CWMBR 149

Chapter 149

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Sponsored by Elisa. Thank you ❤️(5/10)

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"Vacation? Oh, what would I do with something like that? Don't you think you're the one who needs a vacation, Miss?"

"What would I possibly do with that?"

"What do you mean, what would you do with it! There's a line of men dying to have a cup of tea with you. If I were you, I'd have picked one out ages ago!"

Bridget didn't respond to Wayna's giggling words. After a small chuckle, no more voices could be heard. Ain instinctively reached for the doorknob. But he immediately let go. He barely restrained himself from impulsively opening the door to check Bridget's expression. Instead, he held his breath and strained his ears, listening intently outside. But the conversation didn't continue. It felt as if she knew he was there and had stopped talking, making his heart race even faster.

Did she know he was eavesdropping? If he opened the door, would he face Bridget, her expression full of contempt for her gloomy ex-husband? But why wasn't she answering? Was she really just picking anyone? Did she have a man she liked? Ah, three years was more than enough time for such a man to appear. Any man with eyes wouldn't have just stared at Bridget, right? Among all those men, surely there was at least one who met Bridget's standards for character.

But why, really, wasn't she answering?

Even if she answered, there was nothing he could do about it, yet his lips suddenly felt parched. Just as Ain, swallowing dryly, cautiously took a step toward the door, Wayna's cheerful voice reached him.

"Ah! Everything's ready! Hurry up and get in!"

Following that came the sounds of two people climbing into the carriage, the coachman saying something, and the horses snorting.

And finally, only after the sound of hooves grew fainter and faded away completely could Ain exhale as if vomiting it out. Leaning his forehead against the door, he gasped for breath. Even though his chest heaved with each breath, the sensation of something crushing him wouldn't lift. It felt like an invisible hand was gripping his heart tightly.

His appearance must have looked quite serious, because a passing monk approached with a concerned expression and spoke to him.

"Brother, do you need a doctor?"

"No, I'm fine."

Straightening up, he clenched and unclenched his hands, damp with cold sweat, a couple of times before opening the door. The open space in front of the monastery was completely empty. As if every conversation he had heard had been an illusion.

What Ain realized from the incident at the monastery was that he was in a position where he couldn't even pretend to know her if he happened to run into Bridget.

Bridget, whom he met again, ignored him completely as if he were a stranger. Ain knew this was her clear expression of intent. As she had said three years ago, it was obvious she meant she was no longer concerned with him now that they were strangers.

In that sense, how fortunate and grateful Ain felt that she was the proprietor of the Grand Theater.

"I did notice something was off about you from the moment you first arrived... but... this is ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous."

Declan's scolding didn't register. Ain checked the mirror once more, not even sure how many times he'd already looked into it.

While in the New Continent, he hadn't really had occasion to examine his appearance. Frankly, his life there couldn't compare to life in Alencia. Back then, he hadn't cared much about how ragged his clothes were or how messy his hair got.

But here, it was different. He'd already met Bridget under such unexpected circumstances, greeting her looking like a beggar. He couldn't do that again.

But no matter how neatly he dressed or how well he combed his hair, the reflection in the mirror looked utterly wretched. His sun-scorched skin made him look like a country bumpkin, and his gaunt, sharply defined bones made him appear worse than a starving dog.

The thought of showing himself like this was unthinkable.

Should he give up on visiting the Grand Theater again today? Would he look more presentable tomorrow?

"Ain, that handkerchief is too much."

"………………Has the fashion changed?"

"No, that sort of thing was never in fashion to begin with. Take it off immediately."

Ain immediately accepted Declan's advice. He had come from a continent where only farms and jungles stretched endlessly, but Declan had lived in Glynford all his life. When it came to fashion, he was undoubtedly far more knowledgeable than him.

Declan, his face relieved, tossed the handkerchief aside and turned to look at Fergus standing beside him. While Ain couldn't let go of the mirror, Fergus stood there looking like he wanted to beg someone to appear in the mirror, staring blankly as time passed.

"What on earth happened with that local woman………."

At Declan's mutter, Fergus, who had been standing like a soulless doll, suddenly glared at him.

"A local woman?! She was not someone to be described that way!"

Fergus looked ready to explode at any moment, and Declan wore an expression of utter bewilderment. It was only natural, since the Fergus he knew was a man who knew only work and always maintained rational boundaries.

"Did you leave your liver behind across the sea?"

"What I left there was my heart………………."

Fergus muttered with a look of utter despair, covering his face with both hands and writhing in gloom. Ain, long accustomed to such scenes, paid him no mind. He checked and rechecked his appearance in the mirror right up until he stepped into the carriage. Declan, observing this bizarre pairing, wore an expression as if watching a comedy.

"But Ain."

"Why? What's strange now?"

"No, I was just thinking. When Miss Pennington opened the office door."

Ain's eyes turned to Declan.

"Do you remember what I was shouting at that exact moment?"

Of course he remembered. Ain recalled that brief moment vividly and precisely—from the instant Miss Pennington entered the office until he saw her retreating figure.

"I said you came back from a passionate love affair!"

He had just shouted that when Bridget walked in...

"What if Miss Pennington misunderstood and thought you'd been passionately in love for three years?"

If it had been three years ago, Ain would have detected the subtle amusement hidden in Declan's words. He would have noticed the way his eyes sparkled unusually despite his furrowed brow feigning concern, or the faint twitch of his facial muscles, and he would have snorted in disbelief. But the person standing before Declan now was Ain, who had been away from Glynford for three years.

"Prepare the carriage immediately."

"How could I possibly be enjoying a play when I left her behind?"

"Then go cry in your office."

Ain was terribly impatient to comfort his attendant's sorrow. Bridget must have seen Fergus looking so glum, so she probably hadn't misunderstood, but if she had, he wanted to clear it up. Because it wasn't true. Wasn't it okay to correct something untrue?

***

In the end, Ain couldn't clear up the misunderstanding.

He couldn't even get a word in. Naturally.

"The audience seats were packed again today!"

The young man addressing Bridget in an excited voice clearly had a crush on her, plain as day.

Ain, who had blended naturally among the departing audience, found his gaze fixed there without realizing it. It wasn't unusual for someone to blush while looking at Bridget, but it was different when Bridget smiled back at them.

Before completely exiting the hallway, Ain stopped in a shadowy corner, pretending to check his outfit as an excuse. He thought he'd just made eye contact with Bridget, but couldn't tell if it was real or his imagination.

"It's all thanks to you, Director! Because you invited Mrs. Callaway, my work received so much more attention!"

"Mrs. Callaway chose the work she wanted herself. It wasn't my recommendation; the work was chosen."

"But you're the one who gave me this opportunity in the first place. If it weren't for you, how could I have ever gotten my work on stage?"

He seemed to be the playwright who wrote the play he'd seen today. Clutching his hunting cap tightly with both hands, his face flushed crimson as he looked at Bridget with fierce determination.

"Um, would you perhaps like to have dinner today…?"

"What can I say? I'm a bit busy preparing for the upcoming charity performance."

Ain let out a sigh without realizing it. But the relief was fleeting.

"But I think I might have time for a quick cup of tea. Would you like to stop by the office? I heard you're already preparing your next work, and if you're willing, I'd love to hear about it over tea."

"Huh? Yes! Of course!"

"This way, Mr. Richard."

The man, his face beaming with excitement, nodded repeatedly. Amidst the audience streaming out into the lobby, the two of them headed upstairs like that. Just the two of them.

Ain, frozen in place, belatedly moved his feet. He glanced at the staircase where the two had vanished, swallowed dryly, and calmly exited the main theater.

He hadn't even spoken to her, so he couldn't tell if she misunderstood or not. No, that didn't seem important anyway. Common sense would suggest it. She might have forgotten Declan's words long ago. She might not have even heard them in the first place. It was merely his own desperate attempt to somehow break the ice in conversation. A ridiculous excuse, even.

That night, Ain lay awake all night.

It was another sleepless night, one he had grown accustomed to.