Chapter 62

Clarette’s portrait was displayed in the deepest part of the Crown Prince’s collection. The Crown Prince must have truly cherished her portrait.

Lionel felt oddly as if his loyalty to the Empire was being tested in an unexpected way.

“Ah, its position has changed a bit. It used to be among other paintings.”

Clarette stopped with a slightly embarrassed expression. Lionel slowly turned his gaze to the portrait that occupied an entire wide wall.

Twenty-year-old Clarette Sollier was looking at him.

Her face from five years ago still showed traces of youth. But her expression and eyes were calm and serious, closer to a woman than a girl.

In the painting, Clarette’s dress was plain, and her black hair was loosely tied to one side. She looked almost like a young wife—someone who would care for a baby at home and greet her husband kindly when he returned. The whole painting exuded a gentle, peaceful atmosphere.

Uncharacteristic of Clarette.

“…Is this you?”

Lionel frowned slightly as he stared at her portrait. Of course, the Clarette in the painting was, true to her nickname ‘Flower in a Frame,’ very fresh and beautiful. No man could refuse such a woman.

But Lionel was slightly taken aback by the painting, which gave off a completely different vibe from the Clarette he knew. It felt like looking at a stranger with the same face.

Clarette, feeling a bit shy under his intense gaze, spoke.

“It’s a bit different from now, right? I was younger back then.”

“No, I prefer you now. That’s not it… The mood of the painting is different from what I expected.”

“Oh, it’s your first time seeing a painting by Thiago? I thought you’d be used to it, since there are so many of my father’s paintings in the annex gallery. Their styles are quite similar.”

“Your father’s paintings? Hmm, now that you mention it…”

Listening to Clarette’s explanation, Lionel examined the portrait again. As she said, Thiago Salto’s painting was very similar to that of his teacher, Arno Sollier.

In Clarette’s portrait, the warm light reminiscent of Arno’s paintings stood out. The colors were cozy and the brushstrokes soft.

Lionel recalled Thiago’s cold-looking face and was amazed. How could someone with that look paint such a warm picture?

While he was looking at the painting with mixed feelings, Clarette murmured,

“I hear things I don’t need to because of this painting, but just looking at the work itself… I really do like it. The image of me in the painting is unfamiliar, but that’s beside the point.”

“Why do you rate it so highly?”

“Thiago perfected the style my father pursued all his life.”

Lionel sensed admiration in Clarette’s eyes as she appreciated the painting. She continued quietly, not noticing his gaze.

“When my father passed away three years ago, I was of course sad, but I also missed seeing his new paintings. That’s why I’m grateful to Thiago. His paintings carry my father’s style, so they comfort me.”

Clarette’s gaze toward Thiago’s painting was as affectionate as when she looked at her father’s work. Lionel, watching her from the side, felt heavy and uneasy, but had nothing to say. Only a subtle discomfort lingered in his chest.

‘I don’t know much about art. But one thing is certain.’

Seeing Clarette’s portrait, Lionel was convinced.

Thiago Salto truly loved Clarette Sollier. Enough to want her as his wife.

‘Clarette says she just likes the painting, but that’s not all. This is… a painting made with the heart of a man looking at the woman he loves.’

No one else might notice, but Lionel understood.

Now, he could understand that feeling.

* * *

“This piece is wonderful too, Mr. Salto. Marquis Xavier praised it highly.”

“The waitlist will only get longer. The young ladies in my family are counting the days until they can see you. They say they need to have their portraits done before they get any older.”

“Thank you, My Lady. You flatter me.”

The most popular portrait artist in Genoa, Thiago Salto, was surrounded by people in the main hall of Rembart First Theater.

After the afternoon performance, nobles relaxed in the hall, enjoying delicious finger foods and young artists’ paintings with their champagne.

“My real wish was to own a painting by Arno Sollier. I realized his true value too late. I should have commissioned him before he passed.”

“But we have Mr. Salto, don’t we? He’s even better in some ways, especially in terms of expression.”

“The Crown Prince’s taste is truly remarkable…”

Thiago wore a polite smile and responded appropriately to the nobles’ words.

The nobles cherished and adored the young artist, who knew how to keep his boundaries. His elegant silver hair, delicate features, and sharp eyes drew the attention of many women.

Known as a stubborn young artist, Thiago Salto was always showered with praise and respect wherever he went. He was constantly offered patronage and commissions, his position always unrivaled.

“But isn’t Arno Sollier’s daughter also a painter? ‘Flower in a Frame,’ that woman.”

At that moment, Thiago quietly listened to the mention of Clarette. Recently, there had been a surge in talk about her among people in the art world—especially after the large auction party at the Valentin Duchy.

“Ah, Clarette Sollier, right? I think she’s a portrait artist, too.”

“Arno Sollier must have taught his daughter to paint. Too bad she wasn’t a son—then the line would have continued properly.”

“Haha, he didn’t need a son, did he? Just look at such an outstanding disciple.”

“Right, Mr. Salto is Arno Sollier’s true successor. They say her painting style is different from her father’s anyway.”

“Of course. She probably didn’t learn properly. All she has is her looks, isn’t it? The Duke must keep her in the annex and treasure her. A woman like that couldn’t possibly be talented…”

Thiago quietly chewed over these words as he left Rembart First Theater.

He should have spent more time there, searching for good clients.

‘Fools who know nothing.’

But once inside the carriage, Thiago irritably loosened his tie. It didn’t take long to reach the townhouse Marquis Xavier had prepared for him. He slammed the carriage door and entered the empty house.

No attendants greeted him with “Welcome, Sir.” He occasionally hired someone to clean, but used his need to concentrate on work as an excuse to live alone in the spacious house.

Moreover, Thiago had never invited a model to his studio. Since all his subjects were nobles, he always visited their homes to paint their portraits. He could never tolerate anyone else stepping into his space.

Climbing noisily up to his main studio on the second floor, Thiago kept recalling the words he’d heard at the theater.

Who says she’s not talented?

Thiago opened the studio door and quickly turned on the lights. The room, obsessively tidy, contained nothing but what was needed for painting.

With one exception: a single portrait hung on the wall.

Thiago approached the painting and gazed at it silently. The subject was Thiago Salto himself, painted at age twenty.

It was the only portrait Clarette Sollier had painted for him when she was seventeen.

Thiago stared intently at the intellectual, contemplative image of himself. He still vividly remembered the time when young Clarette had asked to practice painting his portrait.