Chapter 41
In a garden without a single flower, the gentle scent of lavender brushed against Riena’s nose.
It was the same fragrance she had caught that night by the sea, on the sandy shore where they had sat together. Even in the height of summer, even when they met again, even when he sank down beside her on that beach—Grand Duke Venachert, who had always worn his tailored suits like armor, stood before her now in far more casual attire.
The lightweight white shirt shifted with the breeze, fluttering along with his golden hair.
Perhaps that was why. Riena had to hold her breath against the sudden tickle in her chest.
…That must be it.
She swallowed hard, reminding herself. It was only because she was seeing a different side of him.
Just the scent at her nose, the shirt hem flickering in the wind, the way his hair gleamed in the moonlight, his eyes warm like the end of spring—everything about him felt too unfamiliar. Because in this moment, he was not the Grand Duke Venachert, but Dante Venachert, a man who had just apologized to her.
Riena slowly sorted through what lay before her, one truth at a time. And before she knew it, a faint laugh slipped out.
“This is the first time, you know?”
“…What is?”
Her soft smile coaxed Dante’s own expression to ease as he asked.
“That you’ve ever apologized to me.”
Yes, it was the mood. This odd atmosphere, loosening her guard and melting her strength.
Her lighter tone brushed against Dante’s ears.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Dante chuckled faintly. “Then will you accept my first apology?”
“…Hmm.”
“Oh dear.”
When Riena pretended to hesitate, Dante tilted his head with a wry laugh.
“That won’t do, Riena.”
The seemingly tender lilt in his voice made her ears burn.
Strangely, she felt lighter, as if things might be all right after all. On a sudden impulse, Riena clasped her hands behind her back like him and, with a playful glint, gave the answer he waited for.
“All right. I’ll accept your first apology. Gladly.”
Her words made Dante narrow his eyes and let out a languid laugh.
Moments later, Riena found herself on a familiar velvet sofa.
Insisting on talking just a little longer, he had coaxed her into his guest chamber, only to vanish somewhere with the words, wait here a moment.
With cautious curiosity, she glanced about the room. This time it was furnished—so his earlier excuse about the furniture not arriving must have been true. Luxurious pieces she had never seen before filled the space.
Only one thing puzzled her: the decor. Unlike his other chambers, this one was all in bright, white tones.
Tilting her head, she blurted a question when Dante returned with a box of medicines.
“Are these furnishings your taste?”
“Yes.”
Dante nodded without care, setting the box on the table.
“Since when?”
“From the start.”
“But your office and the rest of the house weren’t like this.”
“That was the royal family’s doing. Had nothing to do with me.”
Ah. So that was it. Riena looked around again with new eyes, only to hear him say as he opened a jar of ointment—
“I’ll give you a tour after treatment.”
“Treatment? Oh.”
She looked down at her arm at last, realizing why he had brought her here.
Dante’s exasperation was plain.
“Why that face? Did you not realize?”
“I thought you were going to call it another punishment.”
“…I told you, the punishment is over.”
For an instant his face hardened, then curved into a mischievous smile.
“Or is it that you want punishment?”
“…Didn’t I say not to joke like that?”
Riena frowned at his deliberately misleading tease. Dante only gave a short laugh and stretched out his hand.
“All right, give me your hand. Quickly.”
Meekly, she placed her hand in his. He held it as delicately as if it were a feather.
The ointment smelled sharper than before.
“How did you burn yourself?”
He spread it carefully, avoiding her broken skin. Riena widened her eyes.
“You knew it was a burn?”
“How could I not? It’s red and blistered.”
“…Ah. I spilled tea while working at the café today.”
Her vague reply made him lift his head, his gaze locking with hers.
“You weren’t paying attention, were you, Riena?”
His narrowed eyes scolded her.
…And whose fault is that?
“It was just an accident. Those things happen at work.”
When he picked up the bandage roll, she glanced back at him. Even under her steady gaze, Dante said nothing, only wound the bandage slowly around her hand.
The ticking clock and the soft rustle of linen were the only sounds filling the room.
When he finished, he let go of her hand. An awkward silence lingered until, while packing the box away, Dante spoke quietly.
“Your gravestone is in the palace garden.”
He turned to her with a faint smile.
“You don’t need to worry. It won’t be taken away.”
Riena’s chest sank. She understood at once.
What he meant was—
“As you wished, you’ll keep living here as Reina. I won’t move the resort either. But if you want, I can arrange a house and a job for you nearby. I hope you’ll accept that much.”
Go on living as Rena.
He would not reveal she was alive. He would not correct the world’s belief that Grand Duchess Riena was dead.
It was what she had asked of him from the beginning.
So why… why did her heart ache?
She bit her lip and lowered her head, then looked up again with a smile meant to hide the tremor in her voice.
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Good.”
And silence fell once more. He set the medicine box aside and, after a moment, spoke again.
“Unfortunately, I can’t keep my promise.”
“…What promise?”
“Showing you the master suite after treatment.”
He flicked a glance at the clock. Riena let out a small sigh.
“Go home for today. I’ll show you next time.”
With long strides, he opened the door to his office. “Next time.”
A perfect dismissal.
Walking the side path back, Riena stole a glance up at Dante. She froze when his eyes met hers.
Tilting his head slightly, he arched a brow as if to ask why.
“…Are you not coming to the café anymore?”
“Why? Did you miss me when I didn’t come?”
Again, that teasing question made her frown.
“I was just asking. You haven’t been by for a while.”
“No. I haven’t.”
“And in the future?”
Dante suddenly halted. She stopped too, his gaze resting on her. With a faint smile, he asked—
“Why are you always asking?”
“…I told you, don’t misunderstand. It’s just a question.”
What misunderstanding? For a moment he considered saying it, then refrained. That cursed misunderstanding had caused enough trouble already.
Luckily, she didn’t seem to notice his hesitation.
“I’m busy. For now.”
At that, a flicker of disappointment crossed her face. He studied her carefully, then added, softly—
“…Soon. Once I’m less busy, I’ll come.”
He didn’t mention that he was about to get even busier. Instead, his voice turned gentle, as though soothing her.
“I really wasn’t waiting for you. It’s just—you were a regular. So I wondered.”
“I know.”
Her unnecessary excuse made him chuckle.
And each time he laughed, Riena had to bite her lips, that ticklish feeling spreading through her chest.
Perhaps that was why, even knowing she shouldn’t, she found herself grumbling like before. Like when they were first married.
Or maybe—it was simply him, smiling like that.
“Until then, make sure you master brewing coffee.”
“That reminds me.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Does my coffee really taste that bad?”
After a pause, Dante nodded slowly.
“Yes.”
“…Truly?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
Her lips parted in shock, then tightened in a scowl. Impossible. Everyone else had praised her—customers, the florist, Sharon.
“You’re lying. You must be.”
“Why would I lie?”
“But they all said I was good.”
“That’s because, Riena—”
He sighed, then met her eyes.
She stared, torn between disbelief and indignation, her expression raw with unspoken protest.
Dante swallowed back his laugh. If he laughed now, she would only think he was teasing.
“…That’s because anyone would have said so.”
“…What?”
“Never mind. Forget it.”
He cut the conversation short, leaving her staring, confused and unsatisfied.
Then at last, Dante spoke again.
“Your bad coffee—I quite like it.”
And with a languid smile, he laughed.
