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~Chapter 30~
“Hngh…”
A soft, tipsy sigh escaped Dahlia, tinged with alcohol. Her breath rolled over Etienne, saturating his senses, waking every dormant nerve.
He let his thumb linger on the delicate inside of her wrist, then let his hand glide slowly up her arm, pausing on her slender shoulder before letting go.
He looked up, frustrated by the curtain of hair that hid her face.
He brushed her hair aside—the strands whispered over his palm, tickling his skin—revealing her exposed, flushed face.
In that instant, a fierce and reckless urge rose in Etienne.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
“Damn it.”
He pulled Dahlia away and carefully set her on the table, watching the calm curve of her closed lashes as he took a shaky, grounding breath. It took him a moment to calm down.
“Ow… my head…”
“Lady Dahlia, you’re awake? Here, have a sip of this.”
Penny handed over a mug. Despite her churning stomach, the sweet warmth soothed her as she gulped it down.
“What happened?”
She frowned against the pain in her head. She remembered dinner, but when had she fallen asleep? She’d had wine—could she really have blacked out?
“Well…”
Penny looked uncomfortable, making Dahlia uneasy.
“What? Did I do something? Just spit it out!”
“You tried to ‘train your unruly husband’ by grabbing Lord Etienne’s hair and dragging him up and down the hallway.”
Dahlia went blank, stunned as if smacked with a hammer. She could vaguely remember the feeling of his hair tangled in her hand.
“So what about Etienne? Is he mad? He has to be, right? He didn’t threaten divorce, did he?”
“I’m not sure. After putting you to bed, he stood there for a long time looking like he was ready to wring your neck.”
“Ugh…”
Dahlia flopped back onto her bed. Her headache and queasy stomach were bad enough, but Penny’s words were worse.
Running wild with his hair in her fist… She imagined herself charging through the corridor like a woman possessed.
“Wait—was I holding a fork too?”
“…Yes. You had steak on it.”
“Damn it…”
Crushed by a monster hangover and flashes of memory, Dahlia pulled the blanket over her head.
And if that wasn’t enough, the ring was missing.
Nobody—neither Penny nor the other servants—had any clue where it went.
“Maybe someone picked it up… Honestly, who would return something that pricey? Ugh, I finally prepared a gift and this happens.”
She ruffled her hair in frustration.
“Oh, whatever. He probably wouldn’t have liked it anyway,” she muttered sourly.
“By the way, Lady Dahlia, the tailor is coming today. Should I move the appointment?”
It was the same tailor as last time.
She wanted to say yes, but the party was too close.
“No, it’s fine. I’ll nap a little longer. Wake me when Nathan arrives…”
She let her heavy eyelids fall shut.
She had no idea how long she slept before Penny gently shook her awake.
“Mmm…”
“Lady Dahlia, time to get up.”
“I’m up… really, I am…”
Eventually, she pulled herself together and wandered out to the parlor.
There, just like last time, was Nathan—the tailor—with brown hair, a half-mask, and that wary, alley-cat expression.
He gave her a quick look, but didn’t get up.
Penny glanced between them, then spoke.
“Show some respect to the princess.”
“No. She didn’t treat me with respect, so why should I?”
Clearly irritated about the wait.
Penny opened her mouth to scold him, but Dahlia cut in.
“Sorry, that was my fault. Did you have to wait long?”
“Is that supposed to be an apology?”
Nathan’s glare was sharp, his tone sharp.
“Nathan!” Penny snapped.
This kid really had no filter.
“It’s fine. Penny, why don’t you bring us some tea?”
Honestly, this was new—no one here ever treated her like this. Normally, status was everything.
Nathan was technically a noble—a baron’s youngest, if she recalled—but even that didn’t give him the right to speak so bluntly to a princess.
Still, Dahlia found it entertaining.
In her old life, she’d always been at the bottom. Now she was “the boss,” but that didn’t mean she liked the rigid class system.
Of course, if they were going to work together, Nathan needed to get with the program.
“Nathan, sorry I kept you waiting. It won’t happen again.”
He clearly hadn’t expected that. His eyes flickered, but his attitude stayed the same.
Dahlia hid a smile, leaning back in her chair.
“So, will you accept my apology, or keep acting like this?”
She snapped her fan against her palm. Nathan hesitated.
He knew he was over the line, but stayed stubbornly silent, looking almost childishly sulky.
Probably seventeen or so. Still in that wild, stubborn age—even in front of a princess.
There was something endearing about it. And Dahlia had always been soft on good-looking men.
Anyone designing at his age was clearly a prodigy.
She’d have to bring him over to her side.
He was talented, handsome. Personality? She’d handle that somehow.
She gave him a relaxed, unhurried look.
“If you’d rather not work with me, you can go. My time is far too precious to waste.”
She got up, moving slowly and deliberately.
In any negotiation, whoever wants it more is at a disadvantage.
She needed his talent—but he didn’t know it. Why show weakness?
He probably thought she was another bored rich lady. He’d just lost his store, after all.
She was the one with the power; he just hadn’t realized it yet.
She was almost at the door when Nathan called out,
“I have a condition.”
Yes, got him.
“What is it?” she asked, not even looking back.
She was every inch the powerful noblewoman.
“Let me use my real name.”
His name?
She recalled the previous mess—someone had impersonated him at his shop.
A masked prodigy… Now she was really interested.
She sat down, spreading her fan to partially cover her face—a subtle show of caution.
Nathan’s glare held steady, but he straightened up a little.
“Why?”
She leaned back, waiting.
Nathan hesitated, then took off his mask.
He was even better looking than she remembered.
Pale eyes, strong brows, a gentle nose and mouth—features that would only become more striking with time.
As she was thinking that, Nathan said in a low voice,
“This is my real face.”
He wasn’t boasting.
He raised his hand, covering one cheek.
A scar stretched from temple to cheekbone.
If only this world had lasers—or maybe magic.
“Even with this, you’d let me use my name?”
“What’s a scar got to do with your name?”
Nathan looked genuinely startled.
No, really—what did it matter?
“If you make beautiful dresses, that’s what counts. Your attitude is the bigger issue.”
Nathan stammered, “I—I’m the youngest son of a baron, but I’m basically disowned. It’s because of this scar! They say I killed my mother at birth. My nanny died within a week. People call me cursed. If I use my name, they’ll say my dresses are cursed. You’re okay with that?”
He looked burdened by the world.
He jumped up, voice tight,
“Yeah, people say I’m cursed. Maybe it’s true. But if I use my name, everyone will call my dresses cursed! Are you really okay with that?”
Dahlia just blinked.
“Cursed, blessed—whatever. If you help me make money, that’s all I care about. Scar or no scar, I don’t care if you eat through your nose.”
Nathan collapsed into his chair, looking defeated.
“…I eat with my mouth.”
“Even better. Means we can eat together, face to face.”
