Chapter 4
The voice she heard for the first time was so sweet it seemed it might melt her ears.
Romia stared at the innocent button for a long while, then took a step back in retreat.
Once some distance was secured between her and the man, she cautiously lifted her head.
His gaze, still indifferent, stung.
‘So he can speak after all.’
A somewhat petulant thought flitted through her mind.
She didn’t want to bend over to pick up the button.
An odd silence hung in the air, softly curling around them.
The man looked at her with an expression that suggested he was quietly curious about what she might say next.
The blunt force of his direct gaze made Romia squirm.
‘What am I supposed to do in this situation?’
Her mind was blank.
Should she thank him for pointing out the dangling button? Or Should she scold him for laying hands on her clothes without permission?
Romia held her breath and clamped her lips shut.
‘Mother’s tutor once gave me a list of appropriate responses for different social situations… I think?’
The memory of her etiquette lessons was hazy, but Romia carefully gathered her skirt, trying her best not to make a mistake.
“My name is Romia Perlos, sir. Thank you for letting me know about the loose button.”
“Ah, Perlos.”
The man responded as if the name were familiar. Romia’s eyes grew round in surprise.
“I’d heard there was a renowned hat-making family in Beredrose. I believe you’re also the actual manager of this shop?”
“You… know our family?”
“Even if I didn’t, it would be improper to say so in front of a Perlos.”
“Oh…”
It was an unexpectedly anticlimactic answer.
Romia’s face darkened with disappointment. Judging by his appearance, it was clear the man wasn’t from Beredrose, and she’d guessed he must be from the capital.
The brief flutter of her heart, stirred by the thought that someone from such a faraway place might know the Perlos name, quickly stilled.
Zehardi stared at Romia and spoke bluntly.
“You have many flaws.”
“…Excuse me?”
“I mean your gestures are unnecessarily exaggerated.”
“What…?”
“Just now, when you curtsied. You grasped your skirt too thickly. Your fingers were stiff with tension.”
Romia was at a loss in the face of his blunt critique. She couldn’t even recall exactly how she had greeted him, she simply looked down at her own fingers, as if they alone might hold the answer.
“And you’re too meddlesome. For someone with such talent, your clothing is awfully shabby.”
It was only then that Romia realised: the man hadn’t pointed out the button out of courtesy. Her cheeks flushed red.
She lowered her head in shame, trying to hide her burning face. On the ground, the button lay pitifully, like her own dignity, flattened.
In contrast, Zehardi’s gaze drifted toward the space where the button had been torn away.
His eyes trailed down the delicate curve of her neck, past her prominent collarbone, and slightly lower.
His expression suddenly hardened, cold and severe. His narrowed eyes fixed on her chest, where the threads had come loose, and frayed stitches jutted out like wriggling worms.
His stare lingered there, just as it had when he’d surveyed the hats in the Perlos display.
A faint, but distinct irritation flickered across his features.
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“I said I’d come up at the end of the month.”
“I read your letter. But I couldn’t just sit back and wait. I’ve come to fetch you.”
Olivia smiled with satisfaction.
He shone with a radiance utterly different from Beredrose, he carried a glamour that didn’t belong in such a place.
The young man beside her spoke with a composed tone that betrayed his contentment.
“You should’ve dismissed the ramblings of an old woman.”
To her gentle chiding, Zehardi let out a short, dry laugh, as if to say Not a chance.
“You wrote three lines praising Lady Beredrose’s hat. How could I ignore that?”
With each passing year, Olivia’s health declined further. Zehardi intended to show her all the courtesy he could.
“The craftsmanship was excellent. You said the Perlos family are a viscount lineage in Beredrose? It seems they’re quite esteemed in the south.”
“Did you like it more than the ones made by the royal milliners?”
“Take a look.”
Olivia carefully opened the wrapping Zehardi had brought. Inside was a refined and vintage-style hat.
She removed the one she’d been wearing and replaced it with the new gift. A lady-in-waiting quickly raised a hand mirror.
“Isn’t it lovely?”
“You look beautiful.”
“One never tires of such compliments, no matter how old one gets.”
Olivia admired her reflection with genuine delight. Though it hadn’t been tailored to her head size, the hat fit perfectly, as if it were meant for her. Like fate.
Turning her gaze from the mirror, she looked at her grandson.
“Thank you for thinking of this old woman, Zehardi.”
He nodded slightly as he lifted his teacup. His every movement was restrained and elegant.
Olivia found herself wishing she could boast about the one who had raised him but instead, she simply pressed her lips together in wistful pride.
‘He’s just a thoughtful grandson who looks out for his grandmother. That’s all he is.’
She felt a little foolish for ever worrying about the cold expression he sometimes wore.
Zehardi quietly set his cup down and asked.
“Why do you love hats so much, Grandmother?”
“The final touch to any outfit is the hat. Not a bag, not shoes, not even gloves. The hat.”
As she gently stroked the lace around the brim, Zehardi replied without inflection.
“I see.”
But Olivia didn’t notice the dryness in his tone. All her attention was on the hat he had brought.
“Dresses and shoes should be ornate and splendid. Shoes must be elegant, but also comfortable. Gloves are for modesty. But hats… they must be just right.”
“Just right?”
“Everything else can be extravagant, but not the hat. A hat must never be excessive, yet it must be beautiful.”
She giggled like a teenage girl.
Zehardi didn’t understand, but he nodded all the same. Olivia’s laughter grew louder at the sight.
His indifferent eyes flicked toward the hat on her head. It was trimmed with lace and tied with a ribbon that draped softly down her neck. That fluttering ribbon snagged at his attention.
‘Perlos’s hat shop.’
He sipped his lukewarm tea and recalled the small shop he had visited. A girl had approached him, unreserved and guileless.
She smelled faintly of leather and dye, a fragrance that suited her, and suited the warm, gentle air of the little hat shop behind the glass.
Zehardi frowned slightly as her clear eyes surfaced in his memory. He didn’t know why, but the thought of her left him deeply irritated.
The way she’d snuck glances at him when she thought he wouldn’t notice those curious eyes.
The way she’d glanced sidelong at the car beside him, thinking he wouldn’t catch it. How absurd and amusing.
A girl with tangled, unruly brown hair. He didn’t know her name.
But Zehardi gave her a label all the same.
A speck of dust.
That was Romia’s first impression to him.
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Word had spread in Beredrose that an extremely important guest had arrived from the capital.
No one knew exactly who, but the gossip claimed he was either a wealthy financier or a scion of the famed Firenze banking family.
Romia had once been captivated by those rumours. But ever since Madam Reccetto spoke of a rich, anonymous customer staying in Beredrose, and ever since that man appeared, she had avoided the topic entirely.
The shame and humiliation she had felt that day had yet to fade.
But just because she avoided the subject didn’t mean she stopped thinking about him.
Her mind was filled with the anonymous man who had visited the shop the day before.
Though his face had become a blur in her memory, the way his eyes had scanned her, that she remembered all too vividly. It kept her heart pounding every night before sleep.
‘He seemed like someone from an entirely different world than peaceful Beredrose.’
Romia blushed as the image of the young man surfaced again.
The moment his eyes landed on her, it felt like her heart had dropped into her stomach.
He hadn’t been adorned with glittering jewels. He hadn’t smiled dazzlingly like Prosi did.
All he had was an indifferent expression and piercing eyes, and yet to Romia, he was nearly the embodiment of ‘perfection’.
It was a kind of pressure she had never experienced before.
‘So that’s what it means to control someone with nothing but a look.’
No words, No gestures. Even if the other were a wild beast, someone like him would know how to tame and command them.
Unable to shake off the memory of that day, Romia eventually sought out Madam Reccetto.
Perhaps she would know who the man was.
“Madam… who was that customer, the one from the other day? He seemed like he came from the capital.”
“You mean the anonymous wealthy customer?”
Even though some time had passed, Madam Reccetto knew exactly who Romia meant.
“Yes. It’s rare to see a black car like that in Beredrose, right? He must be from the capital. Do you know who he is?”
“Well… there are quite a few anonymous patrons looking for Perlos. I’m afraid I don’t know who they all are.”
“I’m sure he was from the capital! The capital must be full of people as dazzling and impressive as he was, right?”
Romia was genuinely curious.
Despite how small and meek she felt in his presence, to the point that her shoulders had trembled, she couldn’t help but want to see him again. To glimpse him again.
Though the shame and contempt he had made her feel still stung like a blade, the image of that young gentleman filled her with inexplicable excitement.
Madam Reccetto, watching Romia’s eyes sparkle, gave a troubled smile.
Romia had always held a romantic image of the capital. She loved the natural beauty of Beredrose, but deep down, she dreamed of a bigger world.
A stage meant just for her. It was a fantasy, perhaps, but one many girls carried.
Seeing Romia’s flushed face, Madam Reccetto suddenly remembered something. She quickly handed over a neatly wrapped box tied with ribbon.
“Lady Prosi’s other hat repair is ready. You’ll need to take it to Beredrose.”
Even though the thought of him made her feel lightheaded, Romia had never imagined actually seeing him again.
So when she heard she had to return to Beredrose, where he might still be, her face visibly tensed.
“B-Beredrose?”
“Yes. You know Lady Prosi is very particular about her appointments.”
Madam Reccetto’s expression remained serene, unaware of what had transpired between Romia and the mysterious man.
Romia’s own face crumpled as she accepted the box with a quiet sigh.
She had meant to stay far away from Beredrose until he and his companions had left.
But now, the delivery date for Lady Prosi’s fourth hat had arrived, like fate pushing her forward.
His movements, his gestures, his voice, they were etched into her memory.
She couldn’t erase them.
But seeing him again… that was something else entirely.
Rumour had it the man from the capital was still staying in Beredrose.
So before setting off, Romia stood before her mirror and checked her appearance over and over, to make sure no buttons were missing, no collar wrinkled, no thread out of place.
