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“……What was my expression like?”
The man only let out a small smirk without answering.
“Keep playing.”
Instead, he commanded in a tone that was nothing short of gentle. It was a natural demeanor for a man who had spent his entire life giving orders.
“If it’s not too much trouble.”
There was a sense of consideration in his added words that didn't quite suit him. He seemed conscious of Rose's wrist.
She could have refused.
She had rejected almost every such request until now.
But for some reason, she felt like she could play a bit more right now.
If she played slightly slower, it might not be too much of a strain.
Rose began to play slowly from where she had stopped. It was a section that should have been played like a storm, but inevitably, the momentum grew somewhat weaker.
By the time the climax ended, she felt a slight stinging in her fingers, but Rose ignored it and continued playing.
As the lyrical melody from the beginning repeated, it became a bit easier, but she couldn't help feeling a bit depressed as she recalled how she played before her hands started hurting.
Unable to shake off the pressure, Rose eventually began to play the melody with only her left hand during the final section.
It was then. A cold touch brushed against her right wrist.
“Does it hurt a lot?”
His index and middle fingers applied a bit of pressure as they rubbed Rose's wrist. Startled by the sudden contact, Rose stopped playing the piano and looked at him.
“……No. It’s not that serious.”
He was now leaning his upper body in, massaging Rose's wrist with subtle pressure.
Due to the unhesitating skinship, Rose became conscious of her own breathing. Was this the right way to breathe?
“Ah.”
Rose let out a short moan at the sensation that felt both refreshing and painful. Simultaneously, his eyes narrowed as he continued to observe her reaction.
“It really doesn't hurt. I was just surprised.”
“Then don't make that face.”
What on earth was her expression that this man kept giving her such commands?
“What do you mean by….”
“You're doing it right now. Looking like you're about to cry.”
It was absurd.
Rose was the type of person who rarely shed a single tear.
“Is it so wrong for a person to cry?”
The only reason she asked this was that she couldn't think straight at the moment.
Because he was touching her so casually, Rose didn't even have the mental space to consider what words were coming out of her own mouth.
“Because it's unsightly.”
Along with the cold response, the large hand that had been massaging Rose's right hand moved up to her cheek.
A hand that was soft, contrary to its cold temperature, cupped her face.
The man, wearing an expression as if something displeased him, quietly brushed his thumb across the corner of Rose's eye.
She felt as if she could hear her own pulse ringing in her ears.
“You're still making that face.”
Just as she thought he was too close and held her breath from an inexplicable tension, Ray slowly lowered his head.
There was certainly a window of time to turn her face away from him. He had paused for a moment, as if giving her a chance.
However, Rose couldn't do it, and when she finally closed her eyes, a soft sensation touched her lips.
At first, his lips touched her cautiously, as if offering consolation, but before long, they pushed deep inside. Her mind went hazy.
The moment Rose's mouth opened slightly, the man ruthlessly invaded that gap as if he had been waiting.
The persistence with which he thoroughly searched her tender interior left her breathless, and some part of her body became unbearably itchy.
The moment a small moan escaped Rose, the hand cupping her face tightened.
As if that were a signal, the kiss grew rougher, suffocating her. The composed man seemed to have vanished, greedily devouring Rose.
Not knowing what to do, Rose's left hand wandered through the air searching for something to hold onto, randomly pressing down on the piano keys.
As a series of dizzying and sharp dissonances echoed through the drawing room, the man finally stopped pushing her. He pulled away from her very slowly.
Still holding her chin, he gazed quietly into her eyes. Rose gasped for air within that blue gaze.
She thought there would be at least a hint of embarrassment. Just as Rose felt now.
However, far from embarrassment, there was not even surprise or regret in those eyes.
There was only a lingering, subtle heat.
“Why.”
Because her voice wouldn't come out properly, she couldn't even finish the question.
“……That's why you should have listened to me.”
As if giving a final warning, the man brushed his hand across her lips.
Just as Rose was trying to retrace what he meant in her dazed state, the sound of knocking on the drawing room door was heard.
“Minister, it's Spencer. It is time to depart.”
Only then, at the sound of the secretary's voice from outside, did Ray let go of Rose and straighten his upper body.
It was only after hearing the clear voice of another person that Rose could fully regain her senses.
Soon after, shame washed over her. The sunlight flooding the drawing room was so bright; in the middle of such a bright day…….
On the other hand, the man preparing to leave the drawing room didn't have a single fold out of place in his collar.
“Play some more before you come out.”
Leaving a nonchalant farewell as if nothing had happened, he departed.
Play some more? In this situation?
No, in truth, she was more absurd than the man. The fact that she didn't dislike this ridiculous event that had just occurred at all.
Rose weakly brushed her fingers over the keys.
The memory of randomly pressing the keys during the kiss flooded back to her, and subsequently, the unfamiliar and intense sensation that had shaken her entire body was revived.
She closed her eyes again.
Why on earth…….
He was a man who placed excessive trust in words.
What could a kiss, chosen by such a man instead of language, possibly mean?
Now, she felt as if she would think of that midday kiss every time she played this piece.
* * *
That night, Rose was anxious, wondering if he might come to her bedroom. She paced aimlessly around the empty room.
She couldn't tell if she hoped he would come or hoped he wouldn't. Even though it was her own heart, there was no way to know.
But in the end, Ray did not come that night.
What greeted Rose, who had spent the night wide awake, was the head butler seeking her out early in the morning.
Servants were moving the piano into a room located next to her bedroom. That room had been used by the Duchesses for generations to enjoy their hobbies, but Rose had hardly used it.
“The Master has commanded it. He said to move it here so that the Madam may play the piano more comfortably.”
Surprised by the unexpected turn of events, Rose glanced at the piano disappearing into the room.
“And he suggested you call a doctor for an examination. He mentioned your wrist is uncomfortable?”
“Ah, it's not that severe, but.”
“Just in case, please receive one. Dr. Halo will visit this afternoon.”
Rose nodded silently.
Suddenly, she remembered Ray rubbing her wrist so casually.
Not knowing what to do with the provocative memories that surfaced at all hours, Rose could only let out a sigh.
After the head butler and servants left, Rose brushed her hand over the piano that had come to her in the room where she was left alone. It felt almost like a gift.
“I like it, the sound of your piano.”
That voice, which felt like a lie, still seemed to tickle her ears.
A man who asked why art was necessary, who asked such a question and then said he liked the sound of her piano.
To hear the words she had longed for most from a person she had never expected—it felt incredibly strange. There was no way her performance had been that moving.
Because her piano sound was now nothing but tattered.
Did he really like that sound?
After contemplating for a long while, Rose sat on the piano stool. Then, she placed her hands on the keys.
* * *
Sitting in the study, Ray read the documents brought by the lawyer.
[I have prepared the items you mentioned previously in a simple manner. You said you were thinking of around April of next year for the timing? I believe we can develop this draft further depending on the situation at that time.]
These were the divorce papers he had instructed the family lawyer to prepare about a month ago.
The documents brought by the old man, who was famous for being tight-lipped and had handled the affairs of the Crawfords for generations, restored Ray's sense of reality.
The word 'divorce' written in the documents seemed to mock him for having recklessly kissed the woman in front of the piano.
Why did he do such a thing? Why.
Sitting in the study, Ray looked back at his own incomprehensible behavior.
Most things were quickly organized and concluded once he thought about them.
But when it came to that woman, his thoughts slowed down, he couldn't understand, and he felt frustrated.
One thing was certain. He wanted to erase that damn expression from the woman's face.
A woman whose smiles were exceedingly short, but whose melancholy was long.
Hadn't he ended up staring at her like a madman, trying to find a trace of that smile? However, the mirage-like smile never returned.
At least after the kiss, Rose no longer wore an expression as if she were about to cry. That fact gave a semblance of satisfaction to him, who had been suffering from an unknown thirst.
Recalling that day, feeling a tightness return to his lower body, Ray let out a short laugh and lit a cigarette.
Not knowing what he might do if he went to that woman's bedroom, he had been smoking cigarettes continuously for several days.
He knew very well that in the drawing room, he had come dangerously close to completely losing his reason.
He was in a state where it wouldn't have been surprising if he had knocked the woman over and done the deed in the midday drawing room.
Crazy bastard.
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