Chapter 34
Every time Desdemona emphasized her words, Fiorentia’s body shook and was pushed back.
Through her mask, Fiorentia looked at Desdemona.
Eyes wide and glaring.
The effort was clear—red veins stood out in the whites of her eyes.
Desdemona was always irritable, but seeing her eyes like this up close was especially unsettling.
She’s really crazy… I don’t want to face her anymore, just get this over with.
Fiorentia put her hands together and bowed her head obediently.
“Yes, sister. I’ll remember that.”
She touched the cheek that had been struck, pretending to examine it. Of course, all she felt was the hard, smooth surface of Desdemona’s mask.
But Desdemona’s glowing red eyes followed every small movement as if she would devour Fiorentia. Fiorentia knew for certain that Desdemona wouldn’t let anything slide.
After a few seconds of touching her cheek, Fiorentia slowly curled her fingers and let them fall.
Desdemona let out an impatient sigh.
“I’ll send a doctor right away. Let her be examined and treated.”
Good. Finally, she’ll leave.
Fiorentia smiled secretly but hid it well. She had touched her cheek on purpose. Of all places, it was the spot Desdemona valued most on her face.
By pretending to check her cheek, Fiorentia subtly planted a suggestion in Desdemona’s mind: Maybe the injury is worse than it looks.
Desdemona, worried, would want to take Fiorentia to a doctor as soon as possible rather than wasting time being angry.
Fiorentia’s little action had worked as planned. Desdemona moved exactly as she intended.
Even that is for her own peace of mind.
Still, Fiorentia was satisfied to have her removed from her sight for the moment.
“I’ll do that. Thank you.”
Fiorentia bowed deeply toward Desdemona’s back as she left, without waiting for a proper farewell.
The Marcella family’s doctor was an elderly man who couldn’t speak, and apart from Desdemona, he was the only person who could see Fiorentia’s face under the mask and still remain composed.
Of course, if anyone ever found out we look identical, my head would be at risk.
The doctor was sharp and wise from long years of life, and he didn’t speak unnecessarily.
He carefully examined Fiorentia’s cheek and wrote in his notebook:
“There’s some redness, but it should be fine. Apply this ointment if it stings.”
“Thank you.”
Fiorentia fixed her mask back in place and took the ointment.
After seeing the doctor off, she returned to her room and noticed Theodore hiding behind the lowered curtains, watching from the window. He was probably observing the doctor leave the main house.
He probably managed to hide himself well enough.
Fiorentia didn’t scold him.
“Theo.”
Theodore, realizing she had returned, slowly turned toward her. His grip on the curtain was tense.
“You’re back.”
He didn’t approach, but his eyes showed faint concern.
Steady progress, Fiorentia thought, satisfied, and leaned back on the sofa.
Dealing with Desdemona always required full effort, so the quiet now felt incredibly peaceful. The tension melted away, and sleepiness crept in. Her half-closed eyes soon shut completely, though she wasn’t fully asleep.
Theodore seemed aware of this and asked out of nowhere:
“By the way, why is her hair that color? Wasn’t it black before?”
“It’s a wig. She wears different ones often. She didn’t like her real hair, so it’s rare to see it black.”
“…Not funny.”
The meaningless conversation stopped abruptly. Theodore seemed to have more to say. Fiorentia guessed what he wanted to ask and spoke with a quiet voice:
“I’m fine.”
“I didn’t ask.”
Fiorentia laughed softly, keeping her eyes closed.
Was I just being nosy?
No clear answer came back. They stayed silent until a breeze brushed over her head. Even without sound, Fiorentia could tell Theodore had moved closer.
When his gaze lingered on her mask, making her left cheek feel warm, she sensed his hand reaching toward her.
“There’s no swelling, so there’s no need. I’m really fine,” she said, turning her head slightly.
Reading her refusal, Theodore hesitated and withdrew his hand. Fiorentia breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Though her eyelids remained heavy, her mind was alert.
Silence settled between them again. Fiorentia didn’t mind it, but Theodore seemed restless. Eventually, he sat down nearby, leaving some space.
Fiorentia tensed slightly at his proximity but realized it reminded her of a protective relationship, like a cat and its owner.
“Are you two really not close? Earlier, you seemed so worried when she got hurt,” he asked.
“Worried?”
Her sharp reply made him pause.
“Maybe… I guess that counts as worry,” she muttered, a self-deprecating smile forming.
She fell silent, and Theodore, seeing she wouldn’t speak more, stopped pressing. He glanced sideways, feeling a strange tension. Watching Fiorentia endure worse than he would have, he felt a pang in his chest.
This isn’t good.
The next night, the heavy tension from the previous day was gone.
Theodore noticed Fiorentia coming out of the dressing room, squinting one eye. Fiorentia usually wore simple indoor dresses. Nothing had changed much, yet there was something slightly different about her appearance.
“Where are you going?”
“Out.”
She nodded lightly. Theodore felt unsettled.
Since being trapped in the Marcella house, he had always been with Fiorentia, never apart. This was his first time seeing her leave, and he felt flustered.
Why am I so nervous?
He swallowed dryly and tried to regain composure.
Fiorentia is supposed to be someone I should be wary of…
Realizing he relied on her so much was frustrating to him.
