Chapter 76
Scarlett wanted to go back right away, but because Viktor kept delaying his answer, she couldn’t easily leave. As he opened the door to Scarlett’s dressing room, he said,
“Get changed. We’ll have a formal dinner.”
“Why should I…?”
“Aren’t you waiting for my answer?”
When Viktor asked, Scarlett pouted but had no choice but to nod. Viktor tilted his chin.
“Get changed, we’ll dine, and then you’ll give me your answer. I think it’s the kind of matter worth that much thought, don’t you?”
“…Fine.”
Scarlett reluctantly replied and stepped into the dressing room.
The dress Viktor had prepared was far more extravagant than she imagined—rose-colored and so large that it took four maids to hold it up and put it on her. Even tying the ribbon at the back took ages.
It was the kind of gown she’d only ever wear to a grand ball like the Founding Festival. After she finally put on the shoes, the maids began with her hair ornaments.
Scarlett muttered in disbelief,
“Why dress up like this just to eat at home…?”
“Because young master doesn’t want to let you leave,” Candice said as she braided and decorated Scarlett’s hair. Then she brought out the tiara Scarlett had once planned to donate to a charity event.
“The young master specifically asked me to put this on you.”
“Mm…”
Looking down at her gown, Scarlett said,
“Just wearing this feels like I’ve done enough.”
“Well… true,” Candice admitted.
By then, the dinner was ready. When Scarlett entered the dining room, she saw fine china and cutlery, fresh flowers from the greenhouse—enough that her gown no longer felt out of place.
Viktor was seated, dressed impeccably, perfectly suited to the setting. Scarlett thought, as she stood by the door, that he looked like the centerpiece of this flawless scene.
As she calmly walked forward, a servant pulled out her chair for her. She sat down, still slightly dazed, and the meal began. Scarlett, who had been drilled in perfect dining etiquette by a strict tutor, started her meal and asked Viktor,
“Why dinner, all of a sudden? And the dress?”
“Don’t you like it?”
“No.”
When Scarlett said firmly, Viktor smirked.
“People would be delighted if you walked back to 7th Street dressed like that.”
“I’m not some spectacle.”
“Still, it would make for an amusing story.”
“That’s just because the neighbors are nosy.”
She scolded him lightly and then took a bite of trout with colorful winter vegetables—something ordinary people could never afford in that season. The dish used fine pepper, which paired perfectly with the fish.
“…This pepper is delicious.”
Viktor asked, “The pepper is?”
“Yes. It’d taste good on anything.”
“I see,” Viktor replied, though he didn’t sound like he understood.
Scarlett knew he couldn’t taste properly, but she didn’t know to what extent. She had learned from Isaac how hard blindness was, but not tasting—she couldn’t truly imagine.
Before, she hadn’t dared ask, afraid of hurting him. But now, she decided to.
“Can you taste pepper at all?”
“Yes.”
“To what degree?”
“Only enough to think, ‘Ah, that must be what you meant.’”
Viktor answered, then ate another bite of trout.
Scarlett stared for a moment, then quickly returned to her food, feeling she might be rude.
“Has it always been like that since you were little?”
“I’m not exactly sure.”
“…”
Sensing he didn’t want to talk more, she stayed quiet. But then Viktor, perhaps worried she felt hurt by his vagueness, added,
“I don’t think it was like that until around five years old.”
“Really?”
“One day, my mother’s strict discipline suffocated me, so I sneaked out to play. When I came back, I was starving, so I devoured my meal. My mother was quite startled.”
He paused, recalling, then smiled faintly.
“Maybe it’s psychological.”
He didn’t continue, but Scarlett’s expression darkened. She only nodded.
“I see.”
They continued eating, until Scarlett suddenly stood.
Carrying her plate, she moved beside him, tasted some vegetables, and said,
“Bitter.”
“….”
Sitting down, Viktor looked up only slightly to meet her gaze as Scarlett cut a piece of trout and held it out to him.
“Try it.”
He stared, then clasped her hand holding the spoon and pulled it toward himself, taking the bite.
Scarlett, stunned—along with the servers nearby—watched in silence. Viktor calmly chewed and swallowed, still with his usual sharp, cold look. Yet Scarlett felt something different in his gaze.
She then tried to put a peppery piece on his plate, but Viktor held her hand again, making her feed him directly.
“…Does it taste different?” she asked, pretending calm.
Viktor smirked slightly.
“Not really.”
From then on, realizing he would just hold her again, she kept feeding him directly. This time, he smiled while accepting it and finally said,
“You don’t need to feed me anymore.”
“Okay.”
Scarlett nodded, then reached for another fish dish—flounder with grape sauce. She cut it and served him.
“Different fish. Different texture, different flavor. And… oh, this one’s really good.”
She also brought baked sea bream with breadcrumbs. Three kinds of fish on one table—an extravagant banquet.
For once, Viktor didn’t refuse the food she offered. The meal stretched on, but neither noticed time passing.
Near the end, Viktor asked,
“Are you doing all this just to hear me say I won’t go to Bestina?”
“That’s part of it. But it also bothers me that there’s so much good food you can’t taste.”
“It doesn’t interfere with life.”
“How can it not? Eating is such a joy.”
Scarlett spoke as if teaching a child to read, trying to teach him taste. Then, frustrated, she grabbed his arm and pulled him up. She led him to the sideboard holding cleared dishes.
After inspecting the food, still dissatisfied, she headed for the kitchen.
Viktor found it deeply improper for someone to leave the table mid-dinner. If he had ever done that as a child, what punishment would have followed?
Yet because Scarlett strode ahead so naturally, he found himself following.
Scarlett peeked at the dishes in progress. Viktor, who had never in his life set foot in the kitchen, stopped at the door.
The chef shouted at her,
“Miss Scarlett! I told you you mustn’t just walk into the kitchen—it’s dangerous!”
“I know.”
“There are knives and flames! Why are you here?”
Ignoring his scolding, Scarlett slipped a cooling chocolate puff into a basket.
Polly, a kitchen maid, protested,
“You can’t eat dessert first!”
“I’ll eat the other food too.”
Scarlett whispered conspiratorially, grabbed the basket, and slipped out the door. She hurried away before the chef could catch her and held the basket out to Viktor.
“I stole it.”
“I don’t see why you call it stealing when it was prepared for us anyway.”
“It’s just a bit of scolding, that’s all.”
She took one first, biting into it. The cold air had hardened the outer chocolate, but inside, the warm filling was still molten.
“Delicious.”
“….”
“Should I eat it all myself?”
When she offered the basket again, Viktor took one. He ate half in one bite, then smiled.
“Tasty.”
“Right?”
He still couldn’t fully sense the sweetness, but he felt a taste of freedom.
They returned to the dining room, only for the chef to appear, scolding,
“You can’t eat dessert before finishing the meal! Understood?”
Scarlett only smiled and nodded. Seeing her laugh, Viktor turned his head slightly and chuckled. This dinner, so far from his original plan, wasn’t bad at all.
