You Are Gentle, But You Don’t Love Me - Chapter 36

“…I don’t know.”

“But you think it’s possible, don’t you?”

Cassio gestured toward the table with a slight tilt of his head. There, pushed to the side in favor of the fresh tea and pastries, sat the refreshments Juliet had originally prepared for Rosaline.

Plain bread with little butter or milk, ginger cookies, mild tea with a slice of lemon, and sugar cubes.

It was a humble selection—far too plain for hosting a guest over tea. Yet, Juliet had deliberately chosen only those items.

“I’m sick of it. Just get it out of my sight.”

That was what the Duchess of Calliari, her mother, would say whenever she saw those foods. When she had been pregnant, they were the only things she could stomach. And now, she could not even stand to look at them.

If Rosaline is truly expecting a child, if that’s why she hasn’t been able to eat anything…

Then perhaps, at the very least, she could manage these.

“Why haven’t you gone to see her yet?”

“…”

“You’re terribly worried about her, aren’t you?”

Juliet remained silent.

Cassio was perceptive—sometimes, to an infuriating degree.

Rosaline was not sulking over some unknown grievance this time. She wasn’t locked away in her room with the door barred shut. She was no longer a thirteen-year-old girl in the throes of adolescence.

Even if she had locked herself in, Juliet could reach her now if she wished—whether by breaking the latch or tearing down the door. She was no longer a ten-year-old child.

She was only looking for an excuse.

“You’re still afraid to see her, aren’t you?”

“…”

“Afraid you’ll ruin everything again?”

Juliet bit her lip.

She had done so countless times since the previous night, and now her lips were raw and tinged with faint traces of bl00d. But she hardly noticed.

…

She simply thought.

“I recognized her immediately.”

“Because she looks like you.”

That was what Cassio had said.

But if there was anything about Juliet that resembled Rosaline, it was just one thing.

Just as Rosaline, when she was upset, would lock herself away for days on end, Juliet had spent the last three years secluded within the castle, refusing to meet anyone.

This wretched stubbornness. That was all they had in common.

Even their refusal to explain their reasons to anyone was the same.

No—more than that.

It wasn’t simply about keeping secrets. They locked themselves away so thoroughly that even they forgot how to let others in.

Because they could not bear to reveal their own vulnerabilities.

That was the one thing they shared, even though they were different in every other way.

But… what if…

If they truly were alike.

If they truly shared this same stubbornness.

Then maybe, just maybe—

Juliet had spent three years locked away in the castle, and in that time, she had come to realize one thing.

“Your Grace.”

“Hm?”

Is Rosie waiting for me?

She almost asked.

But she stopped herself.

Cassio wouldn’t have the answer to that question.

But if she asked herself?

She might be waiting.

Because Juliet had waited, too.

Because holding on like that—isolating oneself in obstinacy—was unbearably lonely.

Because, despite knowing no way out, she had still longed for someone to come knocking.

For someone to say her name.

For someone to reach out a hand.

For someone to give her a reason to step outside again.

Because all she could do was wait.

Juliet glanced at Cassio, almost hesitantly.

It was pointless.

He was already looking at her. Their eyes met at once.

And as always—

Ah… I see.

Then perhaps Rosaline was waiting, too.

Perhaps just as much as Juliet had.

Perhaps even more.

For someone who could break through that stubbornness.

“…I should go.”

It had always been Romeo who coaxed Rosaline out of her room.

A fourteen-year-old, seventeen-year-old, eighteen-year-old Romeo Arborea, lingering outside her door with a pleading expression.

But this time—

“I’m going to see Rosie.”

This time, it had to be Juliet.

She wanted to go.

But… she was still afraid.

No, more than afraid.

“Your Grace, I…”

“Hm?”

Juliet hesitated even after she had begun to speak.

But still.

Maybe…

If she wasn’t alone…

“…Will you come with me?”

Her voice trembled weakly, barely above a whisper.

Yet, Cassio smiled.

Brilliantly, as if he had been waiting to hear those words.

“Of course.”

＊ ＊ ＊

The guesthouse of Escalus Castle was an unusual sight.

Each window was draped in deep green silk embroidered with gold thread, layered with extravagant lace. The high stone walls were adorned with ornate candlesticks of brass and silver.

Enormous porcelain vases, large enough to hold a child, were placed throughout the hallways, filled with rare spices and dried flowers from the southern continent.

It was a harmonious blend of Sardinian and Aragonian aesthetics, with an air of exotic mystery woven through the décor. A reflection of the man who owned the castle.

“Oh.”

Cassio, however, seemed completely unaware of this until now.

He had never once set foot inside the guesthouse.

The moment he stepped in, his eyes widened in surprise.

As they ascended the stairs and walked down the corridors, he continuously murmured small words of admiration.

“Wow.”

“…”

“This is… quite something.”

Whenever they passed a vase filled with spices, he wrinkled his nose.

At the sight of the elaborate candlesticks on the walls, he let out a small huff of laughter.

But Juliet had no energy to spare for Cassio’s amusement.

She walked with her back straight, eyes fixed ahead.

“…”

Behind them, two maids followed, pushing a trolley laden with food. The thick carpet lining the corridor absorbed every sound—their footsteps, the quiet rolling of the trolley’s wheels.

And so, as four people and a trolley moved along the hallway, the only sounds that filled the air were the ones Cassio made—soft murmurs of admiration, the occasional chuckle.

Without that, it would have been nothing but silence.

Even amidst her tangled thoughts, Juliet found herself grateful that she wasn’t alone.

“Juliet.”

Now and then, as he took in their surroundings, Cassio would tap the back of her hand.

Each time, she realized she had been holding her breath.

“Haa…”

She exhaled deeply, and once she did, Cassio tapped her hand again—almost as if in praise.

After four or five repetitions of this, Juliet found herself standing before Rosaline’s door.

Yet even then, she hesitated.

Her raised hand trembled as she prepared to knock. If Cassio had not been holding her other hand so firmly, she might have let it fall away altogether.

The warmth of his touch steadied her.

Finally, Juliet knocked.

Knock, knock, knock.

“…”

“…”

But no answer came.

No startled question. No irritated demand. Not even a curt dismissal telling her to leave.

Nothing.

As if no one was there at all.

Just silence.

Is she asleep? Or…

Their conversation earlier had made the past creep into her mind once again.

The little Juliet who had waddled down the hall, carefully balancing a tray of Rosaline’s favorite ham, bread, and milk—only to set it down by the door and leave.

Without hearing a single word in response.

Had Rosaline eaten that food?

Or had it sat untouched, growing stale, until some passing maid discarded it?

Had it been thrown away with the kitchen scraps?

What if it’s the same this time?

What if knocking on Rosaline’s door means nothing at all?

“Juliet.”

“…”

“Juliet?”

Cassio’s voice, calling her name, sounded distant.

Her clenched fist slowly fell away from the door.

No.

But then, she moved again.

This time, Juliet did not knock.

Instead, she reached for the doorknob.

I won’t let it happen again.

The cold metal pressed against her palm.

That chill seeped into her veins, racing through her bl00d, reaching her head. A shiver ran down her spine.

The door was unlocked.

“Haa…”

Juliet took yet another deep breath.

She could feel Cassio’s eyes on her, watching in surprise.

She bit down on a faint smile.

And then, without hesitation, she pushed the door open.

Juliet strode into the room without pause.

Just as she expected, a mound of blankets sat atop the bed, half-hidden behind partially drawn curtains.

She stopped beside the large bed, gazing down at the lump beneath the covers.

“The Marchioness.”

A flinch.

A clear, visible tremor.

She wasn’t asleep, after all.

“Wake up.”

“…”

The Duke of Calliari had always considered his eldest daughter, Rosaline, to be a formidable heir.

But there was one thing about her he disapproved of.

“She can’t hide her emotions.”

As she grew older, she had learned to control it—somewhat. But even then, there was still one person in front of whom she could never fully mask her true feelings.

“She never could, in front of me.”

Juliet Calliari.

In front of her beloved sister, Rosaline Calliari had always been transparent. Whether she meant to be or not.

That was why, whenever Rosaline wanted to hide something, she would rather avoid Juliet altogether.

She would hole herself up in her room.

Or she would drown herself in a crowded, noisy ball—one so raucous that it would drive Juliet away.

Or she would disappear into the company of people, blending in, vanishing amidst them.

Yes. I knew it all along.

Juliet had always known.

That Rosaline loved Romeo.