Chapter 43
It had been barely two days since the night they reconciled when he returned to the café.
Ding.
At the familiar chime of the bell, Riena stepped out from the kitchen and froze at the sight of the man who entered. It wasn’t Sharon, whom she had sent out for groceries.
Golden hair and golden eyes glittered in the sunlight pouring through the doorway, as though they had absorbed every ray.
“Been a while.”
His tone was smooth, lazy, yet laced with playful mischief.
“We just saw each other the other day.”
“I meant—it’s been a while since I’ve seen Miss Riena the café waitress in an apron.”
It was nothing but a silly wordplay, something anyone could brush aside. Yet for some reason, Riena felt her cheeks grow warm. Avoiding the gaze nailed onto her, she asked awkwardly,
“I thought you were busy.”
“Mm.”
That was all he said.
One second, two, three, four—
And still nothing.
Her brows furrowed in disbelief. “That’s it?”
“What is?”
“Your answer to my question!”
Dante arched a brow as though he had no idea what she was fussing about. Busy but came anyway? Or no longer busy? His vague response only made her sigh.
“What if you had work and you came here instead?”
“You insisted I come.”
“What? I never did!”
Flustered, her voice rose, but he pressed a finger to his lips. Shh. Then his mouth curved, silently mouthing words she instantly read—Got caught, didn’t you?
Riena’s face flamed. He seemed all too amused.
“Black coffee, please, Miss Riena.”
Sharon returned not long after, arms full of oranges and jars of honey. The moment she spotted the duke by the window, her expression twisted in distaste.
…Was it instinctive aversion? Whatever it was, Riena chuckled awkwardly, embarrassed by Sharon’s visible recoil.
“Sharon, it’s hot outside, isn’t it? Thank you for your hard work.”
“Yes, it really is.”
Though she answered, Sharon’s sharp eyes never left the man at the window. Look at him—already rushing back the moment you reconcile. Tch. She clicked her tongue, shaking her head.
By the time Sharon looked again, Riena was already setting down a tray with coffee and freshly baked cookies. Sharon clicked her tongue once more.
“If it’s gonna be like this, why even fight in the first place?”
If only her mutter had reached Riena’s ears. But she was already walking away, tray in hand.
“Such heat today,” Sharon sighed.
At the table, Riena carefully placed down the tray, pouring fresh coffee into his cup and sliding the plate of cookies toward him. Dante raised a brow at them.
“A gesture of sincerity?”
“A return gift.”
“A gift?” His head tilted in curiosity.
“For treating my hand.”
“Ah.” His lips curved faintly. “So that’s what this is.”
“Go on, try one. They’re really good.”
“Said who? The same customers who told you the coffee was good?”
Her brow furrowed. He was teasing her, again, and enjoying it.
“Then don’t eat if you don’t believe me.”
Annoyed, she reached for the plate to pull it back.
“Taking it back after giving it—children don’t even do that, Miss Riena.”
He chuckled, catching her hand.
“Then why order coffee at all? Wouldn’t flower tea suit you better?”
“Coffee’s fine.”
Leisurely, he sipped. The warmth slid down his throat, and only afterward did he let out a quiet breath of relief. If he’d seen what he saw before swallowing, he might have choked.
Her gaze—wide, unblinking, fixed on him.
Setting the cup down, he smoothed his expression.
“Miss Riena, staring at it won’t make the coffee taste better.”
“…Huh?” She blinked, then flushed crimson.
“I wasn’t staring!”
This time, she lowered her voice to a sharp whisper.
“Denying it—that’s your tactic, isn’t it?”
He leaned closer, his own voice low.
“You can’t seem to take your eyes off me lately.”
“…What did you just say?”
“You’re looking so much it’s almost embarrassing.”
His lips curved slyly.
Riena’s jaw dropped. Was this man… always like this?
She searched her memories. Not the Grand Duke of Venachert —but Dante Venachert, the man himself.
Then—
Ding.
The bell rang.
“Oh—excuse me! A customer’s here.” Flustered, she grabbed the tray. “If the coffee isn’t good, just leave it.”
“Sit back down. Sharon’s here.”
“Stop saying nonsense!”
Frowning, she hurried off before Sharon could greet the guest. Every conversation with him felt like being swept away by a current she couldn’t control. Unexpected turns left her dizzy.
If only he’d irritated her—
Instead, his low laughter clung to her ears. The worst part was… she liked how it sounded.
He stayed for about an hour, leaning back to gaze out the window, nibbling at the cookies she made. But mostly, he watched her.
Her soft smiles as she greeted customers. The quiet voice she used to explain the menu. The crooked apron as she rushed about without noticing.
Every bit of her simple life—the kind of life he’d never seen a year ago.
Her once-pale face now flushed with warmth, always carrying a gentle smile. As if living as Riena Bronte in a small, uneventful town brought her more happiness than being Riena Venachert ever had.
This was the life she chose.
…And if I respect that choice—what remains for me?
Dante’s golden eyes darkened. His fingers tapped lightly on the table.
Riena Bronte, Riena Venachert, Riena… none of it belonged to him.
A sudden wave of displeasure twisted his lips.
In the three weeks he’d stayed away, he’d already discovered the truth: the thing that had disrupted decades of unchanging routine, the reason his thoughts kept scattering, was her.
Always bored, always detached—until now. His golden eyes were no longer languid; they brimmed with something else. Possession.
And he knew it. He knew the two possible answers to his turmoil. One had already been tested without his intention. That left only one path forward.
He drained the last of the coffee, its bitterness lingering on his tongue, and rose. Slowly, he approached where she stood cleaning the cups.
“Riena.”
He spoke the name she had chosen.
She looked up, startled. “You’re leaving already?”
“Mm. Now.”
For a fleeting moment, regret flickered in her wide, deer-like eyes. He caught it, every detail, and let his lips curl faintly.
“See you.”
He turned. But then—
“Ah, wait a moment!”
She rushed forward, holding out a small bundle wrapped in bright packaging. Cookies.
“Take these with you. Share them. Did you… try the ones earlier?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“As good as you said.”
Her face lit up. “I’m glad. There’s plenty inside—save one for yourself.”
Her smile was radiant. Yet Dante’s brows knit, his voice curt.
“The same?”
“…What?”
“I only get the same as everyone else?”
Her eyes widened, then dropped, flushing faintly.
“…It’s not the same.”
“I didn’t hear that.”
“…It’s not the same. You’re… a regular customer. I’ll always have some for you.”
A regular. That was her shield.
And if that’s how you want to play it… I’ll let it stand.
He took the box of cookies, lips curving faintly.
She’d never realize, not on her own, that every time she tried to hide her heart, she only left more openings.
“Alright. I’ll go now.”
And if he stayed silent—if he didn’t confess—she wouldn’t run.
Then she would, at last, remain his.
Even as his mind settled on that conclusion, a darker storm churned beneath: fierce desire, and a biting self-loathing that refused to quiet.
