For a moment, I met the man’s gaze. Only when he held out the tablecloth did I come to my senses.
“Ah, thank you.”
I reached out hesitantly to take it. As I glanced up, our eyes locked once more; his brown eyes curved into soft crescents.
“I’m glad.”
“Pardon?”
Grace exuded even from his gentle voice, and his eyes, bright with a tender light, were fixed clearly on me.
I widened my eyes, wondering what he meant. The man pulled up the corners of his mouth, his smile widening. Just as I felt his gaze lingering a second too long, I realized how clearly he could see my face—and the state of my bangs, which were sticking straight up.
Startled, I quickly grabbed my hair and pulled it down, my face burning with shame.
“I, I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“For looking like this.”
For being this ugly. Someone once told me that was a sin. It wasn’t as if I had chosen to be born this way, yet people pointed fingers, judging me solely by my face. That was why I had made a habit of covering up; I had made the mistake of forgetting to worry about it, simply because Vincent couldn’t see.
“You’re beautiful.”
“…….”
A breeze swept past my back. I glanced up, wondering if I had heard him correctly. He was still watching me with those tender, steady eyes, and I found myself flustered.
It was the first time anyone had ever said that to me—let alone a man. I hesitated, unsure of how to respond, when Vincent’s voice reached me from afar.
I remembered the person I had briefly forgotten. I turned back in a panic. I must have drifted away from him while chasing the path of the flying tablecloth. Vincent was nowhere to be seen, which, at this moment, was a relief. He must have been walking, feeling the air with his hands. No one should ever see him like that.
And yet, someone was standing in the forest where I thought I’d be alone. If I had been with Vincent, it would have been dangerous. I had been complacent, believing the forest was empty because he had told me it would be.
I looked at the man one last time. He, too, had his eyes fixed in the direction of the sound. I bowed.
“Thank you.”
I turned and hurried away. As I folded the tablecloth, I felt a coarse texture hidden within the fabric. I pulled it out—a letter. When I flipped it over, golden letters caught my eye. This is…!
I looked back again, but there was no one there. As if the events of a moment ago were a dream, the man had vanished without a trace.
After walking a little further, I saw Vincent looking around.
“Master.”
“…….”
At my call, he stopped his hurried pace. His rigid face turned toward me.
“I’m sorry I’m late. But there was someone over there…”
As I approached to explain, he sensed my presence and suddenly reached out, grabbing my arm with surprising force. Before I could even be surprised, he pulled me in.
In an instant, the distance between us closed. His face was etched with anxiety.
“Don’t do that.”
“Master?”
“Never do that again.”
His low, warning voice trembled. He started to reach for my face with his other hand but lowered it hastily. Instead, he leaned down and rested his forehead against my shoulder.
“Don’t leave me alone.”
“…….”
A sigh of relief brushed against my ear. His hand slid down from my arm and interlaced with mine. His large body leaned against me as if embracing me, his golden hair draped over my wavering eyes. The heat radiating from his hand was scorching.
His anxiety, his terror, and the relief beneath it were palpable.
Only then did I realize I had done something terribly wrong.
“I, I’m sorry.”
“Let’s go back now. I’ve grown tired.”
“Yes. Let’s go back.”
I tightly clasped his hand, which felt as fragile as a lost child’s, and made my way out of the forest. I checked over my shoulder every so often, but thankfully, no one was following.
As we reached the annex, I saw Isabella approaching in a rush—an urgent, uncharacteristic movement. She stopped in her tracks upon discovering us, her expression shifting from surprise to feigned calmness.
“Master.”
“What is this commotion?”
“That is…”
It was then.
“Vincent!”
The voice was strange—a woman’s voice—and it cut through Isabella’s reply. Someone came running from afar: a young woman in a long, fluttering dress. She was beautiful, striking enough to draw an involuntary exclamation.
Who is it? I studied her, wide-eyed. Her gaze was locked on Vincent, but as she drew closer, she went dazed, as if she had seen something she shouldn’t. Suddenly, her eyes filled with tears.
“Vincent.”
In that instant, Vincent’s grip on my hand tightened.
His fingertips began to tremble faintly. I looked back at him; tension was etched onto his rigid face. Not understanding his reaction, I looked ahead again. The woman opened her mouth, her eyes fixed entirely on him.
“It’s Vincent, right? It really is you, isn’t it?”
“……Violet.”
I was startled by the low voice behind my back. That woman was Violet? *The* Violet? Forgetting my manners, I stared at her intently.
Ethan approached her side, looking troubled. He spotted me and waved, but his eyes quickly dropped to Vincent standing behind me. I felt the tremors in Vincent’s hand intensify.
“Vincent. Really…”
Violet took another step toward us. Moisture welled in her violet eyes, filled with deep emotion. I moved my body back—not of my own volition, but because Vincent had pulled me firmly behind him.
“I missed you… really, so much.”
“Violet, please calm down for a moment.”
Ethan blocked Violet, who kept trying to approach. She glanced at Ethan, then immediately locked her eyes on Vincent again, her face tight with desperation, as if she were terrified he might disappear.
The dilemma spread to this side as well.
“Um, Master.”
“…….”
I whispered to him and gave our joined hands a little shake. He started, but tightened his grip. Feeling the lingering trembling, I steeled my heart.
I looked at his anxious hand, then gripped it firmly.
“Let’s run, Master!”
I turned and pulled him in the opposite direction. Sounds of “Huh? Huh?” echoed faintly from behind us, but I didn’t stop.
I ran with his room as my only goal, clutching his hand the entire way.
The fingers wrapped in white gloves were long and elegant, the tips resting smoothly over the handle of a round teacup. The simple motion of lifting the cup to her lips was beautiful. Her lowered violet eyes and the transparent, golden hair that fell beside them drew my gaze.
She looked like she was molded from sugar. I felt that if I poked her, she would surely taste sweet.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, discovered me standing in the parlor doorway, and widened her eyes.
“……Pretty.”
“Oh my, thank you.”
She smiled shyly. Only then did I realize I had let my inner thoughts slip. Embarrassed, I lowered my head and placed the refreshments on the table. My own hands caught my eye—knobby knuckles, covered in small, pathetic scars. I hurriedly curled my fingers to hide them and stood up.
When I looked back up, her violet eyes stretched long as she thanked me again.
Her name was Violet Marguerite. Vincent’s fiancée.
It was a sudden visit.
“I apologize that I could not prepare properly. Please forgive me.”
“It’s fine. I’m the one who came without notice.”
She spoke so beautifully. Does a beautiful face imply a beautiful heart as well? As the thought crossed my mind, another pretty face surfaced, and I quickly wiped it away. The most beautiful woman I had known until now was the third daughter, Alicia, whose beauty was so stunning that even the local lord’s son had expressed his feelings. The only problem was her unpleasant personality.
However, the woman before me exuded elegance just by sitting there. Is this what they call the refinement of a noble?
“I came here unannounced as well, so please don’t worry about it.”
Ethan, sitting next to her, added with a calm demeanor as he sipped his tea. His behavior was absurd; he had only just left, yet here he was again. Sensing my gaze, he crinkled his eyes and waved.
“I see you must be the new one.”
“That is correct.”
Isabella signaled to me with her eyes. I withdrew my gaze from Ethan and bowed.
“It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Paula. ……Please forgive my earlier rudeness.”
“Oh, my. No, it’s quite alright. Please, lift your head.”
Despite her words, I bowed even deeper. I heard her flustered voice from above. Only after she insisted several times did I finally straighten my back. Violet smiled kindly.
“Paula, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Violet Marguerite. You may call me Violet.”
*If you are the one attending to Vincent Bellunita, then you are someone I am grateful to.* As she said this, she locked eyes with me and beamed. She was so beautiful. I never knew someone so beautiful and kind could exist in this world.
“And you really don’t have to do this. If anything, I was the one who was too impatient. It isn’t Paula’s fault.”
“That’s right. Don’t feel so burdened.”
A slick voice cut in from the side. My gaze, now sharp, slid toward Ethan. He was smiling broadly, but given our history, it only felt ominous.
“I’ve heard a lot about you.”
When I looked back at Violet, I found her staring intently at me. Under that gaze, I instinctively adjusted the bangs that covered half my face, worried she might catch a glimpse of my ugly skin.
“You are as gentle as I heard.”
I corrected my previous assessment. She was simply a wonderful person through and through.
“Paula, you should sit, too.”
“I am fine. I will stand.”
“Then, would you like to sit next to me?”
Ethan tapped the seat beside him. I frowned. However, Isabella signaled me again—a command to sit. In the end, I gingerly perched myself on the seat next to Ethan.
He leaned toward me and whispered softly.
“It’s nice to see you again.”
“I cannot say the same.”
I whispered back, then gave him a slight nudge.