Chapter 57
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 57
River Ross’s “outing” was lasting much longer than expected. A full week had passed since the day he’d promised to return, and still, there was no sign of him. Every morning, Vanessa would ask Mary if any letters had arrived, hover by the telephone, or scan the newspapers for any mention of naval accidents.
At first, she was just upset that he had broken his promise. After three days, annoyance gave way to worry. By the time a week had passed, she had resigned herself to his absence.
Perhaps River Ross had no intention of returning at all—just like the soldiers who so easily forgot the lovers they left behind.
Vanessa scooped up Dahlia, who was tugging at her hem, and walked down to the Rose Garden. Shrouded in the dawn mist, the garden was desolate, yet it pulsed with a strange, fresh vitality. Heath bushes, which had grown knee-high in his absence, were covered in beautiful purple flowers, and waterbirds from the nearby river perched on the branches, chirping softly.
She plucked a pair of late-summer roses, their heads drooping with morning dew. Dahlia thrust her wet nose forward to sniff them, snuffling before letting out a sudden sneeze.
Vanessa sat on the old chair beside the warehouse. She had hoped, foolishly, that she might miraculously sense his presence by coming here, but it was a futile thought.
"Shall I put you down?"
She carefully lowered Dahlia to the ground as the puppy stretched her neck and squirmed, having caught an interesting scent. Watching her bound through the weeds and roll around, Vanessa figured she would be a happily muddy mess by noon.
The smile gradually faded from her face as she watched Dahlia play.
If he really left, did he take all his things with him?
There were plenty of ways to find out. All she had to do was open the warehouse door. That alone would tell her whether he had left for good or if he intended to return.
River Ross always left the key to the warehouse hanging in the key box for all to see, as if he wouldn't care if someone opened the door and stole everything he owned. Vanessa stared at the key box, her heart conflicted, before shaking her head.
But he might still come back.
If the place were nothing but ruins, she wouldn't hesitate. But the warehouse was still River Ross's private space. She couldn't just barge in and rummage through his things while he was gone. Even between the closest of people, courtesy and respect were necessary.
Or maybe I just want to turn a blind eye to the possibility that he left without a word.
Vanessa swallowed the bitter self-mockery that rose in her throat. In any case, this pathetic sentimentality, this escapism, would end today.
If she didn't hear from him by this evening—or at the latest, by sunrise tomorrow—she would have to… Vanessa let out a deep sigh.
Then I must respect his wishes. It would mean he doesn't want to see me anymore.
She rested an elbow on the armrest and propped her chin in her hand. Her drifting gaze settled on the white-painted warehouse. The space, abandoned for so long, had been transformed by River’s hands into a surprisingly cozy hideout.
Buildings left uninhabited tended to age quickly. And Vanessa hoped this place would remain a warm, living space for a very long time.
Once he's gone, perhaps I could turn it into a writing room.
Even if things hadn’t ended well between them, the place itself was innocent. Vanessa was confident she could continue to love it—and him. River Ross, the memories of her twenties, the Garden of May…
She would come here to reminisce to her heart's content. To yearn for and love someone in secret was an act that harmed no one.
Woof! Woof, woof!
Dahlia, who had been chasing insects, suddenly perked up her ears and began to bark, her small body tensed. Vanessa watched as the puppy ran bravely toward the garden entrance as if to drive away an intruder.
Vanessa kept her eyes fixed on her lap, waiting for the presence to either draw closer or disappear.
The crunch of footsteps on the path stopped only when the familiar tips of leather shoes entered her field of vision. A man's long shadow fell over her, blocking the morning sun like an awning.
"Vanessa."
His voice was slow, almost like a sigh of admiration. The way River Ross said her name was always uniquely his. Blinking at the sudden rush of joy, Vanessa quickly bit her lip to contain it.
"What are you doing out here so early?"
A faint trace of amusement laced his tone. Still, Vanessa kept her eyes on the ground. She was afraid that if she looked him in the face, she would forget all her anger and greet him with the unthinking joy of a dog welcoming its master.
She remained stubbornly silent, then stood abruptly from the chair. She tried to hurry past him, but after only a few steps, his hand closed around her wrist.
"…Let go."
Vanessa mumbled, her ears flushing red. She didn't want to face him right now—not in this defenseless state, caught completely off guard in both her appearance and her emotions. Who could have expected him to appear now, on foot, through the morning mist before the cars were even running?
Telling herself it might not be him had been a defense mechanism. The sound of the iron gate opening, the crunch of a man's boots, the presence drawing steadily closer…
It would be a lie to say she hadn't hoped, but the moment she heard his voice, all her defenses had crumbled. She just didn't want to look a mess in front of him.
"Where are you going?"
"To my room… I forgot something."
"You've been waiting all this time, only to leave without even looking at me?"
"Well, yes, but… later…"
Vanessa glanced anxiously toward the garden entrance. She felt terribly shabby in her thin, pilled shawl thrown hastily over her chemise, her hair tied up in a messy knot, and her thick-rimmed glasses perched on her nose.
The more handsome and gentlemanly he looked, the more self-conscious she became.
"I thought it would be nice to see you," he said softly.
"……"
"But this is even better than I imagined."
Vanessa stopped trying to pull her wrist from his grasp. The tension drained from her rigid body, all because of one simple phrase implying he had been thinking of her while they were apart.
Clinging to her last shred of pride, she turned her head away from his touch.
"…Why did you have to come back today of all days? You should have just stayed away longer."
If he had come yesterday, she would have been happy. If he had come tomorrow, she would have forgotten him forever. River Ross mulled over her words, a short laugh escaping him as he sensed the sharp resentment she hadn't quite managed to hide.
"I'm glad I wasn't too late, then."
To say he was glad he hadn't been gone long enough for her to let him go completely—the man was ridiculously attractive. The moment her gaze, stubbornly fixed on the floor, softened, a large hand cupped her cheek, tilting her head up to face him.
She squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to give in so easily. A soft chuckle brushed against her skin, followed by a brief warmth on her forehead. It pulled away, then touched her swollen eyelids, the bridge of her nose, and her slightly parted lips.
"……"
The contact was as fleeting as an instant, and never deep. River Ross let her go gently.
"Your lips are cold, Vanessa," he remarked. "Don't wait out here like this. Stay inside next time. It’s chilly before sunrise, even in the summer."
"…What if I break something important of yours?"
"Whatever is inside, you can do with it as you please."
He took the key from the box, unlocked the padlock, and stepped inside. Standing frozen in a state of intense conflict, Vanessa eventually followed him in.
River placed his briefcase on the desk and moved through the long warehouse, opening the curtains and pulling back the windows. The fully risen sun streamed in, casting warm light into the cool space.
"……"
Dust motes danced in the sunbeams, sparkling like gold dust. Vanessa sat on a wooden chair and watched his back as he moved. During the week they had been apart, it was as if God had sculpted him into someone even more perfect.
Beauty, cool elegance, and the vibrant freshness of a young man coexisted harmoniously in his handsome features. His firm thighs and the well-defined muscles of his frame, which even his neat gentleman's attire could not hide, lent a certain wildness to his every movement.
He was a commoner more aristocratic than any noble. As she gazed at his impossibly perfect form, the rumors the maids whispered behind his back suddenly came to mind.