Chapter 80
“…I won’t do anything. Just sleep.”
Dante wrapped his arm tightly around her waist, holding her in place so she couldn’t escape.
Riena froze as his face came suddenly close—so close that their breaths mingled.
Sharing a bed was already mortifying enough, but now, facing him this near… she forgot how to breathe.
His face, relaxed and serene as if in deep sleep, made it impossible to shove him away.
She knew this was a trick, yet somehow she couldn’t bring herself to resist.
Besides, it was far too late to escape.
They were already in bed together, under the same blanket—and Dante, who had pulled her into his arms, had even closed his eyes as though asleep.
He probably wasn’t truly sleeping… yet Riena couldn’t move. She lay there stiffly, staring at him with an awkward, helpless expression.
Even so, seeing him so still, she couldn’t make a single movement that might wake him.
…Fine. Just tonight. Only this once.
With a sigh of surrender, Riena made peace with herself. She held her breath, praying her pounding heartbeat wouldn’t reach his ears.
Then, she noticed something—another steady, thudding sound echoing faintly in her ears.
At first, she thought it was her own heart, but it was too strong, too loud.
Her cheeks flushed as her gaze flicked to him. The sound wasn’t hers. It was his.
His heart was beating just as hard, just as fast as hers.
Riena had to fight the impulse to press her hand to his chest, to feel it herself.
Unable to trust her voice, she simply lifted her eyes instead.
Looking at his face was somehow less nerve-racking than listening to his heartbeat.
His long lashes rested gently against his skin, golden eyes hidden beneath.
With his eyes closed, his features looked even more delicate, almost unfairly beautiful.
Her gaze drifted lower—to the straight bridge of his nose, and finally, to his lips, soft and faintly red beneath the warm lamplight.
Riena’s eyes widened, and she quickly shut them tight.
By the time Riena returned home the next day, the sun was already high in the sky.
“You’re awake? You slept well. Oh—and I brushed my teeth for you.”
“That’s… that’s a lie!”
When she’d opened her eyes, the day had already changed.
After all that lecturing about how he needed rest, she was the one who had fallen sound asleep.
The shame made her want to crawl into a hole—or bite her own tongue off.
Mortified, she refused his offer to escort her home, but by then, it was already midday.
And with so many people still around after the ceremony, there was no way she could walk home wearing the same clothes as yesterday.
In the end, she had no choice but to let him send her back—once again caught perfectly in his pace.
At least he looked better. His face brighter, his demeanor lighter—he’d clearly gotten some rest, too.
Still, once she reached home, Riena spent hours scolding herself for her own foolishness.
Only after bathing and changing into clean clothes did her heartbeat finally calm down.
But when she glanced at her reflection, her skin seemed unusually smooth and radiant.
She froze.
…I didn’t really grind my teeth in my sleep, did I?
She couldn’t remember a thing—how she’d looked, what she’d done, or whether she’d embarrassed herself further.
The thought made her want to scream. She pressed a hand to her flushed face and jumped to her feet.
I need to go out.
Yes. She needed fresh air. A walk. Anything to reset her mind.
It was summer, so even after running errands and wandering the market for hours, the sky was still bright.
That brightness lifted her spirits.
Riena had always liked sunlight. Standing beneath it made her feel alive, as if her body was soaking up warmth like a flower reaching for the sun.
“…Lieutenant.”
“Bron—Riena.”
The man before her smiled, his voice low, a little hesitant.
It was the person who had always longed for her—the one who used to recall her name like a prayer in the midst of war.
Whenever the battlefield grew unbearable, he had remembered her, and the sea they once watched together.
Those memories were what had kept him alive.
Henry corrected himself softly, dropping her title as if the word itself was too formal now.
His gaze swept over her slowly, almost reverently. She looked just as she had the day they’d parted.
“Have you been well, Riena?”
It felt odd, speaking her name while still addressing her with respect, but Henry didn’t want to call her anything else.
Thankfully, she didn’t seem offended. She only lowered her gaze slightly.
Then her eyes caught something that made her frown.
“…What happened to your arm? Did you get hurt?”
A splint and layers of bandages wrapped around his right arm. Seeing them made her heart lurch.
Of course, she knew he had come from the battlefield—but knowing and seeing were different things.
Even if she was grateful he’d survived, seeing the proof of his injury left a heavy ache in her chest.
Henry smiled, brushing off her concern.
“It’s just a small fracture. Nothing to worry about.”
Still, the quiet satisfaction in his voice betrayed him. She was worried for him—and that alone filled him with warmth.
“I’ve missed you,” he said softly.
“…I’m glad you’re back, Lieutenant.”
Her words were polite, steady—but she didn’t say she’d missed him too.
Henry didn’t mind. He only smiled faintly, as if he’d expected that answer.
“Oh, I’m not a lieutenant anymore,” he added with a small grin. “I was promoted to captain.”
“Really?”
For the first time, light returned to her eyes.
“Yes. They even gave me an extended leave as a reward.”
He raised his left hand in a crisp salute.
“Captain Henry Bailey of the bermark Navy—mission complete, reporting home.”
It was a proper soldier’s salute, disciplined and solemn.
Riena finally smiled—brightly, sincerely.
“Congratulations on your promotion, then. I suppose I should call you Captain Bailey now.”
“Forget the title. Just call me by my name,” Henry said quietly, his tone more earnest than before.
“…I’d like that.”
She hesitated for a moment, then nodded.
“All right, Henry. Though it might take me some time to get used to it.”
He watched her with softened eyes, unable to look away.
“Do you still love the sea?” he asked.
“Of course. I came here just to see it.”
She paused, then grimaced lightly.
“You must be tired of it by now, though, right?”
Henry shook his head with a faint laugh.
“No. I still love it. The sea is the reason I came.”
Whatever meaning lingered beneath his words, she didn’t catch it.
She only smiled, relieved.
“Then I’m glad.”
As she said it, Henry extended his hand toward her.
“The ground’s slippery here.”
Riena blinked, then chuckled softly.
He used to do this all the time—offering his hand without hesitation. Some things never changed.
“Still the same, I see. Thank you.”
She placed her hand lightly atop his.
Henry’s fingers closed gently around hers—and his ears flushed red.
But then, suddenly, his expression froze.
The warmth of her hand overlapped with another memory—bloodstained, trembling hands clutching a rifle, a dying comrade, the cold grip of war.
The past bled through, and Henry’s body went rigid.
