Chapter 20

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 20

Chapter Title: Tea Time with the Count (2)

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The frame captured the Bellunita couple and their happy little family of three. In the middle, there was even a photo of young Vincent.

Tsking at the sight of the cute child beaming so brightly, she muttered,

"How on earth did he end up like that? Such a shame. What a pity."

They say people can change in an instant. The young Vincent in that frame probably never imagined he'd lose his sight and be confined to his room.

She gave the annex a quick once-over before stepping out the back door and taking a leisurely stroll through the garden. Tucked behind the grandest, most ornate mansion, the annex still had its own garden. A small one visible right outside the back door, and a larger one if you circled around to the front.

It was her first time in the garden. The well-manicured trees and flowers looked so fresh and vibrant just to behold. Even the weeds underfoot seemed tended to, making everything beautifully pristine. She could feel the gardeners' devoted care in every detail.

The weather was perfect today.

Too perfect to waste indoors.

[How about a tea time in the garden, now that the weather's so nice?]

After returning from her garden walk, she read the letter written in golden script and grinned ear to ear. This was it!

"How about tea time in the garden today?"

She suggested it to him at lunch. But Vincent immediately scowled.

"What nonsense is that?"

She'd thought it was a great idea, but apparently not to him. Still, the weather truly was splendid—rarely did the sun peek through the clouds like this, with warm air drifting lazily about. Staying cooped up on a day like this was nothing short of toxic.

"They say it's good to get some fresh air now and then."

"No one can see."

"Just for a little bit? It should be fine."

Besides, neither in the annex nor the garden could she spot any other servants. The area seemed deliberately kept clear of people. The annex was isolated, and the garden appeared off-limits to staff. No risk of anyone spotting them.

"How am I supposed to get there?"

"I'll carry you!"

Her enthusiastic declaration only twisted his face in displeasure. Ignoring it, she helped him into his outdoor clothes. She'd prepared them once before, so they were easy to find. He resisted, of course, but today she was determined to get him into the garden.

Each step was agonizingly hard. She gritted her teeth and poured strength into her legs.

"You'll collapse before we get there."

"I-I'll get you there just fine."

Even her voice trembled as she spoke. Gripping his slippery arms tight, she took another step. A sigh came from behind her.

"You're already failing me enough. Your legs are dragging."

She was carrying him piggyback, her waist bent halfway. His long legs—far longer than hers—dragged across the floor, naturally. His body overwhelmed her back and then some. And he was heavier than he looked. This was unavoidable.

Hauling him on her back came with countless hardships. She'd underestimated how wiry he was.

"Turn back to the room now."

"N-No way... Huff. Even if it's un... comfortable... Huff... just bear with it... a little longer."

Despite his protests, she stubbornly pressed on. She had to get him outside. She could have supported him instead, but fearing he'd dig in his heels, she opted for the piggyback. Clutching his limp arms firmly, she stepped forward with all her might.

Bracing against the weight pressing down from above, she trudged onward and finally reached the garden. Her whole body was drenched in sweat by then, but sitting him in the garden chair filled her with pride. She beamed, wiping the sweat from her face.

A gentle breeze rustled his golden hair. His face turned with the wind.

"Where is this?"

"The garden behind the annex. I didn't want to go too far, and there's a table here perfect for sitting and enjoying tea. No servants seem to pass through either."

That's why it was a bit unkempt, though she'd tidied it up roughly. She'd often noticed the table from the window. It sat alone in the back garden, which always struck her as odd—turns out it was for moments like this. No one passed by the annex's rear, so the area was deserted.

He asked no more. He simply felt the breeze. Seeing his face relax a touch, she realized he didn't entirely hate it. She'd braced for him to demand they return immediately, but this was a relief.

Smiling contentedly, she unpacked her pre-prepared items onto the table one by one. Then she guided his hand to the teacup handle and poured steaming black tea inside. It was the same blend he'd enjoyed last time.

He really did love Novelle black tea; the leaves she'd gifted him had run out quickly. When she asked the golden script where to buy more, three fresh tins arrived.

[Let me know if you need more.]

Lately, she'd come to think the golden script came from a truly kind soul. She had to write back a proper thank-you.

"Delicious."

"It's the same as last time."

"I know. The aftertaste is different."

He sipped his tea looking utterly at ease. He really loves it. Thanks to that, she'd been brewing it for him often lately. Especially handy for soothing him when he started getting prickly.

"Shall I read to you from a book today?"

"Another dull one, I bet."

"No, it's an adventure novel. I heard... Chris likes them. I mean, you do."

She nearly mentioned Ethan but caught herself. That name was taboo with him right now, for some reason. She pulled the book from her side and sat in the opposite chair.

She opened the book, cleared her throat, and began reading slowly, lips moving deliberately.

Slow pace, giving him time to visualize. Clear pronunciation, steady breaths. Recalling Vincent's past critiques, she read on.

Her reading voice had grown smoother than before—satisfying, even to her own ears. And notably, no corrections came from Vincent this time. She was inwardly thrilled about that when...

"What do you look like?"

The unexpected question burst from him. She stopped reading and looked up. He'd set his cup down and was facing her. Meeting those emerald eyes left her mind blank for a moment, delaying her response.

She never imagined he'd ask her something like that.

"Wh-Why do you want to know?"

"Because I'm curious. I want to know what that brazen face of yours looks like."

"I'll read the next sentence now."

Ignoring him, she lowered her eyes back to the book, hoping to change the subject.

But suddenly, long fingertips brushed her bangs. Barely a touch—so faint it hardly counted as contact. Yet she startled as if he'd grabbed her face, jumping to her feet.

The chair toppled behind her with a clatter. She barely steadied the wobbling table from her sudden movement. The book tumbled to the ground. Vincent's hand hovered in midair, his eyes wide in surprise.

The wind whooshed fiercely.

"Ah, um... S-Sorry. You touched my face so suddenly..."

She steadied the table, righted the chair, and picked up the fallen book, placing it back.

By then, his face had calmed.

"Why jump like that? I just said I wanted to know what you look like."

"Then why touch my face?"

"Can't see it, so I have to feel."

She glanced at him from her chair. He couldn't see. He couldn't see her. Unless someone told him, he'd never know what she looked like. And from him asking now, no one had.

"So? What do you look like?"

"Average."

"Details."

She couldn't bring herself to say it was the kind of face people pointed at. Biting her lip, she pondered how to deflect.

"What. Do. You. Look. Like."

"I'll tell you later. Let's finish the book first."

"Hiding it just makes me more curious."

"..."

But it didn't work. His fingers twitched as if reaching out again. She watched anxiously.

"Sh-Short stature."

"I know that. Something else."

"...Hair reaches my chest."

"Past?"

"No, not quite... I trimmed it a bit recently."

She hadn't checked a mirror much, but it had grown long enough to get in the way. A few days ago, she'd cut it to just above her chest.

Truth be told, long hair was a hassle. Unkempt ends frizzed out, and the back grew uselessly long. It got in the way while working, so she tied it back. Still, she refused to cut it short—that was her last shred of pride. If even her hair shortened, she'd have nothing womanly left.

"Curly? Straight hair or wavy?"

"A... little wavy."

"Hm—"

With a short hum, he pondered briefly, then reached out again. Her body tensed, fearing those fingers aimed for her face.

But they didn't. Sweeping through the air as if searching, his hand gently touched her hair instead.

He grasped the wavy ends and toyed with them.

"It is. The tips curl."

"..."

He tapped the upward-curled strands with his thumb, chuckling softly. She watched quietly as he playfully fiddled with her hair ends.

"And?"

"And... and... What exactly are you curious about?"

"Everything. Describe it all in detail."

Give me pieces to imagine. That's what he was demanding.

She worked her mouth but couldn't spit it out easily. She'd never once described her appearance aloud. No desire to, and it wasn't worth describing anyway.

"Slender build?"

Yes, so skinny it's ugly. She's gained some weight now, but before coming here, she grew up hearing she looked like a walking corpse.

"Average."

"Eyes big?"

"Fairly. As a kid, everyone said that's all you see—my eyes."

"Nose?"

"Well..."

Answering his rapid-fire questions, every response but hair length and eye size was a lie. Those lies piled up, forming a person. Laughably, it sketched Alicia.

Her little sister—far too pretty, unlike her.