3. Love Letter (8)
My face was buried deep in his shoulder. I couldn't breathe properly, and my chest felt tight. When I slightly twisted my body, he held me even tighter as if refusing to let go. Enveloped in his arms, I felt a little bewildered.
He whispered softly in my ear.
"Thank goodness. Really, thank goodness."
A body was trembling. It wasn't me; it was Vincent who was shaking. A heavy breath escaped from the lips pressed against my head. He kept muttering the words "thank goodness." Seeing him even more frightened than I was, I gently placed my hand on his back.
"I'm alright."
Then, as if to soothe him, I stroked his back.
"I was worried something terrible might have happened to you."
"I'm confident in my running."
I tried tossing a light joke to lighten the mood, but his rigid body wouldn't easily relax. I could feel the strength with which he pulled me even tighter, as if just holding me wasn't enough.
After remaining stiflingly confined in his embrace for a long time, Vincent let out a sigh of relief and finally pulled away. But when he saw my face, his brow furrowed again.
"Your face..."
Vincent reached out in alarm. However, his slightly trembling fingertips hesitated, never quite touching my face. It was a careful gesture, as if handling a fragile glass bottle. I rubbed my cheek, swollen from being struck by that man. I must have split my lip, for I tasted blood.
His gaze, having swept over my face, landed on my nape. Feeling his eyes linger there for an unusually long time, I subtly covered my nape with my hand. It was likely an ugly sight.
"It's nothing."
"I'm sorry."
I stared at him, wide-eyed at the sudden apology.
"What do you have to be sorry for? It's not like you did anything wrong."
"No, it's my fault. I'm sorry. I'm sorry..."
The face offering the apology contorted in anguish. Vincent covered his face with one hand and bowed his head. His wildly disheveled golden hair cast a dark shadow over his face.
"It's my fault."
A sense of self-reproach laced his voice. I watched Vincent in his misery. A question crossed my mind: *Why?*
"I shouldn't have fought with you. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have left you alone."
"No one knew this would happen."
"Everyone by my side ends up in danger."
"……."
"It's always been like this."
I was at a loss for words. It seemed Vincent had felt immense guilt while searching for my missing self. It was hard to simply attribute his reaction to shock. He acted as though this entire situation was his fault. Devoid of vitality and with slumped shoulders, he looked like an abandoned child.
"If I hadn't stubbornly insisted on keeping you by my side from the start, you wouldn't have had to go through this."
The conversation was heading in an odd direction. Flustered, I waved my hands, meaning to tell him not to think such nonsense. Seriously, why was his mind suddenly jumping to such conclusions? Had he thought I was dead?
It seemed this incident had poked at an old wound of his. I agonized over how to comfort him.
Just then, a rustling sound came from nearby. I startled and whipped my head toward the noise. A small bird poked its head out from between the bushes, bobbed its head, and fluttered away. Watching it with relief, I recalled the situation we were just in. This was no time for this.
"For now, we need to get moving. We don't know when the kidnappers might catch up."
"Are they nearby?"
"I'm not sure. While I was running... Just help me up first."
Seeing Vincent make a face as if he couldn't breathe at the word 'running,' I quickly changed my phrasing. I reached out my hand, urging him on.
Vincent looked me up and down before taking off his coat and draping it over my shoulders. After buttoning it up for me, he even removed his own shoes and placed them in front of my feet. My feet were stained black from running through the woods in nothing but stockings. There was no need for this. I hesitated, unable to put them on easily, but he carefully took my feet and personally slipped his shoes onto them one by one.
Once both my feet were clad in his shoes, Vincent took my hand and pulled us both up. I stared blankly down at my feet in Vincent's shoes. They were far too large for me. It felt like they would slip off at any moment, making it seem difficult to walk.
Vincent held my hand and took the lead. My eyes fell on his bare feet, treading over the dirty ground as if it were nothing. A little delayed, I took my own stumbling steps forward.
"I heard there's a chapel nearby. I was heading there."
"I know where it is."
Those were welcome words. Vincent turned toward the direction of the chapel. Only then did I take in his appearance. He was no longer the neat and tidy man I had seen at the party. His clothes were heavily wrinkled, with leaves clinging to them here and there. It was a testament to how desperately he had searched for me.
Still, we must have run quite a distance, as it wasn't long before the chapel came into view. I pushed the door, and thankfully, it opened. It seemed they left it unlocked for anyone to freely come and go. After taking one last look around, I followed him inside and closed the door.
The interior, permeated by a cold chill, was utterly silent and devoid of light. While I adjusted my coat, Vincent lit a candle sitting in a candelabra. Light gradually seeped into the dark chapel. Though a cool draft lingered, the candlelight made it feel at least a little warm.
Vincent set the candelabra in a suitable spot and slumped down onto the floor. I plopped down beside him.
"Where did you get that?"
He nodded toward the gun in my hand. I lifted it once and gave a small smile.
"I snatched it."
"That?"
"Yes. They just handed it right over."
At my playful remark, Vincent narrowed his eyes. He looked as if he thought it was absurd. He was right—it was an absurd thing to say. But I had just brushed it off because I didn't really want to explain the exact process in detail.
"How did you know to come find me?"
"The person who went for a walk in the garden didn't return even after the party ended."
"No, I meant how did you know I would be here?"
Vincent shot me a glance before continuing.
"I wanted to make up with you today."
It was a sudden statement, but I nodded in agreement. I had wanted to make up with him today, too.
"But halfway through the party, I couldn't see you anywhere. When I asked Ethan, he said you went for a walk in the garden. Yet, even after the party ended, you still hadn't returned, and the expressions on the Baron and Baroness's faces—the party hosts—looked off. When I asked around, they said their youngest son, who had gone back to his room alone, had vanished."
"So you assumed I had been kidnapped?"
"I had heard rumors about a suspicious person spotted nearby recently, so I leaned toward that possibility. Afterward, Ethan and I headed to the garden maze where you might have gone, and we found your hair accessory on the ground."
Only then did I feel my disheveled hair. I had been so frantic that I hadn't even noticed it had fallen out. Since it had been a long time since I attended a party, the maids had put a lot of effort into doing my hair beautifully since morning, so I felt a twinge of regret.
"After gauging the time the Baron's youngest son returned to his room and the time you went for your walk, it seemed highly likely the two of you had disappeared together. Ethan immediately dispatched men to search, and I set off on my own, tracking the route the kidnappers would have likely taken to find you."
"My brother must have been really worried."
"Yes. It was a situation no one could have anticipated."
Vincent dragged a hand down his face.
"So did I."
A heavy silence suddenly fell over us. I recalled Vincent's self-reproach from moments ago. The words, steeped so deeply in his wounds, made my brows furrow—not because I wondered why he was acting that way, but out of pity, and a growing sense of guilt.
"I'm truly alright. It was a situation no one could have predicted, and experiencing something like this doesn't make me regret choosing my current life."
"I wanted to treat you well."
At those words, I looked at Vincent again. His profile, flickering in the candlelight, looked fraught with anxiety.
"As much as you've suffered, I wanted to make you happy by my side."
"I am happy right now."
"I didn't want to put you in any more danger."
"But we still found each other again like this."
"If you die, it's all my fault. I'm the one who held onto you, and that's why you're living this life."
I wanted to press him, asking, *Just for that?* but Vincent's expression was dead serious. He was the one who had given me the choice, but I was the one who made it. I wouldn't have chosen it if I hadn't wanted it. My heart ached to know he harbored such feelings. I didn't want him taking responsibility for my choice.
But instead of arguing, I cupped his cheeks in both my hands. Since entering this place, he hadn't even been able to look at my face properly, so I turned his head toward me so he could see me. Only then did our eyes meet.
"Why do you keep doubting yourself like this?"
"……."
"As for me, I was glad to see you today. The party was quite enjoyable, too. And even though I was caught in such a sudden situation, while I was running, I thought to myself: I want to live."
"……."
"The fact that I now have a place to return to made me so incredibly happy."
Even while on the run, I had a destination to reach. I had people who would come to save me. That alone made me feel so incredibly secure. The reason I hadn't lost my cool, even after pulling such a dangerous stunt, was because I knew there was someone who would come looking for me.
I remembered that fact and smiled brightly.
"If this situation really is your fault, then I would be grateful to you for making me think this way."
Because he made me choose life over death, and gave me the power to choose. Someone might think, *That's all?* but to me, it was incredibly precious. He had stooped low and saved me from my past, where accepting death was a given. If I were still the person I was in the past, the moment I was kidnapped, I would have simply resigned myself to death.
The emerald eyes gazing at me wavered slightly. He wore a peculiar expression—as if he hadn't expected to hear such words, yet still looked overjoyed. Feeling the warmth of my hands cupping his cheeks, Vincent let out a deep exhale.
"Can I touch you?"
"You don't have to ask."
Even though it might seem tedious, he often asked like this whenever he wanted to touch me. In sudden situations like earlier, he would act without hesitation, but other times, he would ask for my consent even just to hold my hand.
"You don't like being touched out of nowhere."
I didn't know he remembered that. Knowing that Vincent remembered a passing reaction from so long ago left me with a peculiar feeling. I let out a soft chuckle.
"If it's you... it's alright."
*That is how it is for me, so I hope it can be the same for you.* At my words, Vincent reached out. The hand gently stroking my swollen cheek felt soft, yet tinged with sorrow.