Sister I am the Queen in This Life [Novel] Chapter 123

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 123
Chapter Title: A Stolen Past
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"Signor Ottavio!"

"Lady Isabella!"

Isabella and Ottavio, meeting in the dining room of the Bartolini estate, looked as if they were about to embrace. An onlooker might have mistaken them for lovers who hadn't seen each other in three months.

"My, it's truly been a while! I never expected to see you here!"

"Ottavio's sister invited me. I'd lost touch with Clemente, but we recently reconnected... She's a true friend, looking out for me in my time of need."

Isabella glanced at Clemente, her eyes crinkling into a smile. The recent wave of betrayals from her 'friends' had taught her a valuable lesson: no woman would stick by her side unless there was something in it for them. Before, young ladies had flocked to her like clouds, eager for the title of 'friend to the beautiful Isabella de Mare, San Carlo's finest prospect.' Now... it was cheap and dirty, but it was time to praise, acknowledge, and commend with her own lips. Hearing the unexpected compliment, Clemente's mood lifted slightly as she spoke to Ottavio.

"Ottavio, please, have a seat. Why did you come alone? Where's the friend you said was coming with you?"

"Ah, him. He's never on time. He'll show up eventually while we start eating."

At his words, Isabella's violet eyes sparkled. *Could it be...?* But she decided not to reveal her eagerness. In her loftier days, she could afford to show her feelings. Now... she was walking a tightrope on thin ice. Dignity and grace came only from one's demeanor. As she silently maintained a smile and dipped her fingertips into a washing bowl, a knock echoed through the dining room. *Knock, knock.*

"A guest has arrived."

The Bartolini family's *il domestico* escorted the guest into the dining room. The guest was none other than Count Cesare, wearing a velvet hat adorned with a kingfisher's tail feather, dressed in the latest fashion, and sporting deerskin gloves. He removed his hat, bent his knee, and brought it to his chest in an elegant greeting.

"Countess Bartolini. It is an honor to be invited."

***

Unbeknownst to anyone present, this meeting would become the very catalyst for the future affair between Count Cesare and Countess Bartolini.

"It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Count Cesare."

Cesare greeted the lady of the house respectfully, and Clemente de Bartolini bowed her head in return, timid as a Miniature Pinscher.

"I hear you are close with my brother... It is a pleasure to finally meet you."

Cesare and Ottavio had been inseparable, like childhood friends, for less than three years, while Clemente de Contarini had been living on the Bartolini estate ever since her marriage to the count four years ago. It was only recently that she had come to San Carlo, summoned by King Leo III's court decree.

"It feels rather late for me to be making my introductions. You are far more beautiful than I was led to believe."

"Oh, you flatter me..."

"Hahaha, Cesare, don't praise her so much. My sister might actually start believing she's pretty."

"Ottavio...!"

It was a rare experience for Isabella to be treated as if she were invisible. No one made an effort to include her in the conversation. Clemente did so out of selfishness, and Ottavio was too oblivious to notice. Count Cesare's attitude was ambiguous. It seemed he might be ignoring her deliberately, but he could also just be showing proper respect to the lady of the house. Had she followed her temper, she would have dragged Countess Bartolini into a back room and torn her to shreds, but Isabella took a deep breath and held back.

*I am a new Isabella. The pitiful, unfortunate Isabella who has lost her mother.*

Isabella smiled and came to Clemente's defense.

"Ottavio! Don't say such things. Clemente is quite lovely."

Isabella lowered her long, flaxen eyelashes and gave Clemente a warm, smiling gaze. Her perfect, porcelain-doll features shimmered brilliantly in the sunlight streaming through the window. She was dressed in half-mourning today. The white veil on her head, the white lace adorning her collar, and the single lily on her wrist were all permissible decorations for someone in half-mourning. Beneath, she wore a lustrous black satin dress. Adorned in black and white, Isabella looked impeccably pure and noble, and for such a woman to praise the beauty of Clemente—who was so clearly her inferior—created a peculiar atmosphere.

Clemente was the first to realize this. Her mood soured, but Isabella held her on a leash. Ignoring the bitter taste in her mouth, she replied with a gentle smile.

"...Don't say that... How ridiculous must I look..."

"Oh, but I'm sincere."

As Countess Bartolini was being sucked into an inescapable mire, Count Cesare cut into the conversation.

"The elder Lady de Mare. It has been a long time."

This was the response Isabella had been waiting for. In San Carlo's high society, a lady could not initiate a conversation unless addressed first by someone of higher station, or, if their station was equal, by a gentleman. She bloomed like a rose and smiled brightly in response to Cesare. But she couldn't hide her thorns.

"Count Cesare! I was beginning to think you'd forgotten me."

Cesare met her words with a smooth, honeyed compliment.

"How could anyone forget such beauty?"

From then on, it was Isabella's stage. With her sophisticated wit, she charmed Ottavio and overshadowed Clemente. But whether Count Cesare was impressed by this festival of flirtation was another matter entirely. His aquamarine eyes held nothing but a flicker of interest as he observed the luncheon with a contemplative gaze. Isabella was slowly growing impatient. The luncheon was drawing to a close. A sense of despair was even creeping in at the thought that once today's gathering ended, there was no guarantee she would see Cesare or Ottavio again.

"Ottavio, if you'll excuse me for a moment."

Count Cesare excused himself from the table. He was heading to the restroom. This was her chance for a private word. The moment Count Cesare stood and left the dining room, Isabella forgot her shame and called out.

"Sister! May I borrow the powder room for a moment?"

Leaving the dining room, Isabella forgot all decorum and hurried down the hall, catching up with Count Cesare midway.

"Count Cesare!"

Cesare turned slowly.

"The elder Lady de Mare. Where are you headed?"

"Where else? I'm going to the restroom as well."

Cesare grinned.

"I'm not familiar with the layout of this house myself, but."

He glanced toward the opposite end of the hallway from which Isabella had come running.

"The *il domestico* mentioned that the ladies' restroom is at the other end of the hall."

Count Cesare expected the girl's face to flush crimson. He looked down at Isabella with a sly smile. But Isabella de Mare's expression didn't change in the slightest as she replied.

"I see. Let's dispense with the excuses. I'd like a word with you, just the two of us."

At Isabella's bold request, the smile on Count Cesare's lips deepened. This was... interesting.

"What is it you wish to discuss, Lady de Mare?"

He made a show of checking the time.

"Unlike some, I was genuinely on my way to the restroom, so I can only spare a moment."

This time, even the thick-skinned Isabella couldn't help but blush. Had she been more cunning, she might have preempted him by suggesting he use the restroom first, but Isabella de Mare was still just a seventeen-year-old novice. In her past life, she had dominated San Carlo's high society and made a brilliant, phoenix-like comeback only after her husband's death, once she had become a mature woman in her mid-to-late twenties who had endured all manner of hardship. This clumsy, younger Isabella cut straight to the chase.

"I won't take long. I heard my sister rejected your invitation to be her partner at the upcoming royal ball."

The corners of Count Cesare's eyes twitched almost imperceptibly.

"And?"

"The historic author Vincitore Eremita, in his book *Diary of a Seducer*, preached the 'perfect method for seducing a woman'."

"Oh? I thought that was my area of expertise. It seems you are quite learned in the affairs of love and passion, Lady de Mare."

He meant to embarrass her, but Isabella remained unfazed and retorted immediately.

"It is merely dead knowledge learned from books. However, it seems your practical knowledge, Count Cesare, could benefit from the evidence-based principles of academia."

Cesare laughed to himself, thinking how the sisters were identical in wit, at least.

"How may I be of service?"

Isabella looked at Cesare with a challenging gaze. She pushed out her perfect lower lip in a slight pout and said.

"Vincitore Eremita said, 'If you wish to seduce an impregnable woman, seduce her sister.'"

"Oh?"

This was getting more and more amusing. Cesare found himself genuinely enjoying the back-and-forth with these sisters, who kept surprising him with lines he could never have predicted.

"Attend the royal ball with me, Count Cesare."

Isabella looked at him triumphantly and extended her hand. *Kiss the back of my hand as a sign of your agreement.*

When Cesare didn't immediately kiss her hand, she shook her left hand irritably.

"Count Cesare. Let me be blunt. The moment you enter the royal ball with me on your arm, my sister will turn to look at you, even if she has no interest."

"I suppose that's true."

"The fastest and surest way to increase an item's value is to introduce competition. It's all the better if someone you dislike might take it."

"And if I were to take you to the ball, Lady Isabella, such a situation would inevitably arise."

"Don't you want to see those green eyes burn with jealousy and greed as they scan over you?"

He did. And honestly, knowing Ariadne's character—competitive and never one to back down from a challenge—it seemed likely that the scenario Isabella described would play out exactly as she said. Cesare readily agreed.

"I would like to see that, yes."

"Then."

Isabella de Mare smiled deeply. It was a sultry smile, unbefitting a seventeen-year-old girl.

"Kiss my hand."

It was a scene worthy of an oil painting. On a warm and mild San Carlo day, dazzling sunlight filled the marble corridor of the Bartolini estate. A beautiful young lady, fair as a blonde pixie, held out her left hand, demanding a kiss. Before her, a handsome young man with auburn hair stared down at it. The perfect moment would be complete when he bent down to press his lips to the back of her hand. But instead, Cesare reached out with his right hand and brushed Isabella's aside.

"And what's in it for me?"