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Rose began to wrap a bandage around his arm. Ray's gaze followed her diligently moving hands.
Even as he looked at the face of the wife everyone praised in unison, Ray didn't feel anything special, but her fingers suddenly caught his eye.
Her slender fingers were long compared to her small hands, and they were beautiful. Those fingers, which seemed too precious to be used for treating a wound, were busy securing the bandage.
Hands like those didn't seem to suit things like medicine and bandages.
Unconsciously, Ray imagined those fingers softly pressing down on piano keys.
And the wedding ring on her ring finger.
Ray suddenly realized that he was wearing an identical one on his own hand. What had initially felt like an uncomfortable and annoying shackle had, at some point, settled in without any sense of foreignness, as if it had always been there.
That naturalness, the fact that it didn't announce its presence at all, made him feel strangely unpleasant—the fact that he had grown accustomed to the ring's existence.
While his wound was being treated and covered, the woman's wrist had not yet regained its color. He felt a pressure to say something.
"……Once you get used to it, things like this won't happen anymore."
"Are you saying I'll be coming to your bedroom often enough to get used to it?"
The woman's face crumpled slightly as she gave the neatly wrapped bandage a final check.
Her expression and tone clearly showed that she was not welcoming the comment at all, but she did not say anything further.
Ray knew well that the previous version of her would have said something. She probably would have said something like, 'I don't know if it'll end with just a grabbed wrist the second time.'
But now, Rose acted as if she had no right to speak. She didn't even ask why he bothered coming here when they weren't even going to sleep together.
"Just in case, have a doctor look at it tomorrow."
Instead, Rose nonchalantly put the medical supplies back into the box. Putting the box on the nightstand, the woman walked to the left side of the bed, looking utterly indifferent.
"Turn off your side of the light."
As she pulled up the covers to lie down, Rose gave Ray one last instruction.
Ray, who had been sitting still on the sofa with an unreadable expression, only stood up and came to the bed after hearing those words.
After he lay down in silence and turned off the light, the bedroom became completely dark.
As the surroundings turned pitch black in an instant, the presence of the man breathing beside her became more conscious.
Rose closed her eyes, trying hard to ignore that heavy presence. It felt as though sleep would not come for a long time.
Even with her eyes closed, she thought of the man who had been like a stone—who hadn't let out a single groan or frowned even once while being treated.
The man who tried to treat himself with his left hand, wanting to keep such a wound hidden from the employees, acting as if none of this had happened.
How on earth…… does he live and breathe comfortably in a place like this?
Rose eventually sighed and turned her body away from the man.
Since coming to Orturan, she had felt like a fish without gills.
It was the first time breathing had felt so conscious and uncomfortable. She hated the gazes, and she hated the words she heard. It had become even worse after seeing her photo in the newspaper.
But how do these people live in a place like this, so nonchalantly?
Questions for which she found no answers continued to float through her mind.
* * *
Ray didn't sleep a wink that night.
The woman lying with her back to him seemed to be sleeping without changing her position once, as if it didn't matter whether he was there or not, but Ray remained awake all night like a soldier on guard.
Of all things.
Of all people, he had to show that side of himself to this woman.
During the day, every time he felt the presence of the bandage on his arm, the image of the fingers that treated the wound—and the image of Rose pinned beneath him, looking startled—invaded his mind.
An already exhausting day sank further. The feeling of having shown a weakness was not pleasant at all.
Aside from his time during the war, this was the first time he had been unable to sleep like this, so he wanted to return home early; unfortunately, there was a dinner appointment he had to attend with Rose.
Since Rose hadn't gone out at all after her volunteer work at the orphanage, he thought it was necessary for her to go out at least once. She had been living in the Crawford estate like an artificial flower, doing nothing but breathing.
Ambassador Antaka had been persistent, and since he seemed to have a fondness for Rose, Ray figured it wouldn't be bad to start her public activities by attending a gathering where the couple had personally invited them.
As he entered the embassy, Ray glanced at the wife he was escorting.
Perhaps Ray was the only one who hadn't slept, as Rose looked unfazed. That she seemed to have no energy or thoughts was nothing special, as she had been that way lately.
When they reached the Antaka Embassy, Ray silently tapped the corner of his wife's mouth. Only then did an awkward smile appear on Rose's lips.
"Ah, Duke Crawford. Mrs. Crawford! I've finally been able to host you for dinner!"
Ambassador Antaka and his wife greeted them with the characteristic exuberance of Antakans.
After exchanging polite greetings, Ray paused for a moment when he saw a man emerging from behind the ambassadorial couple.
"Ah, I don't know if Duke Crawford knows him. This is Mr. Marcel Garnier, the pianist currently most favored by His Majesty King Catherine."
Perhaps because the Ambassador was in a position where he could easily use being a foreigner as an excuse, he occasionally did things like this without prior notice—such as inviting another person to the dinner without saying a word.
Inviting a pianist to a dinner with politicians.
However, Ray shook hands with the strange man politely, without showing any displeasure. The blond man with handsome features appeared to be around the same age as Ray.
"You know Mrs. Crawford, don't you?"
The ambassador said with a beaming face.
At the unexpected words, Ray reflexively looked at Rose standing beside him, and he was momentarily speechless at the expression on her face.
The smile Ray had painstakingly helped her create had completely vanished. The woman was merely staring blankly at the pianist before her, her face shocked as if she had seen a ghost.
She must have been so surprised that her hand, which usually just rested on Ray's arm, was gripping it tightly.
"I heard she was a student you taught when Mr. Garnier stayed in Bolton!"
Ray quietly placed his hand over Rose's hand, who was standing frozen as if she had encountered an ex-lover. It was a signal for her to pull herself together.
"It's been a long time, Rose. Have you been well?"
The name of the wife, which was still unfamiliar to him, flowed from the man's lips with great naturalness and intimacy.
"Ah, I should call you Mrs. Crawford now, shouldn't I? It feels awkward."
The man's eyes curved like half-moons as he glanced at Ray and gave a playful smile. Ray wondered if artists were naturally prone to making such smiles.
"It's been a long time, Teacher."
Only then did a small-voiced reply drift from beside him, as if she had finally come to her senses.
Even as they finished their greetings and entered the embassy's dining hall, Rose still looked awkward.
Her attitude was certainly not that of someone meeting a welcomed teacher, and despite being told they had known each other for a long time, she didn't initiate a single word.
Marcel Garnier seemed equally cautious.
The most excited person was, ironically, Ambassador Antaka.
"Mr. Garnier is the pride of our Antaka. Isn't Mr. Garnier the Antakan closest to King Catherine? He has more power than I do, haha."
Only after hearing that did Ray remember who the man before him was.
He was the pianist people often mentioned. Something about selling out the Oakley Art Hall twice with solo performances.
The man Ray had thought was his peer turned out to be thirty-six, five years older than Ray. His face looked young for his age.
"Mr. Garnier mentioned that among the students he taught, Mrs. Crawford's skill was the most outstanding."
It seemed he had talked quite a bit about a woman who had become someone else's wife.
"I heard you studied under Mr. Garnier until you were fifteen."
As Ambassador Antaka looked toward the piano in the dining hall with great anticipation, Rose gave an awkward smile.
"……I'm not that skilled, so it's embarrassing."
"Even the virtue of modesty! Minister, you truly have a wonderful wife."
Ray knew how much this woman avoided—no, feared—the piano, but Ambassador Antaka, unaware of this, remained cheerful, completely failing to pick up on her indirect refusal.
"Really, if you were to play the piano, it would be such a picturesque sight."
When the ambassador's wife joined in with the typical Antakan fuss, the atmosphere became one where it was impossible to refuse. Rose looked at Ray with a troubled face.
Ray felt as if she were sending a distress signal.
Looking at that face, those desperate eyes, Ray almost told her that if she didn't want to play, she didn't have to.
Just as he was about to change the subject to help her avoid playing instead of refusing outright, Rose slowly rose from her chair.
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