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Yevgenia could not hide her embarrassment at her father’s grumpy remark.
She lightly slapped her father’s forearm, trying to play it off with a joke.
“Oh, Father! Why are you jumping so far ahead? I was just speaking figuratively!”
Looking closer, her father’s face was flushed; it seemed he had more than just a drink or two.
Since she had never once shared a drink with her father in her life, she didn’t know his tolerance, but he was definitely drunk.
Unlike his usual self—so quiet that one wondered if he was even breathing—his breath was now heavy and wheezing.
His words were so blunt that they flustered even Yevgenia, who had spent countless hours running simulations in her head to prepare for this.
Even his attire was somewhat disheveled.
These were sights never seen in her father, a perfectionist to such an extent that rumors circulated calling him a ghost who only handled administration in the shadows.
‘I’ve lived with him my whole life, and this is the first time I’ve seen him this undone...’
Perhaps that was why her guilt was further stirred.
To avoid becoming weak, to survive, and for House of Martyr to survive, she had vowed over and over that this was an absolute necessity.
Yet, for a moment, even Yevgenia’s hardened heart wavered.
Supporting him as she kept her arm linked with his until they reached the drawing room, Yevgenia gestured with her chin toward Anna.
Fortunately, it seemed the butler had informed her in advance, as the teapot on the table contained honey water instead of tea.
“Father, please sit down for a moment.”
“Alright...”
She carefully poured the honey water into two cups, discreetly gauging her father’s reaction.
In the midst of this, she didn’t forget to give Anna a secret thumbs-up to praise her quick thinking.
Holding the warm cup without even wetting her lips, she kept stealing glances at her father.
Noticing Yevgenia’s gaze, her father was the first to speak.
“Yevgenia.”
“Yes, Father.”
“...Zhenya.”
“...Yes, Father?”
Alternating between her name and her nickname, her father spoke with a voice that sounded like a sigh.
“...When on earth did you grow up so much?”
“...”
“Your mother... it feels like only yesterday that I sent Rose away...”
Whenever her mother was mentioned, Yevgenia unconsciously pressed her lips tight.
Her mother, whose health had deteriorated severely after giving birth to Yevgenia, passed away when Yevgenia was four years old.
Because she was so young, her memories of her mother remained blurred, as if covered by a thick fog.
However, she remembered clearly that her mother had given her a love so abundant it could be felt even beyond that fog.
‘Maybe the problem was that both Father and I received too much love from Mother.’
The father and daughter were accustomed to receiving but clumsy at giving.
Consequently, the atmosphere was so awkward it felt suffocating, but unable to disturb her father, who was deeply immersed in memories, Yevgenia could only let her eyes wander.
After a short while, her father broke the silence with a breath that smelled strongly of whisky.
“Zhenya, I made a promise to your mother.”
“I’m listening, Father.”
“If nothing else, I promised that I would strive to ensure you lived happily. With fingers that wouldn't even bend properly, that is how I promised.”
By now, her father’s voice had become considerably softer and moist.
Startled, she looked up to see her father’s chin trembling slightly.
He looked as if he were suppressing something.
“That fellow... he said he wished only for your happiness. I was angry the moment I heard those words.”
“...”
“When I heard that, your image flashed through my mind, and I realized that if someone asked if there was a moment where you looked happy, I wouldn't be able to give an answer.”
“Father...”
“I thought I had done my best to provide everything in abundance... but was that truly the best for you? No matter how much I thought about it, I couldn't feel certain that the answer was ‘yes.’”
Holding both her hands in his, her father spoke incessantly, looking as if he were delivering a confession.
Yevgenia, who had been listening silently, cautiously reached out.
The moment their four hands overlapped, her father could no longer hold back.
“Get married.”
“...What?”
Yevgenia’s eyes shook violently at the sudden mention of marriage.
She knew that when he was quite drunk, he tended to ramble incoherently, but a plot twist that jumped from her happiness straight to marriage was certainly hard to follow while sober.
Soon, her father released the grip and took Yevgenia’s hand firmly in his.
“That fellow has a quite well-trained body. If you start learning now, you'll be able to receive a knighthood by the time you inherit the title of Duke.”
“...What?”
“From tomorrow, your lessons will become much more difficult. To be honest, when you first said you wanted to receive succession lessons, I thought you were just being stubborn.”
It was quite recent that she had first expressed her desire for succession lessons.
It wasn't the ‘Yevgenia’ who intended to give everything to Raymond, but the current Yevgenia who had marched straight into her father’s office to demand them.
However, at the time, neither her father, nor Raymond, nor even Anna believed these lessons would last long.
‘They probably thought that whether Raymond gave in first or I did... the moment one of us broke our stubbornness, I would give up the lessons and focus on wedding preparations.’
Of course, Yevgenia had as much intention of doing that as Raymond had a conscience.
Rather, she had been dissatisfied that the intensity of the succession lessons wasn't increased for her, despite her late start.
And yet, it could change this easily...
Looking at the stunned Yevgenia with warm eyes, her father asked.
“This is the minimum condition I am setting. Can you do it?”
A tender voice from her father that she had never heard in her entire life.
The words it conveyed were—
“So, Father, right now...”
“I shall send a letter to the Larsen Ducal Family tomorrow. Telling them that I support Young Noble Raymond’s ‘true’ love.”
For the first time in her life, she experienced how extreme joy could leave one speechless.
In her heart, she wanted to scream with joy and throw her arms around her father, but in reality, not even a gasp escaped her.
For a long time, she simply hugged her father tightly, her mouth agape in silence.
Finally finding her voice, Yevgenia cried out.
“Father, thank you for believing in me. I will truly live happily!”
“...Yes, that is enough.”
Affection was felt in the awkward but careful way he patted her shoulder.
Ever since recalling the original plot, she had been terrified that every choice and every single word might lead her to ruin.
Nevertheless, believing that she was the only one who could change this desperate fate, she had wrung her brain for a solution.
Gaining a great partner like Yulan in the process was certainly a stroke of luck, but she had never been fully at ease.
But finally, that march of anxiety—short if you will, long if you prefer—had come to an end.
As long as she severed her ties with the protagonists, there was truly nothing left for Yevgenia to fear.
She tried to control the corners of her mouth, which kept twitching upward, but it didn't work.
Inevitably, she had to see her father off with a face that kept leaking small chuckles.
Perhaps because he had rested while drinking the honey water, her father’s gait was as steady as usual.
“Yevgenia.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Zhenya.”
“...Yes, Father.”
He was just one step away from the hallway, in front of the wide-open drawing room door.
Looking at Yevgenia just as he had when he first entered, calling her name and nickname repeatedly, her father let out a short sigh.
Then, with a cautious hand, he stroked Yevgenia’s cheek and whispered softly.
“I do not believe in things like the divine.”
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