Chapter 105

“…Miss Anaista Winfield is scheduled to check in today. The manager handled reservations, so… I’m sorry, my confirmation came late.”

Callis bowed his head and reported in a voice small with apprehension. The next reprimand seemed certain; his world went dark at the thought.

Dante’s expression tightened. If she was checking in today, she’d be here by the afternoon at latest.

“Callis, have I been too lax? Who took that booking in the first place?”

“Shall I fetch the staff member in charge…?”

“Would you rather go out instead of them?”

“—I’m sorry.”

Dante pressed his temple. Of course — why had things been so quiet until now? Ever since the resort opened and word spread that he himself was staying there, society should have erupted in curiosity. Yet for some reason, there’d been eerie silence from certain corners.

And this year the social season was Bern—so the silence was even stranger. While other nobles were snapping up reservations and turning Florian into the new hot spot for high society, these particular people stayed oddly aloof.

Sure, Dante was raking in money because of it, but that didn’t stop him from finding the fuss—well, tiresome. He preferred being holed up in his study and left the tedious courtesies to others.

And the problem wasn’t just that; it was who was coming. It wasn’t an ordinary guest. It was the Chancellor’s daughter: Anaista Winfield.

‘Miss Winfield—might I recommend a different match? She and I—’
‘Why? Why not? Duke, I truly have feelings for you. Have you not felt the same for me…?’
‘If I’ve given you that impression, I apologize. But you have many suitors—’
‘Even a carriageload of suitors won’t do! If it isn’t you, what use are they? How could you abandon me so coldly!’

Anaista was, frankly, the sort who made a scene—pushy, insistent, the sort to speak without pause. She was the opposite of Riena, who only answered in a few clipped words. The difference was stark.

“Hah. Damn it.”

Dante ground out a curse. A month, Callis reported, and the manager’s shoulders slumped further.

“The suite is full; she booked a standard third-floor room.”

“See if you can free up a suite; move her if possible.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dante let out an irritated sigh. “Tell the manager and the staff to flatter her as best they can. Pay them extra for smoothing her temper.”

“Yes, understood…!”

Callis answered briskly, though his face betrayed a mix of unease and puzzlement. Everyone knew about the rumors between Winfield and Dante; Callis knew the story. Still, Dante’s sudden prickliness suggested something more than mere annoyance.

“Tell me the moment she arrives. I’ll see her myself.”

“—Yes?”

***

The resort carriage that had been sent to the station returned. Callis stood in front of the main entrance, hands clasped, as the footman sprang to open the carriage door.

He bowed to the noblewoman and her lady-in-waiting. “Welcome to our resort, Miss Anaista. Thank you for visiting.”

“Hello. Pleasure to be here.”

She was beautiful and arrogant in the way of aristocrats—poised, cool. Callis’s first thought was an image of a pretty viper. He barely had time to form the reaction before she looked up with an arched brow and asked, quietly:

“How would you like me to address you?”

“Oh—my apologies. I’m Callis, the manager’s steward. I attend the owner here.”

“Is that so.”

Her voice had a distinct breathiness that hung lightly in the air.

“I’ll escort you to your room and inform the owner of your arrival, Miss Anaista.”

“Hmm. Very well, then.”

Despite his earlier worry, the check-in and room show-through went smoothly enough. Perhaps she was only eccentric, Callis thought, and relaxed a fraction.

From the high-floor suite the sea stretched widely below; arriving at dusk, the room glowed with the red wash of sunset.

“Oh my, Miss Anaista—the sea is right there!”

“It is. Not bad for a first time.”

She smiled pleasantly at her maid’s gush, entirely the part of a well-bred noblewoman. When Callis glanced at the watch on his wrist, he flinched—time was passing too slowly.

As Anaista inspected the room, Callis said, “Miss Anaista, I’ll go inform the owner now.”

“Can’t I go with you?” she asked, brow lowering.

Callis fumbled for an answer. “The owner… prefers not to be seen in a disheveled state by guests. He’s likely preparing himself.”

She blinked, then tilted her head. “He’s coming to see me, isn’t he? Well, I’ll be ready.”

“Miss Anaista, a staff member will be assigned to you during your stay. If anything is uncomfortable, please tell us immediately.”

Callis hurried the parting farewell before she could press another question. The expression she wore shifted from mild pique to blank neutrality; it left Callis unsettled. With a long stay ahead of her, this summer promised anything but peace.

A knock at the master room.

“Sir, Callis.”

“Come in.”

The master room door opened; Callis entered as quietly as he could. Since Riena began staying there, he’d avoided the place unless necessary. That’s why this urgent report felt different—important.

He bowed and then glanced around. The Duchess was not present.

“She’s—” Dante cut him off before Callis could present the whole preamble.

“Miss Anaista, sir. I assigned her to the suite as you instructed. She’s resting there now. Also—”

Callis’s voice faltered at the end. He knew the owner liked to be told everything in order; it was habit.

“Don’t stall. Just tell me.”

“…Sir, you asked whether there was a woman here.”

“What kind of nonsense is that?” Dante snapped.