Episode 39
“Do you dislike Miss Mollet?”
Louis’s question snapped Monica out of her thoughts. She blinked, realizing she’d been zoning out.
Had she just referred to Riella as “Miss Mollet” instead of “Riella Mollet”? That name had been circling her mind so much that the mistake had slipped out.
This man—Luis—had proposed to Riella Mollet. No, not Luis directly, but Enrique, whose personality shared the same body. Regardless, it wasn’t a good look for him to mix up Riella’s name in front of her.
Monica rolled her eyes as Luis grinned knowingly.
She sighed and patted the stone bench beside her, signaling for him to sit. He complied without hesitation.
“Well… there aren’t many servants who completely adore the young ladies they serve. I hope I didn’t offend her.”
Her excuse was flimsy at best, but Luis nodded as if he understood perfectly.
“I get it.”
“Really?” Monica studied his face, trying to discern whether he was being genuine or teasing her. Luis simply waved his hand dismissively and smiled.
“I felt the same when I worked as a doctor on a ship. I took good care of sick passengers, but that didn’t mean I had to love their dreadful personalities.”
Monica narrowed her eyes. Something about Luis’s nonchalant tone rubbed her the wrong way.
So he had worked as a doctor. Was he lying?
She resisted the urge to interrogate him, allowing him to continue.
“If anyone is bothering you, Moni, just let me know. I’ll come to your rescue.”
“That’s a nice thought,” Monica replied dryly. She doubted Luis would go out of his way to protect her, especially if it involved Riella Mollet.
Besides, Monica was aware she’d been the cause of some of Riella’s trouble herself. Just earlier, Riella had glared at her but still walked away without addressing it.
Monica wasn’t sure why, but the memory made her uncomfortable.
Meanwhile, the piano shifted to a softer melody—a lilting concerto.
“It’s a waltz,” Luis said casually.
“Is it?” Monica asked.
“Would you like to dance?” Luis stood, extending his hand to her.
Monica shook her head. “I can’t dance. And I need to head back. You should go back too.”
“Oh, come now. It’s a hundred times more fun to dance with someone who doesn’t know how than to stand around upstairs pretending to the know people you don’t.”
Though she knew it was flattery, Monica couldn’t help feeling a bit pleased.
It had been so long since anyone had said anything nice to her. Or… maybe not.
As she thought about it, she remembered Hans’s words from before:
“I’ve only ever met strong girls like Maria. So, when I see someone like you, Teacher, I don’t know how to praise you.”
She had brushed off his compliment, but now, thinking back, she realized why it hadn’t felt special—it lacked the sincerity that Luis seemed to have bring to even the silliest remarks.
“As an apology, will you dance with me?” Luis asked again, his bright smile disarming.
Despite her annoyance with him, Monica agreed.
Luis took her left hand, rested her right hand lightly on his arm, and placed his other hand on her waist. She could feel the warmth of his palm through the fabric, and it tickled her.
“Okay, take a step to the left. There you go.”
Luis was an excellent teacher, but Monica quickly realized she was a terrible student when it came to dancing.
“Oh, I’m hopeless!” she exclaimed.
“You’re doing fine,” Luis reassured her.
“No, I really don’t need to learn. I’ll never have the chance to dance anyway.”
Luis smirked. “Don’t be so sure.”
He tried to guide her through a few more steps, but Monica broke away, laughing as she flopped back onto the bench. Luis simply shrugged, dropping the subject.
“You said you were going to make a ‘green potion’?” he asked suddenly.
“Do you all share everything about each other?” Monica replied, raising an eyebrow. “Oh… well, I suppose you must.”
Luis grinned and winked. “Beryl College—it’s a great place.”
“Have you been there?”
“Of course. I even got a scholarship in my first semester.”
Monica snorted. It was obviously a lie.
Still, something about Luis’s cheerful boasting made her want to play along.
“Really? Then when I enroll, you can help me become a top student.”
“If you can get in. The entrance exam for Beryl College is notoriously difficult, isn’t it?”
Monica laughed, playfully swatting his arm. Luis feigned surprise, while lifting his chin.
“Then I assume you were in the medical department? Later, when I figure out the formula, you’ll help me with it, won’t you?”
Luis sighed theatrically. “Oh, but I’d rather not help.”
“Why not?” Monica asked, genuinely curious.
Luis smiled, taking her hand and pressing a quick kiss to it. It was so sudden that Monica didn’t even have time to pull away.
“Because if you succeed in making that potion and give it to Enrique, I’ll have fewer chances to see you.”
Monica blinked, caught off guard by his honesty. A small pang of regret surfaced in her heart. But instead of dwelling on it, she smiled teasingly.
“That’s a convenient excuse.”
“Oh, Moni, how cold-hearted you are! Tearing my heart to shreds like this!” Luis clutched his chest dramatically, pretending to collapse.
Monica rolled her eyes.
The music upstairs had shifted again—now a lively polka filled the air.
Luis didn’t miss a beat. He grabbed Monica’s hand and spun her around.
“Whoa!” she yelped in surprise.
Before she could protest, she found herself laughing.
Luis twirled her, lifted her, and spun her around effortlessly. Though her steps were clumsy, she didn’t mind—it was fun.
After several spins, Monica collapsed onto the bench, out of breath.
“If anyone saw this, they’d get the wrong idea,” she panted.
“What idea?” Luis asked, grinning mischievously.
“That you’re in love with me, for God’s sake!” Monica shot back.
Luis burst out laughing. “Well, aren’t I?”
Monica scoffed. “Luis, I’m not an idiot.”
As they finished their dance, Monica noticed his disheveled cravat. She picked it up, intending to tie it back, but paused.
“I don’t know how to tie a cravat,” she admitted.
Luis chuckled. “Then keep it. Use it as a handkerchief.”
“This? It’s far too expensive!”
Luis picked up her fallen handkerchief instead, inspecting the embroidered initials. “Whose is this? A lover’s?”
“It’s Miss Valentino’s!” Monica exclaimed, snatching it back.
Louis laughed and handed her the cravat with exaggerated flair. “Take it, Monimoni. It’s yours now.”
They parted ways, still laughing.
As Monica walked back to the garden, she unfolded the cravat, admiring its intricate lacework. It was beautiful, far too fine to be hers.
But when she spotted Hans nearby, standing straight-backed and flushed, she suddenly worried.
“Mr. Hans?” she called hesitantly.
“Yes, Miss Monica?”
“Have you… been here the whole time?”
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