Chapter 38
“It was the first time I’d ever tried to comfort someone.”
Claudio’s voice carried a low chuckle, and Marsha’s eyes lit with a clear, bright sparkle.
It was probably a tease, she thought—but there was no hint that he meant to needle her with guilt.
Not when he was looking at her with that kind of warmth.
He’s a kind man.
She had always known it.
Even back when she’d thought all that knightly chivalry nonsense was just him making trouble for himself, she’d known—if he weren’t kind, he wouldn’t have insisted on carrying her burdens for her.
He wouldn’t still be reflecting on a mistake he’d made.
“…Thank you,” Marsha murmured.
“For what?”
Arms crossed, he tilted his head.
Marsha pursed her lips in a small pout.
“For worrying about me.”
The faint curve of his lips, already drawn in a lazy arc, deepened into a satisfied smile.
“That’s nicer to hear than an apology.”
“You still have to apologize if you’ve done something wrong.”
“Having nightmares counts as doing something wrong? Is that what they teach people here?”
He gave a quiet, amused laugh.
“Just think of it this way—you’re lucky. It’s not every day you get someone like me to worry about you.”
On any other day, she might have thought it was just him bragging in the most irritating way possible.
But not today.
As she stood there quietly, watching him, Claudio jerked his chin toward the kitchen.
“Don’t just stand there—come taste this. I tried making it the way you usually do, but I’m not sure I got it right.”
Marsha’s eyes widened.
“You… made breakfast?”
“Why the shock? Was the kitchen off-limits or something?”
“No, that’s not it… I just mean—you could’ve waited until I woke up.”
“I was too hungry for that.”
“You could have woken me.”
“And have you play servant for me? You’re not my maid.”
When she made to step toward the kitchen, he reached out, stopping her with a light touch, then tapped the table.
Awkwardly, as if she were sitting at a stranger’s place, she took a seat.
I don’t even have an appetite…
Honestly, she wanted to head straight to the market.
But it was the first time he’d ever cooked for her.
She couldn’t turn him down.
She’d just take a few bites, she told herself…
“Here.”
Claudio moved with quick, practiced ease, setting before her a steaming bowl of deep-red vegetable stew.
It had smelled good from a distance, but up close the fragrance was even more enticing.
It actually looks… delicious.
Only, there was one small problem.
“That’s a lot…”
It wasn’t as much as what sat in front of him, but it was easily twice what she normally ate.
“You’ve looked half-starved for days, like you’ve been out hunting bears nonstop.”
Me?
Marsha blinked at him and touched her cheek in confusion.
“So eat. Slowly, if you have to, you can finish it.”
She hesitated, then nodded.
It was something he’d made for her out of genuine concern.
I’ll give it my best.
Even if it looked better than it tasted, she’d see the bowl clean.
With that resolve, she scooped up a spoonful, brimming with chunks of vegetables, and brought it to her lips.
Oh?
Her eyes went wide as coins, and Claudio leaned in slightly.
“What? Is it bad?”
“No… It’s amazing…”
She covered her mouth, speaking the truth without thinking.
The taste alone was enough to awaken her appetite.
How had he done this?
He must’ve used the same ingredients she did…
“Really? First time I’ve ever made it. Good to know it’s a success.”
“First time?”
“What—does it show I grew up spoiled?”
He gave a short, quiet laugh.
“No, it’s just… I can’t believe it’s your first time when it’s this good.”
Her grandmother, who’d taught her to cook, could throw ingredients together without measuring and still produce the same perfect taste every time.
When Marsha had asked how, the only answer she’d ever gotten was, “Just put in what feels right.” It had taken years of effort—and plenty of her grandmother’s sharp, loving critiques—for Masha to get anywhere close. And yet, here he was…
This man… with just one attempt, without ever properly learning, made such a perfect stew.
Was that even possible?
“It’s much better than what I make,” Marsha said, a wry smile touching her lips as old memories of being scolded came back to her.
He lowered his gaze, a faint chuckle slipping out.
“I’m glad you like it. But I still think yours tastes better.”
She blinked.
“… You’re not just saying that because you don’t want to cook, are you?”
“…Is that what you really think?”
She hadn’t suspected anything until he said it.
But now that the idea was in her head… She narrowed her eyes at him.
“Injustice,” he replied lazily. “But now you’ve left me no choice—it seems I’ll have to take charge of our meals from now on.”
“That’s not necessary; I was only joking—”
“Then you shouldn’t have doubted me. would have prevented me from having to prove myself.
He gave a crooked smile, and just then, the breeze from the open window swept in, setting the curtains aflutter.
Sunlight, blocked until now, spilt over his face—glossy skin, thick lashes, that gleam of golden hair, the elegant bridge of his nose, the fine curve of his lips… Even in darkness, he was radiant, but now, bathed in light, he stole her breath.
… What’s wrong with me?
Her chest stirred, then the pulse thudded upward, filling her throat.
She knew he was handsome—she’d been flustered by his sudden gestures before—but this felt different.
It was… comfortable.
Like lying under soft blankets on a sunny day, after all work was done, catching up on long-lost sleep.
How could her heart pound like this and still feel at peace? How could his teasing tone carry comfort?
“You’re slowing down,” he said.
Her throat felt tight for some reason, and she cleared it before replying softly,
“You told me to eat slowly.”
“I didn’t think you’d take one bite and then just sit there.”
One eyebrow arched in mock annoyance.
“You eat far too little. That’s why you’re so frail.”
“I am not frail,” she said, frowning.
“That’s an illusion. If you weren’t frail, you wouldn’t be plagued by nightmares.”
Her lips pushed into a pout.
She’d admit she’d been dreaming more than usual lately, but to equate that with weakness?
“That has nothing to do with health.”
“Of course it does. If your strength runs low, your dreams turn restless.”
Marsha blinked, falling into thought.
Could that be true?
“Nightmares are like a hint of a cold,” he continued. “Eat well. Rest well. And stop giving weight to old dreams. They don’t deserve it.”
…Strange.
It was as if Claudio knew exactly what she’d dreamed… and exactly what was on her mind.
Impossible, of course.
Nightmares came in all shapes—being chased by wild animals, falling from the sky, running from ghosts.
Even if she’d cried in her sleep, most people would wake embarrassed, wondering why they’d cried at all, then sigh in relief that it was only a dream.
And forget.
So why did he seem so certain she was still caught in hers?
Has he… had nightmares like mine?
The kind you can’t help but revisit, because they’re steeped in guilt and painful memories?
…If so, who comforted him?
Just as he had comforted her, had anyone ever done the same for him?
Suddenly, in her mind’s eye, she saw a beautiful woman leaning over him, brushing his hair back with tender fingers, worry softening her face…
A man like this… of course, he could have a lover.
There was nothing strange about the thought—so why did her stomach twist as if she’d swallowed something foul?
Seriously, what’s wrong with me? Maybe I really am getting weak… like he said.
Even with the uneasy churn in her belly, Marsha stuck to her plan and kept eating, chewing each bite thoroughly so she wouldn’t get sick.
Claudio noticed her sudden, almost combative approach to the meal.
It puzzled him, but seeing her eat so well was pleasing enough that he let it pass without comment.
Time slipped by…
Wow. I’ve eaten half.
She felt an odd sense of accomplishment as she looked down at the steadily emptying bowl—when a sharp knock sounded at the front door.
Immediately, Berry’s face came to mind.
She was the only one who ever came to visit.
Too full to move easily, Marsha pushed herself up from her chair, but Claudio spoke first.
“I’ll get it.”
“It’s fine. It’s probably my friend—”
“No. It’s a man.”
“…What?”
Her eyes flew wide, like a startled rabbit’s.
“The footsteps. The way he knocked. Heavy.”
“You… can hear that?”
He gave a small nod, his gaze sharpening.
“Any man who’d have reason to come see you?”
“N-no…”
When she shook her head, he smiled—broad and satisfied for some reason—and rose to his feet.
“I’ll go.”
On a normal day, she would have wondered what that strange smile was about, but the sudden prospect of an unknown man at her door was enough to tighten every muscle in her body.
Claudio reached for the doorknob.
Marsha swallowed dryly.
Who could it be?
And then—an image surfaced, unbidden.
James, smiling that ominous, knowing smile.
…No. It can’t be.
Her heart thudded wildly in her chest, each beat edged with unease.
