You Are Gentle, But You Don’t Love Me - Chapter 44

“I covet your love.”

Juliet’s voice remained low and rough, as though still steeped in sleep, but she paid it no mind.

“Cassio Bellanea, I wish you would love me as you love.”

Some feelings only become clear once spoken aloud.

Juliet let her lips move, giving voice to the words before she could second-guess them.

“And I… I want to love you, too.”

It was only then that she understood.

She must have wanted to love him all along—just as much as she had wanted to be loved.

Perhaps she already did.

Maybe this strange and beautiful dream existed only to make her realize it.

“…”

“…Is that not allowed?”

The scent reached her then—belatedly, yet unmistakably.

Flowers and fruit.

Musk and tobacco leaves.

And the sea.

It was the scent that had surrounded Cassio lately, that had left her dizzy every time he stepped too close.

Now, it washed over her like the tide, slowly, silently—seeping into the space where their lips met.

Even if it was just a dream, she didn’t care.

Juliet closed her eyes.

Ah, Juliet.

How could it not be? How could I ever refuse? I… I have…

Say my name. Just once more.

Juliet.

“That was… an awfully strange dream.”

Twice, now.

Juliet thought blankly, watching a faint red afterimage drift behind her closed eyelids.

The flickering crimson glow could have been the morning sun.

Or the remnants of the dream.

Slow, rhythmic breathing echoed faintly in her ears—like the sound of waves, like a lingering hum.

But whose?

She tried to lift her eyelids but gave up almost immediately. Even the thin skin of her lids felt impossibly heavy, as though weighed down by sleep itself.

“Mmh…”

Her brow furrowed involuntarily.

It wasn’t just her eyes—her arms, her legs, her entire body felt unbearably sluggish, as if she had sunk to the deepest part of the sea.

Ah, right.

He smelled like the sea.

Cold, slightly bitter—like the scent of tears.

She must have drowned in it.

“Juliet, really.”

A cool fingertip brushed over her eyelids.

Only then did Juliet realize her eyes were damp.

She had been crying.

Yet, still, she could not open her eyes.

Her fingers twitched slightly—that was all she could manage.

“Does it hurt much?”

The voice, quiet and steady, was slow. Gentle.

And terribly, terribly far away.

The cold touch lingering at her eyes was so close, yet his voice—why did it sound so distant?

Closer…

But the hand that had wiped her tears away withdrew.

Juliet tried to reach for him, but her body still refused to obey.

“Sleep a little longer.”

“Mmh.”

A faint whimper slipped from her lips.

Unlike the distant voice, the sound was far too loud, too close.

A sharp pang shot through her head.

As her brows knitted in pain, something warm caught her hand.

So gentle, so careful—like handling something fragile.

Juliet knew exactly who it was.

“There, there. Sleep well, and when you wake, everything will be better.”

Cassio.

Her kind husband soothed her softly, his voice wrapping around her like a lullaby.

His fingers tapped a light, steady rhythm against the back of her hand.

Sleep swept over her like a tide.

Like an angel’s touch, it pulled her deeper, deeper.

“It’s all right now…”

Still listening to that distant voice, Juliet sank into sleep once more.

“That was… a strange dream.”

The thought felt oddly familiar as Juliet opened her eyes.

And then—

Was it really a dream?

Something was off.

The colors in her vision bled strangely.

She blinked slowly, trying to focus.

And realized that the red blur filling her sight was Cassio’s head.

Blinking again, she shifted slightly, biting back a small groan.

Only then did she take in the rest of the scene.

Cassio was seated beside her bed, slumped over in sleep.

His head rested against the white sheets, his crimson hair fanned out in disarray.

For a long moment, Juliet simply stared.

Then, a quiet chuckle escaped her lips.

“Why are you like this?”

It felt too real.

Her mind was too clear.

For the first time in a long while, she felt truly rested.

…Truly rested?

A sudden jolt of realization hit her.

She sat up abruptly.

Her body felt too light.

The weight of exhaustion, which had clung to her shoulders like a second skin, was gone.

Even the dizziness that had plagued her whenever she moved was absent.

And yet—her vision was still strange.

“Oh.”

The curtains had been drawn back halfway.

That much made sense.

Perhaps Cassio had opened them while she slept.

For whatever reason.

But beyond the curtains—

Sunlight wasn’t pouring in.

It was dusk.

A warm glow of sunset bled into the room.

“Is this… really a dream?”

Juliet sat there, dazed, blinking dumbly at the unfamiliar sight.

Then, someone entered the room.

Slow, deliberate footsteps.

Heavy, as if carrying the weight of the world.

As if all the exhaustion she had shed had transferred to him instead.

“Juan?”

“…My Lady?”

Juan’s eyes widened to the size of lanterns as he looked at Juliet.

But only for a moment.

His thick brows soon drooped, and his expression crumpled as though he might burst into tears.

“My lady…!”

“What? What is it?”

He rushed toward her without hesitation and immediately took her hand.

Then, with a grave expression, he pressed against her palm, placed a hand to her forehead—

And his face twisted with anguish.

“Do you have any idea how much you frightened me?”

“What? Why…?”

Juliet barely had time to get a word in before Juan launched into a frantic tirade.

“In the middle of the night, His Grace stormed into this old man’s quarters—saying you had collapsed! It was complete chaos! When I rushed over, your fever was burning high—oh, and you, who never fall ill! You were so terribly unwell that I thought it was something far worse—”

“Uh, well…”

“So, of course, I administered medicine immediately, but no matter how little tolerance you have for strong remedies, you simply would not wake! For three days—three whole days—I feared for my very heart, unable to rest even for a moment—”

“…Three days?”

Whether Juan was speaking to her or merely lamenting into the air, his words tumbled out in a seemingly endless stream.

Juliet, listening with only half an ear, suddenly jolted upright.

“I was asleep for three days?”

“Asleep? No, my lady—you were ill!”

“Oh…”

Juan’s exasperated outburst startled Cassio awake.

Slowly, he stirred, lifting his head from where he had been resting.

For a man who had been sleeping soundlessly just moments ago, he looked infuriatingly well-rested.

With a perfectly composed face, he immediately chastised Juan.

“Juan, lower your voice.”

“Your Grace!”

“You’re startling Juliet.”

Only then did Cassio let out a small yawn, grinning sheepishly as he turned to Juliet.

“Good morning, Juliet.”

His demeanor was as unhurried as ever.

He seemed entirely unaware—or at least unconcerned—that Juan stood beside him, looking seconds away from breaking into tears.

“Uh… good morning.”

“Juan, is she well now?”

So he wasn’t completely oblivious.

Without any sense of urgency, he stretched and rose from his chair.

Juliet, watching him blankly, instinctively tilted her head back as he stood.

“…Yes, well. Her fever has fully subsided.”

Juan’s voice was laden with undisguised discontent as he answered.

But the old man soon abandoned his grumbling, turning his attention back to Juliet with quiet fussing.

“My lady, do you feel any headaches or nausea?”

“Mm…”

“Is your body heavy? Do you find it difficult to move?”

“No… I feel fine.”

Juliet responded almost absentmindedly, still caught in a haze of disbelief.

Even as she answered Juan, her gaze was fixed elsewhere.

Cassio, his expression drowsy with lingering sleep.

“Everything is all right now…”

Something flickered in her memory.

“There, there. Once you wake, you’ll feel better.”

The warmth of a hand tapping lightly against her own.

The weight of exhaustion sinking her deep into sleep, like drowning in the depths of the sea.

That voice—gentle, patient, soothing.

“Sleep a little longer.”

Her thoughts rewound, moving backward through time.

One by one, the fragments aligned.

And then—

“…Is that not allowed?”

Juliet’s eyes landed on Cassio’s lips.

His lips—

They looked oddly rough.

And she was certain.

They had touched.

Against mine…

“All seems well, then! Are you hungry, my lady?”

“…”

“My lady?”

“Surely, you mean Her Grace, Juan. Not ‘my lady.'”

Juliet raised a hand to her lips without realizing it.

And yet, even as she absently traced them with her fingertips, Cassio was preoccupied—correcting Juan’s choice of address with utmost casualness.

As though nothing had happened.

As though their lips had never touched.

“Ah, yes, yes. Her Grace. The Duchess. Indeed, Your Grace.”

“That’s right, isn’t it?”

“Yes… of course. So then, Duchess—are you hungry?”

“…Was it a dream?”

The words slipped out of Juliet’s mouth, unbidden.

Her gaze remained fixed on Cassio—not his face, but his lips.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then, slowly—

A long, lopsided smile stretched across his face.

A smirk, sharp and knowing.

His lips, now slightly parted, curled into amusement.

And his voice, rich with mischief, purred:

“Who knows?”

It was the kind of look only a man who knew exactly what she was thinking could wear.

Tapping his fingers lightly against his lips, he asked again, teasingly:

“Was it a dream?”

“…”

With a sudden, forceful movement, Juliet yanked the blanket over her head.

“Your Grace? Duchess? What’s wrong all of a sudden?”

“Ha. It seems she’s quite shocked—being told she slept for three days and all.”

Cassio’s voice was lighthearted as he responded to Juan, amusement dripping from every word.

Beneath the covers, Juliet bit down on her lip.

Her fever had supposedly broken.

Yet her cheeks burned hotter than ever.