To Those For Whom Even Regret Is A Luxury - Chapter 39

“Oh my!”

The moment I saw Sophie’s eyes sparkling like chandelier lights, I sensed things might get a bit out of hand.

Sure enough, Sophie exclaimed with a puff of air:

“I’ll! I’ll fix your hair for you!”

“No, it’s fine. I’m just going to give him something quickly and come back.”

Sophie was the only person, besides the contracted parties, who knew that Dante and I were not real lovers, but merely bound by a contractual relationship.

Yet strangely… she tended to get as excited about Dante and my relationship as outsiders who had no idea about the inner workings.

“Can’t I at least braid it?”

“…No. That takes too long. Sophie, shouldn’t you be heading back soon?”

“Th-Then just this decoration at least!”

Sophie rushed to the vanity and pulled something out.

It was a thin ribbon, transparent like butterfly wings, designed to drape from the crown to the back of the head.

It was a rather old-fashioned hair accessory that many people often wore even indoors.

Right, this much is fine.

Sophie has a peculiar stubbornness in certain areas. Especially when it comes to my appearance.

Sensing that allowing her to put on that one ribbon would be far quicker than adamantly refusing, I silently nodded.

After carefully tying the ribbon in my hair, Sophie gazed at my reflection in the mirror with somewhat wavering eyes.

“Look at this. Doesn’t just one ribbon completely change your atmosphere? If usually you’re like a daffodil blooming in the depths of winter, now you’re like a daffodil tenderly grown in a greenhouse!”

“…Hmm. Thank you.”

Flustered by the extravagant compliment, I left the room without even a proper response.

The corridor of the Duke’s mansion, where the sunset was beginning to settle, exuded a peculiar atmosphere.

The mansion, said to have been used by generations of previous Dukes whenever they stayed on the island, proved its long history with even its window frames and flooring being antique.

The most splendid mansion I had seen until now was the Fedegrin Marquis’ residence during my time as a Marchioness.

A mansion where everything visible boasted a dazzling light to the point of hurting one’s eyes. Where the chandelier lights, the size of statues and artworks were excessively grand to the point of discomfort.

In contrast, nothing decorating this mansion was ostentatious.

They simply existed in their places as if it were natural, yet magically colored the space with elegance.

Even without revealing their presence, one becomes aware. Even without advertising their precious value, one becomes tense.

…Just like the owner of this house.

Standing in front of the office, I took a small breath.

I recalled the moment when I had peered inside from the same spot yesterday evening.

‘Ah….’

At that time, Dante was leaning on the terrace with his eyes closed.

Receiving the clear moonlight with his whole body, without the slightest movement.

“…”

Unlike then, today his eyes were open.

“Lopez.”

Was it because of the late hour? Or because of the amber glass he was holding in one hand as if it were natural?

Dante spoke in a strangely languid voice.

“Good evening.”

“…Good evening, Your Grace.”

After the wedding, although Dante and I were living under the same roof, we hardly ever crossed paths.

I was busy with stage preparations, but Dante seemed even busier than me.

‘Though I didn’t think the position of Duke would allow for much leisure…’

My preconception that a high-ranking nobleman might delegate work to his subordinates and rest a little himself was completely shattered over the past month.

I’m not sure whether Lucas or Dante is the unusual one, but.

In many ways, a person different from expectations.

Suppressing these various thoughts, I moved deeper into the office.

“I came because I have something I want to give you.”

As I said this, approaching the desk where Dante was sitting, an unexpected reply came.

“Did you put on perfume?”

“…Pardon?”

Blinking at the sudden question, I suddenly became aware of a scent tickling my nose.

‘Come to think of it…’

It seems this smell had been subtly stimulating my sense of smell for a while now.

Dante slowly stretched his body that had been leaning back in his chair.

His long legs strode around the desk and stopped in front of me.

“…”

A hand suddenly reached out and lightly lifted a handful of my hair.

My breath caught for a moment without me realizing.

“It’s not the hair.”

His gaze blatantly traveled up along my hair.

Even knowing it was a look searching for the source of the fragrance, a faint chill ran down wherever his gaze touched.

As if being chased by someone, a strangely anxious feeling squeezed my heart. Unable to bear the pressure, I blurted out.

“…Is that important?”

The fragrance was probably emanating from the hair ribbon Sophie had put in.

I recalled a voice saying that spraying perfume on hair accessories was the trend these days.

Sophie’s thoroughness and meticulousness are a bit resentful right now. As I was thinking this, Dante made another unexpected remark.

“Do you know what flower this scent was extracted from?”

When I silently shook my head, he curved his lips.

“Cyclamen.”

At the slightly unfamiliar name, I opened my eyes a little wider.

Cyclamen. I think it was a flower native to regions slightly colder than the island. …Perhaps the Duke’s territory was its main habitat.

“By the way, the flower language is.”

Was it my imagination that his voice seemed to have gotten closer?

But proving it wasn’t my imagination, Dante’s eye level had lowered somewhat.

Bending his waist slightly, he whispered languidly.

“Please follow this scent to my bed.”

“…”

…Sophie.

I could only helplessly repeat that child’s name in my mind.

Of course, Sophie wouldn’t have considered the flower language. She’s not that strategically-minded a child. It must have just been a coincidence.

The problem was Dante’s intention in deliberately pointing it out.

No, actually the real problem was…

The fact that I was being unnecessarily agitated by this man’s teasing, which he was probably just throwing out casually.

“…I apologize, Your Grace.”

Biting the inside of my cheek slightly, I slowly continued.

“Knowledge of flowers is one of the accomplishments a lady should cultivate. It seems I was lacking in preparation as a future Duchess.”

“Hmm.”

Dante clicked his tongue as if unimpressed.

“What a sophisticated way to deny knowing.”

As Dante straightened his back again, my breathing eased up miraculously just from that. Only then did I realize I had been holding my breath the whole time.

“So. What’s your business?”

Dante asked, instantly dispersing the strange atmosphere that had been surrounding us until now.

Thinking that I could finally get to the main point, I answered.

“I came because I have something to give you.”

Dante tilted his head slightly.

“You’re empty-handed though.”

“It’s not the kind of thing I can show you. …Instead, may I let you hear it?”

Saying that, I nodded towards the piano situated against one wall of the office.

At my answer, a strange light flashed across Dante’s eyes. It was such a fleeting moment that it might have just been the chandelier light flickering briefly.

“Do as you please.”

“Then excuse me.”

Sitting in front of the piano, I took a small breath and pressed a key.

The piano, which had been decorated like a work of art, was perfectly tuned.

White key, and another white key.

Clear notes flowed like a streaming spring.

The underlying melody was so pure and clear that it almost sounded like a children’s song at first glance.

That’s because…

‘This was the first song I ever composed.’

In a childhood so distant now that I can barely remember.

In the garden where the afternoon sunlight gently shone, I often took naps with my head on my mother’s lap.

At those times, mother always sang lullabies with her beautiful voice.

One day, I playfully asked mother to rest her head on my lap.

Smiling as she laid her head on my lap, disheveling her hair, I hummed a lullaby to her.

Hoping mother would have good dreams. Just as I always did on her lap.

‘My grandfather who happened to overhear got excited, asking if it was really a song you created.’

Perhaps because I recalled that memory, a faint smile appeared on my lips.

I continued playing, carefully treasuring again one of the few memories from my childhood.

This music was a variation of that lullaby from back then.

The music was so gentle and soft, fitting for the night, that even Elena would come asking me to play this song on nights when she needed deep sleep.

And, the reason I’m playing this music in front of that man now is.

“…Haa.”

The song ended with a clear dominant ninth chord.

I slowly removed my hands from the keys and exhaled a slightly trembling breath.

‘I’m not sure if this will be of any help to you, but.’

As the last lingering echoes of the harmony faded, the room was covered in serene silence.