106.

After marriage, every day with him was a series of surprises. Today, it seemed his plan was to astonish me with a ‘braiding your hair’ stunt.

Having lived a tumultuous life, I prided myself on experiencing a variety of events. Yet, there hadn’t been anything quite like this. If I were to categorize it, my life was one of the three great tragedies: devoid of love or happiness.

But my husband braiding my hair on my birthday?

He caught me off guard in unimaginable ways every day, and my heart could barely keep up.

“Were you surprised?”

“You said we’d meet at breakfast.”

Earlier this morning, when I was dragged out by the maids before I could even open my eyes, Norma had waved me off, saying.

“I’ll see you at breakfast.”

“I diligently learned from Mrs. Seymour,” he said, looking quite satisfied with himself.

I glanced at Mrs. Seymour, who feigned ignorance, her head half-bowed.

It was then I realized something for certain: while it wasn’t about picking sides, everyone in McFoy Castle was undoubtedly on Norma’s side.

I could easily imagine Mrs. Seymour and the maids conspiring with Norma. This had become a regular occurrence of late.

“The last time you mentioned you needed to learn something from Mrs. Seymour, it was hair braiding?”

“Yes. Since you always braid your hair up, I thought I’d like to be the one to style it for you.”

Good heavens. The last time he disappeared suddenly, it was truly to learn how to braid hair. He always managed to exceed my expectations.

In retrospect, he did show a particular fascination with my hair. I remember one night when we lay side by side in bed, and he fiddled with my curls, remarking how thick and wavy they were.

But I never thought he’d entertain the idea of braiding it himself.

“Mrs. Seymour mentioned she braids your hair on your birthday. She taught me the technique quite well.”

It was such a habit of mine that I never gave it much thought. But hearing it from his mouth now, I felt oddly embarrassed to be twenty-six and still having a childhood nanny braid my hair on my birthday.

Suddenly, he leaned in close, aligning his eyes with mine. The unexpected nearness startled me, and for a moment, I thought he might kiss me, so I shut my eyes tightly.

“As you know, I’m particularly quick at learning anything physical,” he whispered, his lips brushing close to my ear.

But instead of a kiss, his words lingered there. I cautiously opened my eyes, only to find him smiling mischievously. His deliberate choice of suggestive words made me wary, and I stared at him suspiciously, my movements undoubtedly awkward.

Over his shoulder, I noticed the servants hastily looking away, pretending to busy themselves. While I wasn’t sure how unnatural I looked, they probably weren’t any less stiff than I was.

“Don’t worry. I’ll braid it beautifully.,”

He said with a playful smile, his intent to charm as clear as day.

His confidence made him seem effortlessly poised and skilled, contrasting sharply with me. The realization sparked a sense of urgency. I widened my eyes in mock defiance, only for him to smile meaningfully and straighten his posture, leaning back.

Though it felt like he’d conceded, it allowed me to finally exhale the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“Now, would you please take a seat?”

At Norma’s bright suggestion, the maids moved swiftly, placing a chair without a backrest in front of me. Once again, it was clear whose side they were on.

I sat down willingly, yet I couldn’t take my eyes off his reflection in the mirror.

He didn’t avoid my gaze either. Ever since apologizing for turning his back on me, he never turned away first, nor did he avoid eye contact.

“Lord McFoy, I’ll take my leave now. There’s much to attend to, so you’ll excuse me,” Mrs. Seymour announced, her timing perfect as if she had been waiting for the right moment.

I had anticipated her departure the moment Norma stepped in. With a sharp glance, I silently chastised her for her mischievous streak before letting it go.

“…”

Once alone, he remained silent, his hands running through my hair repeatedly. I could see through the mirror how his fingers sifted through the cascading black strands, only to let them slide back down.

It felt as though he was teasing me, though there was nothing inherently playful about touching someone’s hair. Still, the gentle sensation left me ticklish. I wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come easily.

Again, his fingers slipped through my hair, and it fell softly against my back. Even such a trivial action sent my senses reeling, from the top of my head to my toes. The tingling sensation made me press my lips tightly together.

Lately, I found myself far too conscious of him. Even though I tried to appear indifferent, he likely knew all too well that the slightest touch from him had me leaping internally, struggling not to show it.

“Does it tickle?” he asked.

He asked, fully aware of the answer. His languid, teasing tone carried a faint hint of amusement, sparking an odd sense of defiance within me. There was a shameless playfulness to him.

I knew how to deal with someone who enjoyed teasing others. They were looking for a reaction, and the best strategy was to deny them the satisfaction. I chose silence.

But Norma was a peculiar man who found entertainment even in my mere breathing. His face lit up with laughter as though this was the most amusing thing in the world. I couldn’t help but feel deflated.

He divided my hair at the crown, parting it evenly down both sides. As his hands moved, the backs of his fingers brushed my skin. While one side of my neck felt a refreshing coolness, the spot his hand grazed burned like fire, leaving my mouth dry.

If there was any silver lining, it was that I didn’t flinch when his hands touched me.

Norma began braiding one side of my hair, and I tried desperately not to focus on the sensation of his hands, as if it were something akin to a lingering touch in the night. To distract myself, I mentally recited the names of vassals or counted in an ancient tongue.

By the time I had named all the vassals and reached sixty in ancient numerals, it happened.

“Aah―”

I shuddered involuntarily, a soft gasp escaping my lips.

It was nothing. Truly. Norma had merely paused in braiding my hair to run his hand slowly up the nape of my neck. I knew it was nothing, but the suddenness of the gesture overwhelmed me.

I was abruptly reminded of how sensitive I was to external stimuli. My reaction seemed to startle Norma as well, his hand halting mid-movement near my neck.

Utterly mortified, I lowered my head, my face burning with embarrassment.

Then, to my disbelief, Norma leaned in, his upper body folding until his nose pressed against the back of my neck. A low groan escaped him.

“Ha. Aisa, please.”

“Ugh―”

Oh no.

His warm breath fanned over the nape of my neck, and another strange sound slipped from me before I could stop it. The sensation was magnified by the lightweight dress I wore, which left my shoulders bare for the summer. His nose, cheek, and lips brushed against my exposed skin, sending a flood of prickling heat through me.

“Why, why? What did I do?”

In my panic over having reacted so embarrassingly, I jerked my head up, raising my voice. My moment of humiliation passed quickly, replaced by a determination to shift the blame onto him. He was often the more shameless one, after all.

As I looked ahead, the mirror revealed Norma’s face buried in the curve of my neck. Though I couldn’t see his expression, the sight of his ears, flushed a vivid red, was unmistakable.

Oh dear. It was troublesome when he turned red like that. Flushing had a contagious quality.

Of all times, there had to be a large mirror right in front of us. That day, I witnessed my own face turn just as red as his in real-time, realizing with dismay that I was no different from him.

‘Damn it. Is this how I normally look? No wonder everyone always laughs at me.’

Caught in a moment of self-conscious shock over our absurdity, Norma moved without warning.

He tilted his head slightly, running the bridge of his nose slowly along the curve of my neck. His lips found their way to the pulse point on my neck, pressing lightly against the throbbing vein. His breaths came heavier than before.

“Wait. Wait!”

Instinctively, I hunched my shoulders and barely managed to find my voice.

I knew where this was headed. Once the mood reached this point, it always ended the same way: with us passionately entwined, as though it were preordained. I would find myself either pinning him down or being pinned beneath him, tangled in each other.

But not now. The banquet was about to begin, and we were its hosts.

“You haven’t even finished half of my hair, Norma.”

Even I thought my attempt to stop him was feeble. Our eyes met in the mirror, and the sly fox saw right through me, detecting both my wavering desire and hesitation.

Norma didn’t stop. This time, he let his lips linger on my skin, trailing kisses down the length of my neck. When he reached the protruding bone at my shoulder, he swirled his tongue with deliberate intent.

My mouth fell open. A scream-like gasp threatened to escape, and I clamped both hands over my lips to stifle it. In my mind, two voices bickered incessantly.

The banquet was imminent; I needed to stop this.

But then again, wasn’t I of higher status? Surely they could wait a little longer.

No―wait. Milan Diazi, his father, would be present.

Still, we were married, and Norma adored me. No, he didn’t just adore me. He loved me.

‘And I, too―’

Just as my rationality dissolved and my nerves frayed, Norma abruptly pulled away. The hot presence against my back vanished, leaving me gasping for air. A wave of loss and peculiar disappointment washed over me, mixed with a faint sense of sorrow.

Breathing heavily, I furrowed my brows, a wry thought crossing my mind.

‘If he hadn’t stopped… what would I have done just now?’

In moments like this, Norma often outmatched me. Though he was always the one to start, I was the one who lost myself to the moment, unable to notice or care about my surroundings. At least he had the sense to rein things in.

I caught sight of him in the mirror as he sank to the carpet, seemingly drained. When I turned halfway to face him, I saw his head bowed, his shoulders slumped as though he had no strength left.

On his knees like a scolded puppy, he pressed his face to my thigh. His ears were still red, his neck now flushed as well, as he let out a long sigh.

Then, slowly, he nuzzled his cheek against my leg, lifting his head just slightly to look up at me.

“…”

Of course. As if he were any better than me.

His usually sharp golden eyes were unfocused, damp, and hazy—just like how he looked at night. He gazed up at me with a look of utter longing, as if utterly consumed.

And in his eyes, there was only me.

The fire was already lit, and with his gaze, it erupted. I found myself lost in a single, undeniable thought.

I wanted to pin him down right then and there.