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“Tell me. Who said what?”
His voice, sounding as if he were coaxing her, was so tender that it felt as though one could forget everything just by listening to it.
Just as she had always forgotten reality whenever he whispered to her in bed.
“It’s really nothing like that.”
But today, it wasn't so easy to forget.
“This place just reminded me of Bolton for a moment.”
Trapped in his embrace, she had no choice but to confess the truth. For if she didn't speak, he wouldn't let her go.
“Citrus flowers bloom around my house in March, too.”
Even after hearing her confession, Ray remained silent, continuing to hold her.
In the silence, Rose closed her eyes, trying to picture Bolton in her mind—a place she could no longer remember clearly.
“Once it’s all over.”
When Ray finally spoke after a long while, his voice was low.
“Once the general election is over, let’s go there once.”
He was doing something for her again.
Just as he had granted her permission to smoke, to play the piano, and to compose.
How long could she endure this—this position of constantly receiving, and herself?
“Promise me.”
He spoke once more, as if urging her for an answer. The strength with which he held her tightened.
Eventually, Rose nodded, thinking to herself.
That right now, she wanted to be in the fresh scent of white flowers, or in the deep blue sea, rather than in this embrace.
* * *
The campaign ended successfully.
Public opinion, gauged through speeches and debates held in various regions, was favorable, and most of the newspaper articles were positive.
The progressive party, which had fallen into a disadvantage due to a failure to differentiate its policies, attacked Avery’s incompetence, but even that lost its effect once rumors spread that Ray Crawford had already been tapped as the next Minister of the Interior.
With the situation turning out this way, the Conservative Party could not easily refute the rumors of Crawford becoming the Minister of the Interior.
With a cigarette in his mouth, Ray slowly flipped through the newspaper.
The unexpected sight of his wife caught his eye. A fairly large photograph of Queen Catherine and Rose standing together was printed there.
<Her Majesty Queen Catherine and Mrs. Rose Crawford attending the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra's charity concert>
Beneath the photo was a short description and the fact that Rose had been a student of Marcel Garnier.
Since the campaign, Rose had been appearing in the newspapers from time to time.
The greatest evidence that the campaign had been a success was the growing positive interest Orturan showed toward Rose.
Since returning to Oakley, she had received many invitations; she declined those with strong commercial ties, such as department stores, and was slowly attending the rest.
<Mrs. Rose Crawford stated in an interview that she is very satisfied with her life in Orturan, sparing no praise for the advanced civilization and society of Orturan.>
Reading the article—which was undoubtedly needlessly exaggerated and overly designed to inspire patriotism—Ray closed the newspaper with a dissatisfied feeling.
It was a good result. It seemed that Rose had finally adapted.
However, from Peltz to Oakley, and even now that they were in Oakley, what continued to haunt him was her profoundly anxious back as she stood before the sea.
Recalling her red eyes, which clearly showed she had been crying, his chest tightened with a suffocating feeling once again.
What on earth did he have to do so that she wouldn't make that expression?
He had been so desperate to avoid seeing that look that he had even promised to take her to Bolton, but he doubted if that was truly a good method.
What if, after going there, she never returned to his side...?
At the sound of a knock on the door, Ray brushed aside his deep worries and extinguished his cigarette in the ashtray.
“Minister, I’ve brought them.”
Stamping the documents regarding the Dunsville development project brought by the secretary at the Crawford estate, Ray asked out of habit.
“And Mrs. Crawford?”
“She said she has a schedule at the newly established elementary school on Chamber Street.”
A "schedule" likely meant nothing more than having a few photos taken.
Since the school was built as part of a welfare policy, there was no particular reason for Rose to be needed, but seeing as she was invited, it seemed the school wanted photos that would generate buzz.
Having quickly finished the paperwork, Ray rose from his desk.
“Let’s head over there and wrap things up.”
These days, being so incredibly busy, it was hard to even see Rose's face unless he intentionally made time.
Moreover, when he returned to the estate at night, Rose was often already asleep. He couldn't tell if she was tired from the frequent events lately or if she was unwell.
Throughout the carriage ride to the elementary school in Chamber, Ray was consumed by thoughts of Rose.
Since returning to Oakley, she had never once shown any sign of longing for Bolton, yet he remained subtly anxious.
“Rose? She’s fine. From what I’ve seen lately, she seems completely adjusted.”
When he had asked if she was doing well at the estate, Beth had replied in a puzzled tone.
“If you ask me, it’s not Rose, but you who’s been strange lately, brother. For a while, I wondered why you looked so happy, but what’s with you now? Did something bad happen?”
He had no answer to such a blunt question.
Because his life was currently smooth, and everything was going well.
Yes, there was no problem.
Ray told himself as if making a vow, trying to stop the endless cycle of thoughts.
It was madness to be leisurely worrying about his wife's mood right before such a critical period.
By the time he arrived at the newly built elementary school, the sun was beginning to set behind the building.
The school was in a state of clutter, as the opening ceremony seemed to have already ended.
There were no reporters, and young students were running around frantically playing soccer on the field under a vermilion sky.
He could see the Minister of Welfare and the Mayor of Oakley conversing near the podium across the field, but the woman he was looking for was nowhere to be seen.
As Ray moved his head searching for his wife, a soccer ball covered in dirt slowly rolled to his feet.
“Please kick the ball!”
A young child, perhaps nine years old, ran up and shouted loudly.
Ray gave it a light kick, and the ball flew in a large arc toward the center of the field.
The children who received the ball began running again with noisy shouts, and dust flew in the air.
As Ray walked across the not-so-large field, a child who had been standing guard on the side stealthily approached him.
“Excuse me, sir. Our team is short one person; would you like to play with us? You kicked the ball really well earlier.”
Looking down at the bright-eyed child, Ray let out a small chuckle.
“I don't know. If you do one favor for me.”
“What is it?”
“I’m looking for a certain lady.”
“What does she look like?”
“She’s probably the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen.”
He had said it as a joke, but the child let out a gasp of realization.
“Oh, Mrs. Crawford? I heard her name is Rose.”
Eventually, Ray burst out laughing.
Was she so beautiful that even a little kid like this knew her?
Really.
“She went to see the girls with Teacher Mildred.”
Because one player kept talking to Ray, the game couldn't proceed, and the other little ones gradually crowded around him.
“Oh, it’s Minister Crawford!”
When the older students recognized him, the little boy standing next to him widened his eyes and looked up at him.
“You were the Minister? The one who defeated Cuetra?”
“Probably.”
As Ray walked across the field, greeting the crowding children one by one, the little boy began to follow him closely.
The students following behind were singing a military song with Ray's name inserted into it, having picked it up from somewhere. It hurt his ears a bit, but it was tolerable.
“Then are you her husband, Minister?”
“Yes.”
The boy murmured, “Wow.”
“She looks like an angel. I don't think she ever gets angry.”
Ray chuckled and ruffled the hair of the child, who didn't even reach his waist.
“Is that so? Actually, she has quite a personality.”
“Really? She even gave us chocolates.”
As the boy asked back, unable to believe it, Ray leaned in slightly.
“What’s your name, friend?”
“Charlie.”
“Let’s keep this as a secret between the two of us, Charlie.”
Charlie nodded with a solemn face, as if he had become a gentleman.
Thinking that the future of Orturan was bright, Ray patted the child's shoulder a few times encouragingly.
“Oh, there she is.”
The child's finger pointed toward the entrance of the building. Rose was coming out of the building with the Mayor's wife and a teacher.
As she walked, listening quietly to the teacher, Rose's gaze turned toward the field where Ray was.
For a brief moment, her eyes met Ray's, but she unnaturally averted her gaze.
His heart sank unpleasantly at the blatant avoidance.
“But, Minister.”
The little boy tugged at Ray's sleeve.
“I saw her secretly when she was alone in the classroom earlier.”
It was a voice whispering carefully, as if sharing a secret.
“She looked really sad.”
Rose still did not look at him. Ray continued to stare at her stubborn profile, as she looked only at the nameless teacher.
It felt as if his vague anxiety had finally taken a physical form.
“That too...”
Ray barely managed to speak.
“Let’s keep that as a secret between us, Charlie.”
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