Chapter 14 – Something That Will Never Happen

Sasha, feeling a bit deflated, wiggled her hips as she tried to stand. Somehow, he seemed uncomfortable.

“You must be tired. Maybe I should head home now? I might be disturbing your rest after so long.”

“This is a space I gave to you. If anyone’s bothering someone, it’s me.”

The man stood, grabbed his coat and hat from the chair, and headed for the door. Sasha, hesitating whether to stand, suddenly sprang up as if she had springs attached.

“You’re leaving? You’re not going straight back to Laurent, are you? How long will you stay in Manolie this time?”

“Probably until summer ends.”

Robert carefully removed the small hand that had grabbed his sleeve without permission. Before he could step back, Sasha hopped away first, as was her habit, taking two steps back.

“Let me advise you, you shouldn’t act like this. Unless you want people to misunderstand.”

He rubbed the button on his sleeve and warned Sasha. At sixteen, she should know not to act this way with men who aren’t family. Even if she grew up in the countryside, she couldn’t be so ignorant.

Just as Baron Auguste said, Sasha’s free spirit might be good for painting, but elsewhere it was dangerous. At least in Laurent. And even more so in the salons of society, where she would eventually have to go.

“I’ll be careful. Sorry if I startled you.”

Sasha still looked like she didn’t quite understand, but she didn’t protest and nodded quietly. Robert sighed and gently patted her head.

* * *

“Mr. Robert has lost interest in you.”

Someone suddenly sneered into Sasha’s ear as she carefully selected a melon at the fruit shop. Sasha shivered at the unpleasant breath and turned to see Damien smirking mischievously.

“No matter how often you run to that mansion with the excuse of painting, a man like him won’t be interested in a kid like you.”

Sasha disliked Damien. He disliked her first. When they were younger, it wasn’t like this, but at some point, Damien began to hate her for no reason. It was better when Enzo was around, but otherwise, he would smack her head or poke her back with a branch and run away whenever he had the chance.

After being caught by Grandma Rollo and scolded, he was quiet for a while. But after Mr. Robert returned to Manolie, Damien started hanging around Sasha again, picking fights.

Sasha ignored Damien and paid for her purchase. Even as she returned to her bicycle, Damien followed, grabbing the paper bag she was carrying.

“Give it back.”

Sasha stopped and demanded. Damien hesitated.

“Why make a fuss when I offer to carry it?”

“I never asked you to carry it. It’s mine. Give it.”

She held out her hand firmly, and Damien, annoyed, lifted the paper bag out of her reach.

“No. Try and take it if you can.”

Sasha steadied herself and lunged. Surprised, Damien dropped the bag, and the melon rolled across the street. She had bought it especially because Grandma Elodie wanted it. Sasha glared, and Damien flinched.

Without a word, Sasha picked up the melon and stacked it neatly in her bicycle basket. Just as she started to pedal away, Damien blocked her path.

“Men like that are all hypocrites. Fool. Don’t you know every gentleman in Laurent keeps a mistress? If you give yourself away, you’ll be toyed with and discarded.”

Sasha tried to be patient. But when Damien insulted her with dirty words, she couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m not in that kind of dirty relationship with him. Even if I were, what business is it of yours?”

Angry, Sasha snapped back. There would never be such a relationship with Mr. Robert. But even if there were, what did it matter to Damien, not to Mr. and Mrs. Vinoche or Enzo? Damien’s face turned red and blue.

“How can you say that? You wicked girl! I’m warning you because I care!”

Damien shouted, furious, and pushed Sasha’s shoulder hard. Her bicycle lost balance and crashed with a loud noise. Sasha, sprawled on the ground, tried to get up but teared up with the pain. Damien, realizing he hadn’t meant for her to fall so hard, looked apologetic.

Across the street, a man reading the newspaper on a café terrace folded his paper. He put the newspaper and coffee payment under the empty cup and stood. It was Mr. Robert. As the two fighting children stood stunned, he crossed the street and approached.

The man rumored to have blown away a disobedient subordinate’s head with a gun during his military days was much taller and bigger than Damien. Surely he hadn’t heard everything?

‘If he did…’

Frightened, Damien ran away on the spot.

Robert helped Sasha stand and picked up her bicycle. As Sasha came to her senses, she stood, dusting off her painfully scraped knee, tears welling up. Luckily, there was no blood, but it would surely bruise. Still, only Grandma Rollo would sympathize—she always said boys were mischievous.

Swallowing her anger toward Damien, Sasha picked up the melon that had rolled twice on the ground. The green rind with thick stripes was so ripe, or maybe from being dropped, the stem had split open, releasing a sweet scent. Mr. Robert’s large hand placed something on top. It was her headband, which had rolled into the street during the scuffle.

The bicycle’s rear wheel was broken again. She would have to ask Mr. Vinoche to fix it when she got home.

“Should I push it for you?”

Seeing her limp, Robert offered. When Sasha refused, he didn’t insist. After some time, halfway up the hill to Hawthorn Mansion, he spoke again.

“It’s better if you don’t come to the mansion anymore. Your patron can get you a better atelier.”

Had he been thinking about this in the silence? Sasha glanced at him. The sunlight was so hot that even the shade couldn’t cool him; he’d taken off his vest and draped it over his arm, and loosened his tie. Sweat glistened on his exposed neck.

“But no matter how good the atelier, it won’t have the garden of Hawthorn Mansion.”

Sasha replied wistfully. The atelier at Hawthorn Mansion wasn’t just a studio with paints and brushes. Its garden was one of Sasha’s beloved places in Manolie, along with the woods and beach. Robert’s brow furrowed.

“What do you think of me?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

The man, bending over, suddenly thrust his face toward hers. Sasha blinked at his eyes, so close—ultramarine, viridian… and now, she noticed a hint of gold she hadn’t before. His nose was almost touching hers. Beneath the unfamiliar perfume, there was a heavy, sharp scent. Startled, Sasha trembled and stepped back.

“Why do you so easily believe I don’t have any impure intentions toward you?”

Robert, stepping back with his hands behind him, asked in a dissatisfied voice. Sasha stared blankly and cautiously asked back,

“Um… then are you going to make me your mistress?”

“No.”

One corner of his twisted mouth twitched. A cold contempt flashed in his eyes.

“If that were the case, I’d never have come back here.”

“That’s right.”

Sasha giggled, satisfied that she was correct. The conclusion was clear. He would never do something so foolish as to make the young girl of Manolie his mistress. The little kindness he showed her came from simple curiosity, not dirty desire.

That summer, when he unexpectedly inherited the estate, he’d visited the Royal Academy’s exhibition out of duty, without expectations, and found a painting—now hanging in his room, closed to everyone—which was painted by this girl. He was fascinated that the child he’d met in the countryside, smelling of oranges, was the artist. The Manolie girl was the only whim he’d indulged since becoming the Duke of Guienne.

Others might consider it a waste of time to travel to a countryside with no direct train to Laurent just to spend summer vacation, but he thought it wasn’t bad. Watching the young painter grow and playing the role of patron. As Baron Auguste said, perhaps art was a crystal sphere created by unnecessary minds.

That was enough. If he decided so. Robert was the Duke of Guienne, and knew he was no longer in a position to be advised by anyone. The wind brushing his flushed neck felt cool. Before they knew it, they had reached the top of the hill where Hawthorn Mansion stood.

“Thank you for helping earlier. If you weren’t bigger than him, Damien would have kept following me.”

Grumbling about persistent Damien, Sasha picked the cleanest melon from her bicycle basket and offered it to Robert as thanks for helping her at the café.

“Does your grandmother still believe that kindness without compensation is impossible?”

“Huh?”

Sasha looked at him as if wondering how he knew. Robert, feeling oddly cheerful, reached for the melon. Just as their fingers brushed, there was a clatter as the carriage door behind them opened. A woman, veiled and slender, stepped out.

Robert withdrew his hand. Sasha was stunned. The woman, dressed in sophisticated clothes never seen in Manolie, seemed to come from another world. Just like the day Mr. Robert first arrived in Manolie.