Chapter 17
“Sit wherever you like.”
I set Popo down and pointed toward the small tea table in the corner of my bedroom.
Then I remembered—Bessie had given me jerky earlier. I should at least offer him that.
I walked over to the bed to get it from under my pillow. But when I turned around holding the jerky—
The man, who I thought would be sitting at the tea table, was standing right behind me.
“Ah! What are you doing there?”
His eyes were fixed on my cheek. That stare made my cheek feel hot.
Oh, right. This was the side my father had slapped.
In the brighter light, he must have noticed the swelling. Great. Just great.
“Who… did this to you?”
He reached out and gently touched my cheek. I said in a small voice,
“It’s the other cheek.”
He quickly pulled his hand back, looking a little awkward.
“I didn’t touch it because I was afraid it would hurt.”
“Right. Sure.”
I turned away quickly, jerky in hand, and headed for the tea table. I didn’t want him seeing me like this.
“You keep jerky under your pillow? Is that a Bartoli family tradition?”
“As if. Yes—apparently it tastes better if you keep it there.”
“Like a jerky fairy? You know how the tooth fairy takes teeth from under pillows and leaves money.”
“Fairies are vegetarians. They wouldn’t handle jerky.”
…Not that the tooth fairy eats the teeth. Or maybe?
As we exchanged these ridiculous lines, he followed me, still holding Popo in his arms, and pressed again,
“So, who was it? Who hurt your cheek?”
I lied casually.
“Thunderroot… hit me by accident.”
His eyes sharpened.
“I’ll make sure you have horse meat for breakfast tomorrow.”
“No!”
I slammed the jerky onto the table.
Was he seriously planning to turn Thunderroot into meat?!
“I knew you were making that up. If he’d actually hit you, you’d be dead by now.”
“I believe everything you say, my lady. And by ‘say,’ I mean your words, not the horse.”
“Believe Thunderroot too, please.”
He sat at the tea table across from me, then asked again,
“So, who was it?”
By now, he might have figured it out. Who else in this house could hit me but my father?
It wasn’t like I was so low in status that the servants could strike me.
But saying it out loud felt… pathetic. Like running to tell someone outside the family about our private matters.
“Why don’t you figure it out yourself? You’re supposed to be a thorough man.”
“Alright.”
His earlier words about being a serious man popped into my head, but I quickly pushed them aside.
“Where’s the ointment I gave you?”
“On the nightstand. Should I get it?”
I started to stand, but he moved faster, pressing down on my shoulders with both hands.
“Stay seated.”
Did he hurt himself climbing up here? Well, who told him to scale a rope bare-handed anyway?
While I waited, I glanced at the bouquet on the table. It was a mix of white and pink flowers—lisianthus, like roses and carnations combined.
I’d seen them before in the Glentino family’s garden.
Realizing that, a warm feeling spread in my chest. I stroked the soft petals.
“What’s with the flowers?”
“How could I visit a lady empty-handed?” he said casually, walking over.
It felt strange. Arnold, for all his politeness, had never once brought me flowers.
Why was it only after my fiancé died that his brother—now standing here—was giving me my first bouquet?
There was an empty vase on the table, so I placed the bouquet in it. While I did that, he dragged a chair closer and sat next to me.
“Let me see your face.”
“My face?”
“Yes. Didn’t I tell you to use the ointment generously?”
Oh. I thought he wanted it for himself, but he meant to apply it to me?
I could do it myself… but I didn’t really want to turn down his kindness.
I turned my chair so my cheek faced him. Feeling a bit self-conscious being so close, I sat up straight and stared ahead, waiting.
But thirty seconds passed, and he still hadn’t moved.
“Are you… still not—”
Just as I turned my head, his lips brushed my cheek—right between my lips and cheekbone. His nose grazed my face before pulling away.
“….”
I sat there in shock before finally stammering,
“Did you… did you just kiss me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?!”
“As if it’s strange to ask—because you’re pretty.”
…This man was dangerous. Criminal, even. With that face and those words, even the goddess Zenute—guardian of marriage—would leave her husband for him.
I must’ve looked stunned because he hurried to explain,
“Oh, I don’t mean I think you’re easy or… whatever that other thing was. I just thought—even if you killed me right here, I wanted to kiss you first.”
“…That’s a bit much—”
“Not bad, though. It’s my first time, so I didn’t know, but it’s soft and feels nice. Too short, though.”
My face burned again at his blunt review. How could he say such things so calmly?
Wait—
“First time? You mean… your first time kissing someone’s cheek?”
“Yes.”
He looked completely sincere, and I’d learned over the past few days that Owen never said things he didn’t mean.
I blurted out without thinking,
“You’re twenty-five—what have you been doing all this time?”
He thought for a moment, then replied,
“Waiting for you, I suppose.”
Oh, for heaven’s sake.
This man’s lips—soft, pink, and dangerous—were going to be the end of me.
Then, as if nothing had happened, he opened the ointment.
“If you’re not going to hit me, I’ll put this on now.”
I didn’t want to hit him… but what was I supposed to say to that?
It didn’t feel like scolding him would work, and I wasn’t angry enough to try.
“…Fine.”
I obediently offered my cheek.
Was there anyone else so naturally in control of the mood like this man?
If I stayed by his side, I could almost imagine just… falling into a relationship, marrying, and raising children before I knew it.
His hands were long and beautiful, and surprisingly gentle as he dabbed the ointment onto my cheek. The cool relief on the swelling felt… nice.
While we stayed quiet, Popo trotted over, climbed into my lap, and purred for attention. I stroked her belly, and after a few licks to my hand, she jumped into Owen’s lap and curled up.
Come to think of it, he’d been holding her earlier too. Popo never acted this friendly with strangers.
“She likes you. Usually she’s scared of big men.”
“Why?” he asked, genuinely curious.
Ah… which meant I’d have to mention my father.
I dodged the question.
“I guess she had a bad experience.”
“I see. Still, she must be happy now—you take good care of her.”
That simple comment, more than anything else, made me like him a little more.
I felt shy.
“She helps me a lot too, you know.”
“How does she comfort you?” he asked, sincerely curious, closing the ointment.
I took Popo back into my lap and stroked her slowly.
“She knows when I’m feeling down and comes over to be affectionate. Sometimes she just wants petting, but still… her fur is so soft, it feels good to touch, and she listens well…”
I trailed off and glanced at him—maybe I was talking too much.
But Owen was listening intently, his gaze steady on me.
While I sat there stroking Popo, he met my eyes and asked,
“If I knew how you were feeling and acted cute for you… would you like me too?”
