34. The Old Woman and the Man
After a moment of hesitation, Ansi gently raised her hand and pointed to a tart.
“…What’s this one?”
“Blueberry Earl Grey.”
“And this?”
“Apricot cream cheese.”
“I’ll go with this one.”
“You’ve had the apricot tart before, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Then pick something else.”
“Are you trying to make me eat something unusual?”
“I just want to add to the flavors you know.”
Damion smiled softly. Fine wrinkles formed beautifully around his eyes.
Ansi thought, Isn’t that basically the same thing? But she obediently looked for a different flavor. She too quite enjoyed accumulating new experiences—whether it be knowledge, scenery, or taste.
“Then how about this?”
“Almond and plum. That’s just right.”
“You really are trying to make me eat something unique.”
“I’m just trying to expand your palate.”
Damion lowered his eyebrows as if disappointed, though his eyes were full of playful mischief.
Ansi picked up the tart and took a bite. Come to think of it, as a child, she once dreamed of tasting every tart in the world. Today, perhaps that wish was being fulfilled.
Plum juice burst in her mouth. The fresh tang combined with the nutty almond cream created a surprisingly good harmony. It was more satisfying than expected.
Her mouth moved as she chewed, and Damion looked on with delight.
After quickly finishing the tart, Ansi suddenly felt a bit self-conscious and glanced at him.
“…What about you, Damion?”
“You’ll feed me, won’t you? I can’t use my hands right now.”
He slightly lifted the boxes he was holding in both hands.
There was no other option. Ansi nodded.
“Then would you take out the apricot cream cheese?”
Ansi frowned at him in disbelief. After all that talk about broadening her palate, and he wanted apricot?
“You haven’t tried it before?”
“I have.”
“Then why?”
“Well, if I’m the one making you try new things, someone needs to take responsibility for the familiar flavors…”
Damion’s mouth was suddenly stuffed with tart.
It was a cucumber and squash tart.
Ansi, surprised by her own impulsive action, widened her eyes. She had picked the weirdest-looking one—was it okay?
The man, however, seemed unfazed. Damion, with half the tart in his mouth, calmly placed the tart box on the nightstand.
He raised his eyebrows in mild surprise after taking a bite.
“It’s actually quite good.”
“If you were going to do this, couldn’t you have just set the box down and picked one up yourself from the start?”
“Then you wouldn’t have fed me.”
Damion’s red lips curved into a long arc. Ansi turned her head away, pretending not to see his radiant smile.
Following her gaze, Damion spotted something. He walked toward the inside of the room. On her desk lay a painting she had brought from the Rubelsa estate.
“What’s this painting?”
“…I bought it from a Roman lady.”
She couldn’t say she brought it from the Rubelsa estate, so she stood beside him, giving that excuse.
“…What do you think their relationship is?”
Ansi nodded toward the painting. Since it was now in front of him, she was curious to hear his thoughts. He had a good eye for art.
Damion crossed his arms and silently observed the painting. As Ansi watched the crease form between his brows, she turned her gaze to the canvas as well.
An old woman sitting by the roadside and a young man.
Some might see them as grandmother and grandson, others as a beggar and a generous youth.
The variable was the lighting and the strange figure around the man’s neck…
“They look like former lovers.”
Damion answered calmly.
Lovers? Ansi looked at him, eyes wide in surprise.
“Why do you think so?”
“Because the thing around the man’s neck—it’s the god of love, Amor.”
At his words, Ansi looked closer at the man’s neck. Upon inspection, it wasn’t a scarf or a rope.
Just as he said, the ends of the shape split into five distinct parts—like fingers.
“It was Amor’s hands and arms.”
Amor, the god of love.
They say he is colored in love.
And since the color of love is so subjective, Amor is often depicted in two main ways: with colorful, patchwork skin—or entirely black, as if all colors were mixed.
In this painting, the artist chose the colorful version.
“You’ve got a sharp eye.”
Ansi offered genuine admiration. He had noticed it so quickly—no wonder people said he was good at interpreting art.
“It’s not that impressive.”
Embarrassed by her praise, Damion let out a small cough. A faint red touched his ears.
“Seeing Amor choking the man… I’d guess this is the moment when a man who died young and a woman who lived on finally meet again. What do you think, Ansi?”
“That’s a fair interpretation.”
A faint smile appeared on Damion’s lips. For a while, they both stared quietly at the painting.
The silence in the room wasn’t heavy—it was comfortable and sweet. It felt like being transported back to the exhibition where they once viewed artwork together.
“It’s quite a striking piece. Both the style and the meaning.”
Damion genuinely liked the painting. Whether it was the aura of an old painting or because Ansi had brought it, he wasn’t sure.
However, Ansi’s brow furrowed.
“…To be honest, I don’t really like it.”
“Why not?”
“How did the two of them end up reunited? Was it because the woman yearned for him for so long? Or was the man following her like a ghost? Either way… it’s kind of creepy.”
“But Ansi, look at their eyes.”
Damion’s gaze shifted from the old woman’s eyes to the man’s. It was a gentle motion, like a brushstroke.
“They don’t seem creeped out at all. At least to them, this reunion isn’t something grotesque.”
Ansi followed his eyes to the two figures in the painting.
Indeed, neither of them frowned or appeared uncomfortable. The hands that touched each other conveyed longing, regret, and a kind of tenderness.
“Are you saying they were reunited because they loved each other?”
Back to love, again.
A romantic interpretation, fitting of a romanticist.
The kind of magical explanation that could turn any situation into a happy ending.
But Damion lowered his eyes and seemed to ponder before shrugging.
“Not sure. That feels too simple. There are too many other emotions layered on.”
“Like what?”
“To the woman, that man must have been a pillar throughout the years. Not passionate love, but the memory of his kind gaze and shared moments probably helped her endure hardship. Now she’s meeting him again—at the end of her life.”
Ansi suddenly thought of Sophia.
Her mother, who once shone beside her father, had eyes that went hollow after his death. Yet now and then, her eyes sparkled—when she reminisced.
“Then for the man… even while being strangled like that, is he smiling because he’s in front of her?”
“Probably.”
Ansi quietly observed the man in the painting. His smile wasn’t forced. It came naturally.
Would her father… wear that same expression if he were to meet her mother again?
She suddenly wondered.
And for the first time… she felt like she understood why Damion had married purely for love.
“I agree with your interpretation, Damion.”
“I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
The atmosphere was gentle. Ansi suddenly let out a soft exclamation.
“I heard your birthday is coming up.”
“Ah… I suppose it is.”
Damion’s reaction was more indifferent than expected.
He didn’t seem like the type to make a big deal about birthdays. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was how this one would be spent.
“How about inviting the Duke and Duchess for a small dinner that day?”
“No need for that.”
His answer was firm. There was even a chill in his tone. Not what she had anticipated.
“I’m not trying to throw a party. It’s your birthday—I just thought a family meal would be nice…”
“It’s not necessary.”
His rejection came again, cold and clear.
Ansi’s expression turned awkward. She seemed about to say more but closed her mouth.
A brief silence fell between them. Damion offered a polite smile and spoke.
“You already have enough to adjust to around here. Even just spending time with me is probably overwhelming. So…”
“I’ve already adjusted.”
“Ansi.”
“I want to meet your family, Damion.”
“…”
Ansi looked straight into his eyes.
He seemed to hesitate for a moment—then pulled her into an embrace.
“Ansi.”
His voice was gentle and affectionate, enough to stir her heart.
“Spending time with the rest of my family isn’t a necessity.”
“But avoiding them altogether isn’t normal either.”
“My parents… are a bit different from me. Meeting them won’t benefit you.”
“…”
“So I just want us to be happy as we are. Peaceful, and at ease.”
His voice was so warm it could melt the heart—but to Ansi, it felt like a blade of ice piercing straight through her chest.
