious. But, of course, if you don't want any, you can continue crying here. I can go and lure myself into trying them." His words hung in the air, tantalizing me. I found myself swallowing hard, my desire for ice cream growing stronger by the second.

Unable to resist any longer, I finally gave in. "I want some ice cream," I admitted, my voice betraying my intense craving. I couldn't fathom why I desired it so desperately, to the point where I was willing to abandon my carefully crafted plan.

"Alright then," Max responded, his tone filled with understanding. "I've prepared a warm bath for you. Go and freshen up, change into some cozy clothes, and we can head out to satisfy your ice cream craving." With a mixture of annoyance and a fake frown, I rose from the bed, my plan to annoy him thwarted. But I was determined. I would think of another way to get under his skin.

After my relaxing bath, I emerged from the bathroom clad in only a towel. To my dismay, I noticed a pink tracksuit laid out on the bed. I had no intention of wearing such a garish color. Just as I was about to call out Maxwell's name, he unexpectedly emerged from the closet.

"Why didn't you inform me that you were coming out? I could have left," he muttered, avoiding eye contact.

"Didn't you claim to have seen better bodies than mine?" I retorted, my annoyance evident. "I refuse to wear that pink tracksuit. I exclusively prefer black or plain white attire, avoiding bright colors."

"Why can't you wear bright colors It won't be the end of the world unless you're determined to forgo indulging in creamy, icy ice cream."

My face flushed with anger. I desired that ice cream, but wearing that pink tracksuit was out of the question. "I will not wear this color, and that's final," I asserted.

"Well, what will you wear then?"

"Your clothing," I replied nonchalantly.

"That is not happening." He said.

"Why?" I asked.

"You're a girl, not a boy? Why would you wear my clothes?" he inquired his voice tinged with confusion.

"I refuse to wear those garish, bright-colored dresses. They simply do not align with my taste. I would much rather wrap myself in a towel," I declared, my tone firm and resolute.

"But you agreed to wear that lovely floral dress on that particular day. What do you have to say about that?" Max questioned, his voice filled with curiosity.

"I was not in my right mind that day... I had just lost my dear mother, do you not remember?" I retorted, my anger evident in my voice.

"You could pretend to be out of your senses today as well... I mean, you could do this much for the sake of ice cream, right?" he suggested, causing me to shoot him a glare. I despise this man with every fiber of my being.

"Leave this room immediately," I yelled, my voice filled with frustration.

"Alright, I'm going... just remember, the ice cream is waiting," he said before exiting my room. I made my way to the bed and sank, covering my face with my hands. I'm consumed by anger... It's astonishing how a mere craving for ice cream can cloud my thoughts and prevent me from thinking clearly.

Max's POV…

I patiently waited for Priscilla to emerge from her room, fully aware that she would be wearing the tracksuit I had anticipated. It seemed that she had developed a penchant for vibrant colors, though I remained uncertain as to the cause of this change. However, I firmly believed that her tumultuous past was responsible for her perpetual anger and aggression. To guide her towards becoming a better mother to our child, I resorted to a rather extreme measure - blackmail. As expected, Priscilla emerged from her room, adorned in the clothes I had provided. Her flushed face betrayed her anger, perhaps directed towards me. Without uttering a word, I informed her that the car was waiting, and she silently followed me outside. During the thirty-minute drive, Priscilla remained unusually quiet, likely plotting some form of retaliation against me. I had no choice but to endure whatever she had in store, as I believed that my actions had warranted divine retribution. Upon arriving at our destination, a restaurant, we both stepped out of the car, though Priscilla's demeanor lacked the grace typically associated with a lady.

I had already made a reservation, so the manager warmly greeted us and escorted us to our private table. Within minutes, our food arrived and the waiter promptly served us.

To my surprise, Priscilla questioned, "Didn't we come here for ice cream?"

With a knowing smile, I replied, "You can't enjoy ice cream on an empty stomach... First, savor the delicious food, then indulge in the sweet treat." Trust me, it's the only way to make her eat something.