Chapter 12

‘If you’re going to say sweet things, at least don’t make it so glaringly obvious how awkward you feel.’

It was clear that offering comfort felt awkward to him as well.

And thinking that I wasn’t the only one feeling awkward warmed my heart once again. Catching up behind him almost at a run, I said in a bright voice: “Thank you for coming to get me.”

At my greeting, Dante’s thick eyebrows arched straight up. He answered with a entirely humorless face:

“I spent over an hour listening to you vent, so taking you along is nothing.”

“Th-That’s a lie, right?”

Holding onto a complete stranger and crying for over an hour… it was utterly unbelievable. Dante answered sullenly: “It’s real.”

“…….”

“Want me to show you my cloak with your snot on it?”

“N-No! Forget it! Throw it away! I’ll make you a new one!”

A cloak covered in snot—what on earth was he talking about? Why would he even keep something like that?

Flushing bright red, I waved my hands frantically. Dante walked on without a word. Feeling as though his back signaled disbelief in my words, I kept talking to him all by myself as he remained silent.

“It’s not a lie that I’ll make you one. I’m good at sewing. Though what I’m best at is knitting.”

“…….”

“E-Every year, I knitted scarves and sweaters for Emile, you know? But he said he was sick and tired of seeing me holding a knitting basket. Isn’t that too much?”

“…….”

“Th-That’s why I drank so much. Because I was upset. If he had just honestly said it was annoying, I wouldn’t have made them. H-He was really awful, wasn’t he? I put so much thought into designing those patterns, too…”

As I babbled on with a flushed face, Dante came to a stop once again. Since I was prepared this time, I thankfully didn’t bump my forehead against his back.

“W-Why are you stopping?”

In response to my question, Dante extended a handkerchief. As I took it in confusion, he spoke in a gruff tone: “Just cry. I can’t comfort you, but I can at least listen.”

“…….”

Only then did I realize that I was crying.

‘It’s only natural that I’m crying.’

I pressed the handed-over handkerchief tightly against my eyes. Tears soaked into it in an instant, turning it into a lukewarm, wet cloth.

A man with black hair and red eyes was looking down at me with an expressionless face.

That indifference served as a far greater comfort right now than Emile’s fake kindness.

‘I’ll cry just for today, and then I’ll shake it all off.’

I was not alone. Therefore, I could smile.

***

When Emile Kline woke up in the morning, the very first thought he had was this: ‘My head hurts.’

Opening his eyes, he wasn’t surprised, as the space was all too familiar. The room decorated in deep green was none other than his study.

Yet today, strangely enough, his head throbbed as if it were about to split open.

Pressing his fingers against his head, the person who hadn’t stepped out of her room yesterday due to a headache naturally crossed Emile’s mind.

‘I didn’t get to see Yvon even once yesterday.’

Emile let out a sigh.

‘Every time Yvon said her head hurt, I thought she was just faking it. If it was this kind of pain, I feel sorry.’

Always frail, and innocent like a young girl—that was Yvon.

Yvon had been prone to minor illnesses since childhood. Because of that, from a certain point on, he had dismissed it whenever she said she was sick. It was a common occurrence, after all.

‘I should apologize when I see her again.’

If he held her slender hands tightly and kissed her snow-white cheek, she would giggle and smile with her eyes just like always.

Recalling the lovely Yvon, a surge of heat ran through his body. As Emile bit his lip, a pair of slender arms wrapped around him. The clear, tinkling laughter echoing behind his back was sharp.

“Energetic from the morning, are we? Still not enough?”

“Rosie.”

Roseanne. She was his longtime friend.

The burning heat touching his bare skin was all too familiar. There were times he was comforted by that warmth, but right now, he wasn’t in the mood. Coldly pulling Roseanne’s hands away, Emile spoke: “Why are you here? Go back to your room.”

“How cold of you.”

Roseanne obediently pulled back as Emile pushed her away. Even so, her action of poking Emile in the side was full of intimacy.

“You were so cute last night, though. Isn’t this a bit harsh?”

“I’m not being harsh; that’s our contract.”

Instead of answering, Emile put on his shirt that had fallen to the floor. Roseanne crossed her arms and sneered: “Contract? You mean that contract where I shouldn’t act friendly once the sun comes up?”

“Yes.”

“But how can anyone live strictly keeping to a contract like that? One’s body can get worked up even after the sun rises.”

“Only beasts do that.”

“You are a beast. Should I tell Yvon all about the dirty thoughts filling your head?”

“Shut that mouth of yours. I feel like my head is going to explode right now.”

Even Roseanne, who had been banteringly accepting Emile’s words with a smile, hardened her face this time. Glaring at Emile with a pouting expression, Roseanne said: “Can’t you be a little sweet now? You act as sweet as sugar to that dull Yvon, so why are you so cold to me?”

“You and Yvon are different.”

Emile’s reply was so cold that not even a single needle could pierce through it. Roseanne let out a dry laugh and sneered: “Ah, so that’s why you always pretend to be a perfect gentleman to that girl? You’re even going to get married without telling her anything?”

“What am I supposed to inform Yvon of?”

Looking at the shameless Emile, Roseanne pouted her lips and said: “Well, you don’t have anything to inform her of. I guess I should be the one to tell her—what you like, and how you like things done for you…”

“I told you to shut that mouth.”

When Emile spat out harsh words once more, Roseanne’s face hardened coldly. Snapping a single line in an icy voice, Roseanne turned away sharply: “Treat me carelessly, and you’ll end up regretting it.”

“…….”

Roseanne slammed the door shut and left. Emile ran a hand through his hair in annoyance. He had known Roseanne for a long time, but he could rarely adjust to that fickle nature of hers.

‘She was the one who suggested we stay in this kind of relationship first.’

Emile had been sick to death of pretending to be good ever since he was a child. And that applied to how he treated Yvon as well.

How could he possibly like a little girl his father suddenly brought home out of nowhere? To make matters worse, his parents treated that girl in an extraordinary manner.

<This child was brought here specially for you, Emile. Treat her well, just like a real younger sister. And later on, you must take her as your bride.>

Bride, my foot. Being told to treat a kid who appeared out of nowhere like a real sister wasn’t even funny. Yet Emile treated Yvon gently whenever others were watching, all to pretend to be a good child.

Yvon—who couldn’t even imagine that he harbored such a twisted heart inside—simply followed Emile around blindly.

<Emile is truly gentle.>

Foolish girl, not even knowing a person’s true feelings. Looking at her brightly smiling face made his stomach turn, yet it was also laughably absurd.

‘Does she firmly believe she’s going to be my bride, too? Then what kind of face will she make when that expectation is betrayed?’

He wanted to see Yvon collapse in despair. Emile’s gentleness was nothing more than painstaking effort put in for the sake of that future enjoyment.

And the person who saw through Emile’s mind before anyone else was Roseanne.

<Wouldn’t it be more fun if we stoked her jealousy, too? A naive lady won’t be able to handle that situation, you know?>

Roseanne shared many similarities with Emile. Above all, she wanted to screw over her parents at least once for planning out her prospective marriage and entire future.

‘Well, it’s not bad.’

At first, he only wanted to tease Yvon. He wanted to see her trembling in shock and betrayal, crying her eyes out.

However, as time went on, Yvon became beautiful and lovely—to the point where he wondered if his parents had predicted such a future in advance.

On the day he proposed to Yvon under his mother’s coercion, watching Yvon hesitate without readily accepting the proposal made Emile realize his own feelings.

At some point, he had begun dreaming of a future where Yvon became his wife.

‘…Now I don’t know anymore. What I should do, or how.’

Thinking of Yvon made his head throb again. Emile pressed his forehead tightly with his palm. Yvon was by his side anyway, and resolving this headache came first for now. Emile stepped out of the study.

Just then, a passing servant saw him and offered a greeting: “Young Master, are you awake?”

“Yes.”

Holding his forehead, Emile leaned against the wall and said: “Prepare bathwater for me, please.”

“Before your meal?”

“My head hurts badly. I want to soak in warm water.”

“Understood.”

Emile’s room wasn’t far from the study. Dragging his heavy feet over to lie down on the sofa, the throbbing seemed to clear up bit by bit.

Come to think of it, he hadn’t even had time to go see Yvon yesterday.