Chapter 8
“Please wait here for a moment.”
Rosie sat down on a soft sofa, following the staff member’s guidance.
Even though they pretended not to stare, she could clearly feel the staff’s eyes brushing over her clothes and figure before quickly darting away. Rosie swallowed a wry smile.
‘Maybe I should’ve bought a dress before coming here.’
It was similar to what she experienced at Serin’s bakery. The hotel staff were too well-trained to make rude comments, but their looks made their meaning obvious.
‘Once check-in is done, I need to head straight to the boutique.’
She wanted to avoid these kinds of stares every time she moved around.
That thought reminded her of something else she needed to do.
“Could I borrow some paper and a pen while I’m waiting?”
Soon, a sheet of white paper, a small bottle of ink, and a long reddish-brown quill pen were placed in front of her.
‘All right. If things have come to this, I should enjoy everything I can while I’m here.’
She dipped the quill deeply into the ink.
But when she looked at the blank page, she realized she didn’t actually have many ideas.
‘It’s not like I’ve ever had the chance to think about things like this before.’
Scratching her cheek lightly, she reminded herself that she had never once lived freely—not even now did she truly know what she wanted to do.
Still, the first thing on the list was obvious: buying dresses.
She wrote “Buy dresses” at the top.
Then, writing whatever came to mind, she filled the paper.
Trying a full course meal at a famous restaurant. Watching an opera. Sleeping in late. All things that would seem laughably trivial to others—but she wrote them down with a serious expression.
She was just about to write “Learn to swim” when—
“Are you interested in swimming?”
Rosie looked up, startled—there was a man standing beside her, glancing down at her list. She had no idea when he’d approached.
“The sea in Beydos is rougher than it looks. I wouldn’t recommend it to a lovely lady like yourself.”
“…Who are you?”
Unable to hide her wariness, Rosie looked him straight in the eye. The man responded with a gentlemanly smile and introduced himself.
“My apologies for the late introduction. I am Ainar, the manager of this hotel.”
“The manager?”
Rosie blinked, surprised.
She had expected someone older—perhaps a dignified older gentleman—but he was young, strikingly handsome even.
His wavy silver hair shimmered faintly like moonlight, and his indifferent violet eyes held a reddish tint, like the sunset.
There were only two ways someone that young became a hotel manager:
Either he was incredibly capable, or he came from a powerful family.
‘Most likely the latter.’
The way the nearby staff immediately lowered their heads to the floor when he appeared was proof enough.
Rosie stood up and greeted him politely, recalling the arrogant head maid and butlers of the Count’s estate.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Rosie.”
She didn’t particularly like people who flaunted their family prestige, but she had no reason to be hostile to him.
Ainar glanced at her extended hand, chuckled softly, and sat opposite her without taking it.
“I hear you brought ‘the key.’ Is the owner of the key doing well these days?”
Rosie’s ears flushed in disbelief—he had blatantly ignored her.
Keeping her expression composed, she sat back down and responded.
“Well… that’s not something I can easily answer.”
Her voice came out steady, though a touch sharper than usual.
Ainar didn’t seem bothered and smoothly asked his next question.
“Then, may I ask what your relationship with the owner of the key is?”
“…”
Rosie closed her mouth.
Cliden’s letter only told her to enjoy a brilliant vacation with the key. It never mentioned what sort of procedures were required for checking in.
But—
“…Is that question necessary for staying here? Or is it your personal curiosity?”
She could tell the question wasn’t part of any official procedure. Which annoyed her.
Somewhere behind them, she heard a staff member gasp in surprise—none of them expected her to speak so boldly.
But Ainar remained utterly calm.
“If I offended you, I apologize. But that question was part of the procedure, not personal curiosity.”
“…Is that true?”
“This is Vine Rose. Many important figures from inside and outside the empire stay here. Verifying guests is essential—especially for the Rose Suite, a VIP suite.”
Rosie pressed her lips together.
She had assumed he was prying out of baseless curiosity upon seeing someone like her being introduced by someone like Cliden. But hearing his explanation, she found little room to object.
Seeing her quiet, he asked again:
“Then I’ll ask once more. What is your relationship with the owner of the key?”
“I…”
Rosie hesitated.
“…We have no relationship.”
Ainar’s eyes narrowed—but she couldn’t say anything else.
Whether he was asking out of curiosity or because it was procedure, the truth was that she really did have no relationship with Cliden.
‘What if he says this is ridiculous and refuses to let me stay?’
The worry crept in immediately. But instead of questioning her further, Ainar asked something else.
“Where did you come from?”
“From the capital.”
“I see. And your family?”
“I don’t have one. I’m a commoner.”
“…I will record it that way.”
He let out a faint chuckle as he said it. He seemed willing to let things pass—but he clearly didn’t fully believe her.
Rosie hurried to add:
“It’s true.”
Ainar looked at her calmly.
A commoner girl with no family, no connection to the key’s owner, walking into Vine Rose alone? It was a story that simply didn’t make sense.
Even so, he nodded slightly.
“Very well. I will keep in mind that you have no relation with the key’s owner and that you are a commoner.”
“No, not ‘keep it in mind,’ I mean it’s really—”
“Yes. Understood.”
Cutting her off neatly, he ended the conversation. Rosie could only shut her mouth.
With her worn dress, hair tied simply without any accessories, and the rough bag in her hand—it was natural for anyone to have doubts.
Still, he seemed to have concluded she was some lower-rank noble loosely connected to Cliden.
‘Fine, he can think whatever he wants. It’s not like we’ll be seeing each other for long anyway.’
Whether he mistook her for a noble or a commoner—it didn’t matter.
Rosie listened quietly as he explained the facilities.
She would be staying in the most luxurious room in Vine Rose, the Rose Suite. There was a private cafeteria and beach reserved for guests. And every evening there was a banquet on the top floor—on the last day of each week, it would be a masquerade ball.
“That concludes the explanation.”
Rosie glanced toward the window. The sky outside was now glowing red—the sun was setting.
“Do you have something urgent to attend to?”
“…What?”
“You keep checking the time.”
“Well… you could say I’m a little busy. I have somewhere to be.”
She stood up.
With only three months left to live, nothing in Rosie’s life was ever not urgent.
