Chapter 7

Rose glanced at Ray, who was exchanging greetings with Count Greenwood—Sophia’s husband.

As always, the man stood straight, dressed in a perfectly fitted shirt and vest, as if his weight never changed. A silver watch gleamed on his left wrist, his buttons fastened without a single gap, his tie tied crisply and neatly.

As expected… no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t imagine it.

That a man so rigid and unpleasant had ever been a soft, ordinary child.

“…I can’t imagine it.”

“Right? I told you, it’s not just me who thinks that.”

Despite Rose’s brief reply, Sophia burst into cheerful laughter.

“There aren’t many people who’ve known Ray as long as I have. But honestly, he’s been exactly the same from then until now. I’ve told him so many times to try living a little more interestingly, but he just laughs it off. I used to wonder—who on earth would marry a man like that?”

The fact that she could even have such a conversation with him meant they weren’t just acquaintances—they must have been very close.

According to Rose’s father, Ray was far beyond someone she could even dream of marrying. But that didn’t seem to apply to Sophia.

“But still, how lucky you are to have such a beautiful wife. Ray, Rose is far more beautiful in person than in photographs.”

It seemed Sophia had seen the newspaper front page featuring Rose.

Well, it would’ve been difficult to look worse than that photo—standing on the street, mouth open, chewing fruit.

Agatha had been speechless upon seeing it, then later quietly told her that eating on the street was something only uncultured people did.

Fortunately—or unfortunately—there was nothing in Orturan delicious enough to eat right on the street anyway.

“…Indeed, Lady Greenwood. I must have performed some great deed to be granted such fortune.”

Ray replied coldly, with a smile that didn’t quite resemble one.

Aristocratic manners truly were something. That man probably considered her the greatest misfortune of his life.

“See? So stiff. Ever since I got married, he won’t even call me by my name anymore.”

He didn’t even call his own wife by name—yet Sophia seemed to be an exception.

Then again, Rose herself didn’t call him by his name either.

“Your Grace, I heard you met the mayor of Merrilyn this morning? It seems the Foreign Minister is busier with domestic affairs than even the Prime Minister or the Minister of the Interior.”

Count Greenwood spoke with a gentle smile.

“I simply respond when help is requested.”

Ray answered calmly, wearing his usual composed expression.

Rose found herself glancing at him.

He had gone out early to meet the mayor, then met an ambassador at noon—yet there wasn’t the slightest hint of fatigue on his face.

No matter how exhausting the world was, he endured it as if it were simply his duty.

She could vaguely understand now—he wasn’t doing this for money.

Duty.

“…Why do you think people ask you for help? Many believe Archibald Avery isn’t suited for Minister of the Interior. In the by-election, only the districts where you campaigned won for the Conservative Party.”

“A man who only ran newspapers—what would he know? Of course Ray has to step in.”

At Agatha’s elegant yet cutting remark, Rose recalled what little she knew of this family.

Ray’s grandfather was a famous war hero. His father had been gravely injured in war and later died from complications.

And Ray himself had gained his current fame and honor through participating in war.

That, too, must have been duty.

All of it still felt strange to her.

How could someone be so devoted to their country—to the point of risking their life—yet treat another person with such cold disdain?

“…By the way, Rose.”

Sophia suddenly lowered her voice.

“There’s something I’m curious about…”

A bad feeling crept over her.

“In Bolton… do people really eat snakes?”

And just like that, her premonition came true.

It was one of the most common questions she’d been asked since arriving in Orturan. Exaggerating slightly—perhaps a hundred times.

“Oh dear, Sophia.”

Agatha smiled awkwardly, as if trying to stop her.

“But Agatha, I’m really curious! Everyone talks about it as if it’s true…”

The truth was, Bolton had eaten snakes once—about a hundred years ago during war and famine.

Now, no one did.

But somehow, that old story had been exaggerated beyond recognition in Orturan.

At first, Rose had explained sincerely.

But most people didn’t believe her—or didn’t actually care about the answer.

By the twentieth time, she realized it wasn’t curiosity.

It was mockery.

Eventually, she grew tired and began changing her answers.

“No, only when Orturan raises food tariffs too high.”
“You seem very interested in snake meat—have you tried it?”

Rose stared at Sophia.

There was only curiosity in her eyes—no malice.

Of course. Agatha and Beth had praised her as the perfect woman.

Still… why did it irritate her?

“Yes. Bolton doesn’t have wheat or oats—there’s barely anything to eat.”

She spoke a serious lie without hesitation.

Sophia gasped, covering her mouth.

“Really?”

Her voice dropped in shock.

“Rose.”

Agatha called her warningly, but Rose continued indifferently.

“If there’s food, why would anyone eat snakes?”

She meant it sarcastically—but judging by Sophia’s expression, she had already imagined Bolton as a starving country.

Wouldn’t most people realize by now? Bolton was right next to Orturan.

Did they really think it lacked even basic grains?

At this point, Rose didn’t even feel anger anymore.

Beth stepped in.

“Sophia, Rose is joking.”

“Oh—!”

Sophia looked embarrassed, then laughed.

“Ah, so you don’t eat them! You really startled me. People from Bolton must have quite a sense of humor—I couldn’t tell at all!”

It ended with laughter, but Rose wondered—

How long would everything she did be interpreted through the lens of “being from Bolton”?

Even this kind of joke wasn’t particularly Bolton-like.

True Bolton people spoke directly.

Back home, her neighbor Mr. Howard used to scold her for not being Bolton-like enough.

Yet here, simply breathing made her “too Bolton.”

No matter how much she tried to erase her past, people wouldn’t let her.

Across the teacup, she saw Agatha’s slightly flushed face—and Ray, silently watching her.

This situation was exhausting.

Holding back endlessly, only to be judged the moment she spoke.

Suddenly, Rose wondered—

If her mother was watching from the heavens… what would she think?

Would she still believe this marriage was the greatest fortune of Rose’s life? “Don’t make me regret teaching you piano, Rose. Please… I’m begging you. Don’t make me regret everything I taught you. I can’t bear it otherwise. Please.”

How could someone’s last words be something like that?

Why would a dying person say something so trivial?

Her mother hadn’t even passed away until she got an answer.

Only after Rose reluctantly agreed did she die in peace.

Shouldn’t last words be something more meaningful?

“I love you.”
“You made me happy.”

If it were her, she wouldn’t waste her final breath on something so small