3. Love Letter (17)
Upon returning to Christopher Manor, I found Vincent sitting squarely on the sofa in my room. We hadn't made any prior arrangements, so I had no idea when he had arrived. With his legs crossed, chin propped on one hand, and a book in the other, he looked entirely too comfortable. Anyone walking in would think it was his room. He visited so often that he now invaded my room with practiced ease; I stared at him in disbelief.
Noticing my arrival, he lifted his gaze from the book.
"Where did you go?"
"When did you get here?"
We both asked at the same time. I took off my coat, handed it to the maid, and sat on the sofa across from him. I could feel Vincent staring intently at me.
"I asked first."
"I went to meet him."
I tried to sound as nonchalant as possible. I reached out and picked up my teacup, which had already been prepared. In the meantime, the maid who had taken my coat returned with the teapot and poured the tea. Seeing the reddish-brown tea steaming hot, it seemed he hadn't arrived too long ago.
The maid said to call if I needed anything, then bowed and stepped out. I took a sip of my tea.
"Where's Ethan?"
"He said he had an appointment, so he left first."
On the way back to the mansion, Ethan had gotten out of the carriage first, saying he had a prior engagement. I'd heard that the kidnapping incident had led to him forming a good relationship with the Baron's household, and now they were apparently going into business together. From what I caught in passing, it sounded like quite a demanding endeavor.
I savored the tea, which carried a subtle, sweet fragrance. The taste seemed familiar—it was the Nobell black tea he always enjoyed drinking.
"When did you get here?"
I repeated my earlier question. Vincent, who had refixed his gaze on the book in the meantime, answered casually.
"Not long ago. I was bored waiting, so I borrowed one of your books."
"You can read whatever you like."
I glanced at the title of the book in his hand. So that's what he was reading. I usually enjoyed reading in the study, but I had recently developed a habit of bringing books to my room for a light read before falling asleep. As a result, the nightstand next to my bed was stacked high with books brought from the study.
However, the book he held was a bit different from the usual. It was a romance novel that Edria had lent me a few days ago, claiming it was a captivating read.
It didn't seem like the kind of content that would interest him, yet Vincent was surprisingly focused.
"Is it interesting?"
"More or less. It's readable."
That was unexpected. I knew he wasn't fond of reading love stories. I recalled the plot of the book he was reading. If I remembered correctly, it was about a prince from a neighboring kingdom who comes for a political marriage, only to fall in destined love with a princess other than his betrothed. Edria had highly recommended it; it was exactly her kind of book. But no matter how I looked at it, it wasn't the sort of story Vincent would enjoy.
I watched him as he read. He had asked where I went, but in truth, he already knew I was going to meet Lucas. Because I had told him. Yet, he still asked me where I had been.
But he didn't ask anything else after that.
"Aren't you going to ask how it went?"
"How was it."
He moved his lips without ever taking his eyes off the book. It felt like he wasn't actually curious, and was only asking because I brought it up, but I answered him anyway.
"It wasn't as bad as I expected. It was spacious, and well-kept."
I had imagined a spooky atmosphere since it was a cemetery, but the air was surprisingly fresh, and the surroundings were quite clean. I heard they had a dedicated caretaker maintaining the grounds.
Ethan had said there was a similar place in Belunita. He also told me that since I was marrying Vincent, I would be buried there when I died. But I didn't think that would be the case. Because the place where I belonged in death was somewhere else.
As if reading my mind, Ethan had dropped a cryptic remark.
'Well, we'll see.'
Could he possibly know something? I recalled Ethan shrugging his shoulders. But he was someone who frequently made odd remarks, so I decided not to read too much into it. I pulled my wandering thoughts back to the present.
"Have you ever been there?"
"Once, a long time ago."
So he had been there. But why only once?
"You haven't been back since?"
"No, I haven't."
"Why not?"
"Because I was scared."
Scared of what?
"That Lucas might break out of his coffin."
"Surely not."
What kind of joke was that? I waved my hand with a chuckle. But Vincent was dead serious.
"I was terrified that he would break out of the coffin and take my eyes again."
At those words, my laughter abruptly died. I stared at him intently. Vincent must have felt my gaze, but he didn't look up. He looked perfectly nonchalant, as if nothing had happened. He was so nonchalant that for a moment, I wondered if I had misheard him.
I carefully parted my lips.
"Does that scare you?"
"It does. Because it means going back to the days when I couldn't do anything."
"That would never happen."
"I know. Because Lucas is dead."
"……."
Heavy words spilled out unexpectedly. I fell silent again.
"But I still dream about Lucas."
I knew that the dreams he spoke of were by no means pleasant ones. He had said it calmly, but I couldn't accept it so calmly. I swallowed hard. Vincent lifted his gaze from the book and looked at my startled expression. For a brief moment, we quietly locked eyes. His vivid emerald eyes stared at me persistently, as if piercing through to see exactly what I was thinking.
"Do I seem like the bad guy?"
"……I've never thought that."
I shook my head. I truly had never thought that, not even once. Vincent gave me a bitter smile.
"You know what? Lucas was quite the bastard himself."
"Are you in a bad mood right now?"
I hadn't noticed when I first walked in, but looking at him now, his mood seemed far from good. Had my visit to see Lucas upset him? At my cautious question, Vincent gave a small shake of his head.
"No. I just realized an annoying truth."
As I looked at him as if asking, 'What truth?', Vincent closed his book. He then slumped back deeply against the sofa's backrest. His face contorted slightly.
"That I feel like I might never be able to beat Lucas."
My eyes widened. Why would he think that? As I was trying to figure out how such an incomprehensible statement had come about, Vincent continued speaking.
"I knew you would want to meet the sender of the letter."
"Pardon?"
At the sudden shift in topic, my complexly spinning thoughts came to a halt. But then, I soon realized what he was talking about. He was referring to the love letters Edria had sent.
"Whether you realized it or not, those letters must have made you think of Lucas."
"Is that why you told me not to go meet them?"
"Yes. Because it would be a problem if they were real love letters. I didn't know the sender was a woman, though."
Now it made sense. Why he had been so concerned about the letters. I had thought he disapproved simply because they were love letters, but that wasn't it. He had been thinking of someone else while looking at those letters.
I recalled Vincent's reaction when he heard I had become friends with Edria. Ethan had congratulated me, and Philip had looked surprised, but Vincent hadn't shown any reaction at all. It was the same on the carriage ride back after parting ways with Edria. I had thought he would certainly ask what had happened or scold me for getting swept up in it, so his indifferent reaction had felt strange.
"I know that whenever you look at me, you think of Lucas. Or more precisely, you think of him whenever you see me looking perfectly fine with my vision intact."
"……."
"You'll probably see me that way for the rest of your life."
"I……."
I couldn't say anything. Neither in agreement nor in denial. Because he was right. There were times when I did think of Lucas through him. I couldn't deny that I thought of Lucas whenever Vincent looked at me with those vivid emerald eyes, whenever he strode down a brightly lit street, or whenever I saw him still struggling with his poor night vision. I was chasing the afterimage of Lucas that remained in my heart through Vincent. But even though I had never voiced this out loud or let it show, he must have already noticed.
I clasped my hands together and hesitated.
"Even so, the person I am with right now is you."
"I know."
"Are you still not at ease, even though we're engaged?"
"It's not that."
Vincent cast his eyes downward.
"You'll continue to think of Lucas through me, and whatever those feelings are, you'll never forget them for the rest of your life. In the end, Lucas will live on in your heart forever. That's how Lucas imprinted himself on you. I just don't like that."
"……."
"It seems like things turned out exactly as Lucas wanted."
Vincent smiled bitterly. It felt as if someone was tightly gripping my throat. I hung my head. My hands resting on my knees tightened into fists. I hadn't known he felt this way. And since I was the very reason he harbored such thoughts, I couldn't even react.
Just then, a deep sigh broke the silence. When I raised my head, I saw Vincent had buried his face in his hands and slumped further back into the sofa. His golden hair splayed messily against the backrest. He dragged his hands down his face, exhaling a slightly ragged breath.
"I'm sorry. I said too much."
"No, it's fine."
I shook my head vigorously. I knew perfectly well that Vincent wasn't trying to accuse me. But even if he had, there was nothing I could say. I forced a smile, trying to ease the stiff atmosphere. I wanted to show him I was okay, but my face was too stiff to pull it off naturally. Even that, it seemed, didn't sit well with Vincent.
"Don't force yourself to smile."
I ultimately had to let the forced smile drop.
As I sat there stiffly, another sigh reached my ears.
"I was just jealous."
Vincent ran a hand through his hair. Then he furrowed his brow. It was the face of a man annoyed at his own behavior. I gazed at Vincent as he stared out the window. No more words came from him. It seemed he had decided to keep his mouth shut, realizing that saying more would only make things worse.
Even though we shared the same space, I felt like, at this moment, he was standing alone, looking somewhere else entirely. After a moment of hesitation, I opened my mouth.
"Vincent."
He threw me a sidelong glance. I made a gentle suggestion.
"Would you like to go somewhere with me sometime?"