Chapter 64
The greenhouse was built like a great glass dome, its ceiling transparent enough for the star-strewn night sky to spill right through. Riena looked up, eyes widening in quiet awe.
“Florian has always had the clearest stars,” she murmured. “I thought greenhouses only looked beautiful under sunlight… but that was my mistake.”
“The once you visit at night,” Dante replied smoothly, “aren’t much different from a bedroom.”
His tone was easy—habitual, teasing, and shamelessly suggestive.
Riena frowned faintly. “Must you always talk like that?”
“Why?” He tilted his head, perfectly unbothered. “Is there a law saying a duke can’t make jokes like this?”
“Well… no, but—” She gave up halfway, sighing in defeat. Talking with him only ever left her at a disadvantage. The man clearly enjoyed riling her up.
Deciding to ignore him altogether, Riena turned her gaze around the greenhouse. The air smelled faintly of soil and budding flowers. The blossoms hadn’t opened yet—lush green buds rested atop the stems, waiting for the warmth of coming days.
By the time the resort opened for guests, the flowers would be in full bloom. Sunlight would pour through this same glass ceiling then, painting the space gold.
She thought quietly, I’d like to see it again when that happens…
“Come during the day when they bloom,” Dante said suddenly. “You like flowers, after all.”
Riena blinked. “Can I really come again?”
He gave her a look that said, Why are you even asking?
Caught off guard by his casual permission, she hesitated.
“Then… if you’re not busy, come with me,” she added earnestly.
The sincerity in her eyes made him chuckle. “Alright.”
It was a small, wordless promise between them.
***
“…Haa.”
At last, back home, Riena let out a long sigh.
How long had it been since she left? She counted the days on her fingers—and laughed at the absurdity of it. Barely over two days.
It felt like a week. Though, to be fair, she’d spent nearly half that time unconscious.
Now, standing in her quiet house, everything felt strangely foreign. It wasn’t pleasant—because that meant the time and space she’d shared with him had started to feel more familiar than home.
“…Pull yourself together, Riena Bronte.”
Her voice echoed faintly against the bare walls.
Crossing into her bedroom, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. She was still wearing the dress provided at the resort—a light blue chiffon dress embroidered with tiny white flowers. Simple, delicate, and exactly suited for summer.
Was this his taste?
Turning this way and that, she studied her reflection. During her time as duchess, she’d worn only refined, stately clothes befitting her position. Nothing like this—soft, airy, and romantic.
She thought back to what Dante once said about the ducal mansion’s décor not being to his liking. Maybe that was why. Maybe this kind of dress was his taste.
Realizing that she’d spent the day wearing something he chose—and strolling through his resort—Riena felt her cheeks warm.
“This isn’t sightseeing…” she muttered. “It’s a date.”
And she was right. It was a date. The kind that left her light-headed when she thought too long about it.
He acted like a lover without even realizing it—and worse, she responded just as naturally.
This isn’t right.
With a soft groan, she pressed her hands over her face.
Finally, she slipped out of the dress—carefully, as if it might tear at the slightest tug—and folded it neatly before placing it deep inside her wardrobe.
There, next to it, hung his jacket. The one she still hadn’t returned.
Her fingers brushed over the fabric. The jacket was thick and warm; the chiffon dress beside it was thin and summery. The contrast made her realize how much time had passed since they’d first met.
Another season, gone already.
To shake off the sudden heaviness in her chest, Riena changed clothes and left the bedroom.
The house was dusty after two days away, so she decided to clean. Then there was laundry to fold, winter clothes to sort, things to throw away.
She took a breath, mustering resolve. “Let’s just finish everything today.”
***
Knock, knock.
“Sir, Captain Reims is here to see you.”
Callis opened the door to Dante’s office when no reply came.
A familiar figure stepped inside—Evan Reims, dressed in a dark suit instead of his usual police uniform.
“It’s been a while, Your Grace,” Evan greeted.
“It has,” Dante replied mildly. “Nearly a year, isn’t it?”
He motioned for Evan to sit. Once he did, Dante glanced toward Callis.
“Leave us. No one enters the annex until I say so.”
“Yes, sir.”
Click. The door closed.
Evan shrugged lightly. “That ‘sir’ title suits you well, Your Grace.”
“Does it?” Dante gave a half-laugh, unbothered. The sharp edge in his manner had softened since their last meeting.
“Have you caught the man who killed the coachman?”
“No. It was disguised as a suicide, and there were no other leads. Honestly, I doubt we’ll ever find the culprit.”
Dante’s eyes narrowed slightly. Evan continued.
“We secured a search warrant from Chief Justice Harold and made the arrest, but the man was found dead in his cell two days later. Strangled himself with his own handcuffs—or so they said.”
Evan scoffed. “Ridiculous, right? Who could actually choke themselves to death with cuffs?”
“Still, it told us what we needed to know,” Dante said evenly. “It was a contract killing. Keep digging.”
“Of course. We’re already looking into it.”
For nearly a year now, Evan had been secretly investigating the case on Dante’s orders. Without the coachman’s testimony, everything had to be built from the ground up again.
“By the way,” Evan added, “I didn’t realize Your Grace was running such a major project. There’s not a whisper of it in Behern. I take it it’s still classified?”
Dante gave a single nod.
“Am I… allowed to know about it?”
“You’ll know soon enough. The opening’s in a few days.”
“So that’s not why you called me, then. The butler at Behern didn’t say a word, so I came blind—what’s this about?”
Evan’s tone was curious, but his eyes were sharp. He’d noticed it immediately—Dante’s expression was different. The man who’d once been cold and irritable now looked… calmer.
Maybe the time away had done him good.
Dante broke the silence first. “The resort plans were leaked.”
“Leaked?”
“To Winfield’s circle, of all places.”
A soft, humorless chuckle left Dante’s lips. He picked up a cigar, lit it, and took a slow drag.
Click. The flame flickered against his fingers.
Evan’s expression hardened. “I’ll find out who did it.”
Dante exhaled a thin stream of smoke, his tone quiet but sure.
“Good. I’m counting on you.”
