# 33
A cold breeze blew, scattering rose petals on the ground, and the wind sliced the air.
“……”
“……”
Harold's lips curved into a soft smile, but his eyes held a frightening, icy look.
“You two should stay away from each other,” he said, not bothering to pick up the falling bouquet. He moved between me and Dante, pulling me into his arms while giving Dante a cold look. Her intensity made me feel like there was an unresolved issue between them.
“Nice to meet you, Your Highness,” Dante said, making a formal introduction. “I am Dante Malcones.”
“Dante Malcones?” Harold repeated, raising an eyebrow as if something about the name bothered him.
“Yes. Dante Malcons,” Dante confirmed, bowing respectfully.
Harold muttered the full name again as if testing his tone, then put his hand to his chin thoughtfully.
After a moment, he narrowed his eyes and lowered his hand.
“Is your name really Dante Malcones?”
“Yes, it is.”
“I feel like you look like someone I know.”
Dante's face darkened. “You mean someone you know?” He asked cautiously.
Harold deepened his smile. “Like the sun of the empire.”
“……”
As Harold's smile deepened, Dante's face darkened. When Harold compared him to the “sun of the empire,” the prince, Dante’s eyes seemed to twitch violently.
“More precisely, she resembles Prince Andrew, who is probably abroad right now.”
“Haha,” Dante forced himself to laugh.
Does he look like Prince Andrew?
In Diana's memory, Prince Andrew was small and had an almost feminine, delicate appearance. Dante, on the other hand, was clearly masculine, with a strong build and striking features, the opposite of Andrew's softness. Furthermore, the side story described Andrew as competent and capable, not clumsy or awkward. The comparison didn't make sense to her.
“Maybe it's the color of your hair,” Harold continued. “Your mother is from the Talian Kingdom, where many people have red hair.”
“Oh!” Dante looked surprised, but his face relaxed.
“Then I must look like Prince Andrew because of my hair color.”
The people of the Talian Kingdom often had red hair.
“Ah! It seems the Marchioness is calling. I must leave. Please, take care of yourselves.”
“Run away, right?”
“I'm going to the Marchioness.”
Even though he looked a little confused, I couldn't help but wonder: 'Is he going to stumble again?' He's fallen five times today already.'
As I watched him, a large hand blocked my view.
Then, in one smooth motion, Harold gently grabbed my cheek and turned my face toward his.
“You should just look at me, honey.”
said Harold, smiling kindly but with a subtle shade in his expression.
He looked more upset than before, and I couldn't take my eyes off him.
For a moment, I thought he might be jealous. I quickly shook my head. 'We're not really married, what am I thinking?'
“It's only because I was worried that Dante would trip again, given his clumsiness,” I said, trying to play it down.
“That's something you don't need to worry about,” Harold murmured, his tone calm and controlled.
"Well, I couldn't ignore him. I was nearby and I could help," I explained. When I see a lost child or someone suffering, I instinctively step in to help – my body moves before I think.
“…That's true, isn't it?”
"What?" I replied, unsure of what he meant.
His voice had fallen so low that I could barely hear him.
As I looked at him confused, Harold gently pressed his finger to the tip of my nose and smiled.
“I told you, don't get distracted, baby.”
"Distraction? What do you mean...! I value money above everything!" I protested in a low voice, scanning my surroundings to make sure no one was listening.
“Is money really your first priority?” Harold asked amusedly.
“Yes, money is the most important thing,” I emphasized with a firm nod, narrowing my eyes to emphasize my point.
Harold patted my cheek twice, as if he had made a decision.
“Okay, I get it.”
“Why ‘get it’?” I frowned, feeling unhappy at his lack of reassurance.
“It seems like everyone is leaving. We should go too.”
He said, changing the subject.
We went to the carriage, which had already left with my maid. I decided to take Harold's carriage instead.
Harold passed the fallen bouquet without a second glance, but I stopped for a moment and bent down to pick it up.
“Why do you bother picking it up? It's just on the floor,” he commented.
"Why not? She's still very pretty," I replied.
“Tell Ivan to buy you something better,” he suggested, clearly uninterested in the package.
"It's okay. I'm happy with this one. Wasn't it you who bought it, Harold?"
“……”
“I think you did,” I added, noting that Harold had no servant or assistant with him, which made it appear that he had gone to the flower shop himself.
He wouldn't want me to throw away such a beautiful bouquet.
I walked beside him, examining the roses. Although some of the petals were slightly damaged from the fall, most of them were still intact. It looks like no one stepped on it.
'I'll put it in a vase when we get back.'
It has been a long time since I received a bouquet, and these flowers looked particularly beautiful to me.
The last flowers I received were from children from the shelter when I graduated from college. I hope they are fine.
As I thought of those dear to me, I inhaled the fragrance of the rose, holding it close to my chest.
“I really like these roses. Thanks, Harold.” The refreshing scent lifted my mood, and I couldn't help but smile.
“We could demolish the unused annex and build a rose greenhouse,” Harold suggested indulgently.
Harold had been thinking about what to do with the annex, but now it seemed he had made up his mind.
I was surprised that he wanted to demolish it completely, but I was excited about the greenhouse idea.
“The rose greenhouse looks great!” I said excitedly.
“It will be even bigger than the one in the Imperial Palace,” he replied, his smile widening.
We continued to talk about the rose greenhouse as we climbed into the carriage.
After getting ready, Harold entered the couple's bedroom.
Abeer Ghareeb stayed in the room. Following the scent, he saw a vase placed near the window.
Harold looked at the vase of roses at the window, wondering why she had decided to put it there. In the end, it didn't matter where the roses were, as long as Diana loved them – that was enough for him.
But the color of the rose reminded him of someone, and he clicked his tongue in annoyance.
“...What an odd name to use, Prince Andrew.”
Through his informants, Harold learned that a red-haired servant was pretending to be the prince in the foreign residence, while the real prince had actually returned to the empire.
But to see that prince clinging to Diana, blushing around her, was something Harold had not expected.
If Rose had been someone who blushed in front of Diana, Harold would have crushed him under his feet without thinking. He truly regretted not being able to do it.
But his annoyance wasn't just because of Andrew.
“It's just that I saw him, and he was close enough to help.”
He knew that Diana's kindness wasn't because she thought he was special. She simply cannot ignore anyone in need. But seeing it with his eyes made him feel uncomfortable. Remind him that he's not someone special in her life – just another person she can't ignore.
Harold lived with terminal health for a long time, and became possessive. He was determined to have Diana's attention and affection solely for him. No one else should be able to share her kindness.
As he gently rubbed a rose petal, Harold found himself thinking of Diana again.
She always said that she loved money more than anything. She was happy whenever he gave her expensive gifts such as jewelry or other valuable items. Even when I agreed to treat his condition, it was in exchange for money.
But although she enjoyed receiving those gifts, that was all it was – simple joy, nothing more.
Diana clearly loved wealth, but Harold began to wonder if the money and gifts were enough to truly win her over.
“But she seemed happier with the roses,” he thought.
Since she mentioned that she loves flowers, not just roses.
Maybe he should order more varieties to be grown in the greenhouse. Or maybe he could build a whole new greenhouse just for her.
At that moment, Harold felt someone enter the room.
Diana, wearing her nightgown, walked towards him. Her calm and gentle expression made him put all thoughts of the greenhouse aside.
“Harold, are you already here?” I asked.
“You're a little late tonight,” he replied.
“I was deciding where to put the flowers, but I was a little late,” she said.
First, Harold decided to dispel any lingering doubts he had.
Hiding his true intentions, he gave her a relieved smile and said: “Diana, come to bed.”