You Are Gentle, But You Don’t Love Me - Chapter 37

“Julie. My beloved sister.”

When had Rosaline begun calling Juliet that whenever she had the chance?

My beloved sister. Every time she whispered those words, what was the faint guilt that laced her voice?

“You can’t possibly not know.”

Juliet had known Rosaline far longer than Romeo had, and she had recognized her love much earlier than he did.

She also knew that Rosaline was trying to hide her feelings from everyone. Even from Romeo.

“There’s no way I wouldn’t know.”

While those who loved each other swallowed their feelings and suppressed them, Juliet alone could see through their hearts.

Even though she was the one they wanted to hide it from the most.

“I just pretended not to know.”

It wasn’t out of kindness, because they wished to keep it a secret. The reason Juliet turned a blind eye was purely selfish greed.

She wanted it, too. The warmth directed at Rosaline, the gaze fixed solely on one person, the voice that called her name.

She coveted their love.

“Get up.”

So what?

Was Juliet supposed to be the one to approach them first, to comfort them? Was she meant to whisper that she didn’t care and urge them to burn with love? Should she have considered the hearts of her fiancé and her own sister before herself?

“They managed just fine without me anyway.”

Did such bitter thoughts make Juliet a petty person?

Was it because her resentment never faded but only piled up in her heart? Was that why, on the night before her wedding, she finally let those sharp feelings spill out onto her sister?

“No.”

At some point, Rosaline could have confessed her feelings for Romeo to Juliet. At the very least, from the moment she became his secret lover.

But she never did.

“Just once would have been enough.”

If Rosaline had told her even once, Juliet would have willingly crushed the greedy longing buried deep within her heart.

And perhaps, she truly could have supported her sister and childhood friend’s love with a joyful heart.

Before her resentment grew too large, if only they had shared the same secret, if only the wish for each other’s happiness had filled that space instead—

“If that had happened, I could have done anything.”

She could have caused a ruckus for the first time in her life, screaming that she would never marry Romeo. She could have locked herself in her room and refused to come out, just like Rosaline.

Or perhaps, she might have even told an outrageous lie, claiming she was madly in love with Elijah Logodoro.

And after that, she would have run to Rosaline with a smile and whispered—

“Rosie, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, but… you have to marry Romeo in my place.”

“You’re Romeo’s fiancée now!”

For her sister’s happiness alone, Juliet had been willing to go that far. Whether she truly could have or not was another matter.

“But you never told me. Not even once.”

Rosaline never told Juliet. She only kept it hidden, again and again, until everyone else knew—and only then did Juliet find out.

And so, Juliet learned resentment. She learned sorrow. She learned envy and jealousy.

Her feelings were not directed solely at Rosaline. She resented, envied, and was jealous of Romeo as well—for making her sister hide her feelings from her.

That was where Juliet’s downfall began. The moment Rosaline Calliari chose Romeo Arborea.

Not Juliet Calliari.

“…Rosaline Arborea.”

“…”

No matter how many times she called, Juliet’s beautiful sister did not answer. But each time she spoke, the lump under the blankets trembled slightly.

She could not hold back any longer.

Juliet grasped the edge of the blanket that Rosaline had wrapped herself in.

“…!”

With a sharp tug, she yanked it away.

In an instant, the blanket was gone, leaving only Rosaline behind. Curled up on the bed, her golden hair in disarray, blinking vacantly with her clear blue eyes.

“…Rosie.”

For the first time in a long while, they faced each other without barriers—the sister named after a rose.

Juliet had always admired her. She couldn’t help but admire her. Her dazzling blue eyes, her ever-confident expression, her bright voice—everything about her was so different from herself.

Her sister, only two or three years older, seemed to have everything Juliet lacked.

Meanwhile, Juliet felt like she had nothing at all.

Nights spent curled up under the covers, swallowing back tears. The loneliness of feeling like no one was looking for her. And the self-loathing of being unable to reach out to anyone first, despite it all.

“I thought she could never understand that.”

But what about the woman before her now?

“…”

A woman with tear-filled blue eyes, her lips pressed tightly shut as she stifled her sobs.

A woman whose face was so soaked in tears that they didn’t even leave tracks as they flowed.

A woman whose hair was a tangled mess from hiding under the blankets for so long, unable to even lift her gaze to meet Juliet’s.

Was Rosaline Arborea merely someone to admire?

“Get up, Rosie.”

No, that wasn’t it.

The truth was, she still resented her. She envied her. She hated her. Because she was the one who took away her first love, the one future she had ever envisioned.

And yet…

Rosaline was still Juliet’s sister.

Enough to make her hate the man who had stolen her away. Enough to despise her own first love. Enough to loathe Romeo Arborea.

“My beloved sister.”

Beloved.

As if that single word had triggered something, another tear slipped down Rosaline’s cheek. Between the fingers that tightly covered her lips, a sound resembling a painful sob escaped.

“Hh… ngh.”

“I brought something you should be able to eat. So cry if you must, but eat first, then finish crying.”

Only after hearing those seemingly indifferent words did Rosaline finally part her lips.

“J-Julie, I… hic.”

But she couldn’t finish her sentence.

Her half-hidden face and the nape of her neck flushed crimson.

She held her breath as if stopping even that would help her swallow back the sobs leaking out.

Juliet thought to herself.

“If there’s any part of me that resembles Rosaline, it’s not in our appearance or features…”

It was in their relentless stubbornness—the way they locked themselves away, whether in a room, under a blanket, or within the walls of their own minds—just to hide.

How long had Rosaline Calliari been so determined to conceal her own fragility?

Since that day when she first shut herself in her room, even exhausting their parents? Since the day her younger sister was born? Or had it begun the very moment she was born into the ducal family, raised as the heir?

What had crushed her so much that she could not even shed tears in front of others?

What had forced Rosaline to live as someone eternally beautiful, strong, and a little headstrong—but dazzling all the same?

Juliet would never know.

“I told you, cry if you must, but eat first.”

She let out a sigh as she spoke. Unlike her sister, who was still breathtakingly beautiful despite being a tear-streaked mess, Juliet’s light brown eyes held nothing remarkable.

“Regardless of what happens with the child, you need to eat if you want to endure this.”

“Hh, ahh… ngh!”

Rosaline couldn’t hold back any longer.

A sound burst from her lips—not just a sob, but something closer to a scream.

She wept, unable to express her pain in words. Like a child who had barely ever cried before, one who had forgotten how to do so properly.

Thankfully, her voice, which had been loud enough to shake the entire estate, soon quieted. And not long after, even her tears stopped.

Then, Rosaline fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

“At least she managed to eat a piece of bread before passing out.”

Though, to be fair, it was closer to Juliet having forced her to eat it.

Still, when she woke up, she’d be able to eat a little more. She hadn’t gagged or thrown up, which was a good sign.

“When the Marchioness wakes, prepare the same kind of food for her.”

Juliet gave the order to the maids, finally able to breathe a little easier.

Only then did she realize—Cassio was nowhere to be seen.

At some point, she had lost track of him entirely. She had been so focused on Rosaline’s tears that she hadn’t even noticed.

“He must have left on purpose.”

He wasn’t the type to stand by and watch a noblewoman cry.

Perhaps even Cassio had been a little unsettled.

“I should have been more considerate.”

It had been Juliet who had asked him to come with her. She regretted not paying more attention.

“The Duke…?”

She started to ask the maids, then shut her mouth.

Her gaze had caught something outside the window.

“Miss?”

“Never mind.”

Beyond the window, the sun was setting.

As was always the case in summer, the twilight sky shimmered in hues of pale orange and muted yellow. The slanted rays of light flickered, cutting across the air.

The long summer day was fading, the night yet to arrive.

Juliet swallowed back the question she had been about to ask—where Cassio had gone.

Somehow, she already knew.

“Finish up here. Make sure she isn’t disturbed when she wakes. Call Juan over, but say nothing else.”

“Yes, miss.”

Juliet briskly issued her final instructions to the maids before stepping out of the annex.

The heat from the ground seeped into her feet, still lingering from the long hours of sunlight.

She didn’t care.

She simply walked.

Toward the place where Cassio was waiting.

The back garden.

Juliet’s steps quickened. Then, before she realized it, she was running.

Past the cypress-lined path, through the wild grass.

And soon—

A figure, leaning against the orange tree in the distance.

“Your Grace!”

At her call, he slowly turned.

Even from afar, she could tell.

That he was smiling, just as he always did.

“Juliet.”

Thump.

Something inside her chest dropped.