Chapter 78
The sky burned crimson as the sun sank below the horizon. Streetlights flickered to life one by one.
A few men in crisp white naval uniforms marched into Florian’s city square, where their homecoming ceremony had been prepared.
As soon as they appeared, the crowd erupted into cheers and applause.
They were the pride of Florian—their brave sons returned from the sea.
The sailors stood in formation and saluted the townsfolk who had arranged the celebration for them, prompting the cheers to swell even louder.
And standing foremost among them was none other than Captain Henry Bailey, the naval officer who had risked his life to save his comrades and lived to tell the tale.
His movements were disciplined and dignified, his sunburned skin—darkened by the sea and the blazing sun—only emphasizing his valor.
As Henry lowered his saluting hand, he swept his gaze slowly across the crowd gathered in the square.
Then his expression hardened. The face he longed to see wasn’t there.
So she really left.
He didn’t even feel bitterness—only an anxious restlessness about where to start looking.
Swallowing the tension clawing up his throat, Henry forced a polite smile for the townspeople welcoming them home.
After all, this event was meant to celebrate their safe return. Whatever his heart felt, he owed them his gratitude—and his composure.
So he straightened his shoulders and moved forward, the applause echoing behind him.
“So, where exactly does it hurt?”
“Everywhere.”
That was as far as Riena managed—placing the freshly baked bread on the table. She couldn’t help any further and had to follow Dante back to the now-familiar resort annex.
She had promised, so she had to keep it… but still—
Looking at Dante, who didn’t look sick in the slightest, Riena couldn’t help sighing.
People’s moods changed easily. Just a while ago, her feelings were like a watercolor drenched in color—soft and warm. Now it felt more like charcoal scratches on rough paper.
A moment ago, she’d been almost lighthearted.
Glancing at Dante lounging on the master suite sofa, she shook her head as if scolding a child. Then she leaned down a little so their eyes met.
“You don’t have a fever.”
The cool touch of her hand against his forehead felt surprisingly pleasant. Still, Dante squinted dramatically, feigning pain.
“It hurts.”
“…How does it hurt? Like your head’s splitting? Or just aching?”
Dante chuckled inwardly. All those words meant the same thing anyway. Still, he decided to humor her curiosity.
“Feels like it’s splitting.”
Might as well go with the one that sounded more pitiful.
He studied her face as she frowned with concern, almost fondly.
“You’ve been busy these two weeks, haven’t you? Did you even sleep? Eat properly?”
“Didn’t sleep. Barely ate.”
“Then of course you’re sick!”
Riena’s voice rose, exasperated. He’d done everything to make himself ill and then had the nerve to complain about it.
“Don’t shout. My head’s pounding for real.”
Dante frowned faintly. Her voice hadn’t even been that loud, but his head did ache a little—probably from actual exhaustion.
“Right, sorry.” She bit back a sigh. “Then how about you sleep first? You can eat afterward.”
He nodded.
“Good. Then go change your clothes.”
She eyed his stiff formal suit.
“I’m tired.”
“Then suit yourself. I’ll just head home.”
Her tone was firm. After everything he’d put her through, Riena had grown immune to his petty tricks.
Dante let out a short laugh and stood up.
When he returned in a comfortable shirt, Riena—still waiting on the sofa—nodded approvingly.
“Now go lie down in the bedroom.”
“That’s it?”
He tilted his head, clearly displeased. “You tell me to change, tell me to go to bed—and that’s your idea of nursing?”
Riena blinked. “What more do you want?”
“At least stay until I fall asleep. That’s what proper nursing looks like, Riena.”
“…Put you to sleep? Me?”
She stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.
Had something happened during those two weeks? Or did men just turn childish with age?
“Make a little effort. I’m not asking for much—just what I’ve done for you.”
That was your own choice!
The words almost slipped out, but she swallowed them quickly. She could already see that saying it would spark another argument.
And to be fair—he had been unconscious at the time. It wasn’t like he could’ve asked permission. Nursing was about caring, not consent.
Suppressing a sigh, Riena rose and took a step closer.
“Let’s go to bed,” she said quietly.
The words sounded more embarrassing than they should have. A faint blush crept up her cheeks.
She didn’t notice the look in Dante’s eyes as he turned and led the way.
When they entered the master bedroom—the innermost room of the suite—bright evening light filled the space even without lamps. The sunset pouring through the tall windows bathed the room in a soft red glow.
Riena stepped inside almost on instinct, her eyes widening as she gazed at the fiery sky and the sea beyond.
“Wow…”
“Remind me—you’re here to nurse me, right?”
Leaning casually against the doorway, arms crossed, Dante’s voice drew her back.
“I know.”
She shot him a sideways glance, deciding it was better not to reply further.
Her gaze wandered around his room instead.
White furniture, bright and spotless—it was exactly his style. Somehow, it suited him.
Bright on the surface, refined beneath.
At the center stood a large bed, more elegant and luxurious than any she’d seen at the palace or the suite they’d stayed in.
“This bed’s for one person, right?”
“What kind of question is that?”
Dante blinked, then laughed quietly in disbelief.
A former duchess, who’d lived in the palace, was now standing in a seaside resort estimating furniture prices.
“So what if it’s expensive? Planning to scold me for it?”
“No, I was just curious. I knew you were rich, but… still.”
He frowned slightly, recalling the time she’d accused him of hoarding royal assets. That wasn’t a memory he cared to revisit.
Instead, he smirked and teased, “If you like it so much, you could try lying down.”
He knew perfectly well how she’d take that.
Riena’s face crumpled in disbelief, and Dante chuckled under his breath.
“You know, you act like I’m faking being sick.”
“You’re not?”
“Not entirely.”
He strolled leisurely to the bed and reclined on the immaculate white sheets.
“Come here.”
The words sounded oddly charged.
Riena froze for a moment, then walked over briskly, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
But when she reached the bed, there wasn’t even a chair nearby. She glanced around for somewhere to sit—
“Ah!”
Dante suddenly reached up, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her down onto the bed beside him.
Her heart leapt into her throat.
She opened her mouth, flustered. “I—I was going to get a chair.”
“No chair. You’ll hurt yourself.”
“Stop saying that—!”
Her face turned crimson as she struggled against his grip.
“Let—let me go, Your Grace.”
“Then stay. Just sit here.”
“…But—”
“I won’t do anything. The bed’s big enough anyway.”
As if that was reassuring.
Still, she couldn’t find words to argue. After a pause, she bit her lip and nodded faintly.
He hadn’t even held her tightly.
When he finally released her wrist, Riena cleared her throat, trying to calm the frantic beat of her heart.
