You're a Woman Who Doesn't Know What Love Is
“What… did you just say?”
“Kiss me.”
Ania tapped her pale, translucent cheek with a fingertip and closed her eyes. A faint flush had risen across her skin. Simply looking at that smooth cheek made my heart swell until I felt like a boy again. So I answered gruffly.
“A kiss? How unseemly.”
I muttered it out of baseless embarrassment and lowered my head, but Ania’s expression began to darken once more.
“Of course, since we’re husband and wife… we can kiss.”
I hastily amended my words. Ania’s smile returned at once; she tapped her cheek again with her index finger.
“Hurry.”
“Let’s do it when we get back. We’re still in the carriage.”
“What does that matter?”
It mattered a great deal. Even having a beauty like Ania Brontë feed me by hand was enough to plant strange expectations in my chest. If I kissed her cheek, I would never forget the moment for the rest of my life. And then… someday, like those men driven mad by love, I would throw myself into danger for her even knowing it risked my life.
Spending every waking hour thinking about you? No thanks.
Ania Brontë. A woman who had already settled into my heart merely from facing her. A woman who, with her beauty alone, could toy with nobles, knights, and heroes as she pleased. That was why, even as I found her lovely, I also felt fear.
Ania tilted her head and asked,
“Could it be that you’re embarrassed?”
She said it with a bright, playful smile.
“Embarrassed? Hardly.”
“No one’s watching. As long as you and I keep quiet, no one will ever know.”
As she leaned her face closer, her expression suddenly changed. The smile vanished.
“Or is it that you have no interest in me at all?”
“......”
What was I supposed to answer? That I wasn’t uninterested? That I loved her? That I felt nothing whatsoever? I had no idea what to say. That was all. The only reason I closed my mouth and offered nothing.
Ania seemed to interpret the silence in her own way. She withdrew the cheek she had offered and smiled faintly.
“I understand.”
She spoke with a bitter smile, and from that moment until we reached the mansion she only gazed at the setting sun.
Had I offended her?
But you…
Ania Brontë. You’re a woman who doesn’t know what love is. Someone who values possession more than a single word of “I love you.” So why are you wearing such a lonely expression?
Unable even to name the tangled feelings in my chest, I simply chewed my lower lip until the carriage stopped at the mansion.
The moment Ania returned to the mansion she went straight to her room, skipped dinner entirely, and threw herself onto the bed. She buried her face in the soft pillow and let out a long sigh. The clothes Edward had given her already lay scattered carelessly around the wardrobe, but she paid them no mind.
Why was I so happy over mere clothes?
Feeling like a fool for getting so needlessly excited, Ania found herself strangely sad. She had gotten worked up alone, her heart had swelled alone, she had enjoyed herself alone.
Annoying.
He was a man she simply could not understand—Edward Radner. When he had pressed every dress that suited her into her arms, she had thought his heart had returned to her. Even while grumbling about whether they really needed to come to the capital, he had looked at her with a gentle smile, so she had reassured herself that he was enjoying the day in his own quiet way.
But that had not been the case. His expression had suddenly hardened as if their outing no longer amused him, and on the ride home he had refused even a simple kiss.
It wasn’t as if she had wanted a kiss on the lips. Just a kiss on the cheek. Between husband and wife, such small affection was hardly a grand affair, was it?
Of course she knew Edward visited the church every week to worship. She knew he was a proper man who lived by the church’s doctrines. That very quality was what she liked about him. Yet even if Ania was not as devout a believer as Edward, she knew this much: there was no doctrine forbidding affectionate acts between husband and wife.
The realization left her heart aching and her pride wounded. Other men fell in love merely from her looking at them and smiling. Winning a man’s heart had never been difficult for Ania Brontë. If she had to name the easiest thing in the world, she could have declared it with confidence: capturing a man’s heart.
But the men whose hearts she stole had all been trivial. They craved her love and came bearing gifts she had never asked for, begging for affection. I’d even give my life for you, they would say…
Ania let out a hollow laugh.
“When did I ever tell anyone to give their life?”
And yet they actually did. One went to fight a dragon promising its heart and was eaten. Another made a contract with a demon promising imperial power. Another fell from the castle walls and died. Their excessive love had only ever felt burdensome. Unwanted love, even a whole armful of it, brought no joy. So she had never been able to understand those men—men who would throw their lives away for a woman who gave them no affection in return.
But now she herself was doing the same. She wanted Edward’s love. The thought was so absurd it made her want to laugh, and yet it left her feeling utterly pathetic.
Ania was sulking.
I may not be an expert on women’s hearts, but even someone who knew nothing about women could tell she was clearly sulking.
“My lady, how about having dinner together tonight…”
“No.”
“Ania, a few days ago I received a beautiful necklace as a gift. I thought it would suit you…”
“I’m fine.”
“The Geumdonghwa are blooming beautifully. Shall we walk in the garden together?”
“I’m not in the mood.”
She was definitely sulking. She rejected every single suggestion I made—for an entire week. Even her sudden insistence on feeding me or dragging me out on outings had never been this terrifying. Those times had been far better. When she came on strong I could simply manage her; when she openly avoided me like this, I couldn’t even start a conversation.
“This is bad.”
I sank into worry. What if Ania asked for a divorce? High society would explode, William Radner would be trembling in terror—it was a nightmare I didn’t need to witness to understand. Then I would die. Not as a joke. Really die. Either Valentine Brontë would kill me, or I would be thrown into the streets to starve.
Determined to survive somehow, I went to her room, knocked, and asked to talk. Her reply came through the door:
“I have nothing to say. Not to an Edward who won’t even kiss me on the cheek!”
She was making her sulking abundantly clear. So for a full week I desperately racked my brains. How exactly was one supposed to soothe a sulking woman’s heart?
I devised my first plan.
Women are weak to compliments.
I rose early and loitered near Ania’s door. After about thirty minutes of pacing she finally emerged, and I rushed over in a single bound.
“My lady… you look truly beautiful today as well!”
It was morning, so her hair was a little messy, her face slightly puffy, and without makeup her complexion was a touch pale… yet she was still beautiful. It wasn’t a lie.
“......”
Ania slammed the door in my face and disappeared inside.
“Then what on earth am I supposed to do to make her feel better?”
I agonized for another two days. In the dramas, movies, and romance novels I had watched before possessing this body, how had they soothed a sulking woman? As I fretted, a brilliant idea struck me.
Codename: Sugar Administration Operation.
A certain doctor of love had once declared: there is no woman in the world who dislikes sweet things.
“Lorelnd!”
“Yes, young master!”
“Bring the empire’s finest pâtissiers this instant! Immediately!”
“Leave it to me!”
The next day Lorelnd returned with five renowned pâtissiers from across the empire.
“You will make the most delicious desserts in the world!”
I worked them relentlessly until five respectable plates of desserts appeared—cake, macarons, cookies, and more. I seized the tray at once and headed for Ania’s room.
“My lady! My lady!”
“......”
Ania stuck her face out with her brow deeply furrowed, as if advertising to the entire household that she was sulking.
“What is it, Edward.”
“You seem low on energy lately, so I procured some excellent desserts… would you like some?”
“......”
The corners of her mouth drooped.
“I hate sweet things, hus. band.”
Ah…
So there really were women in the world who disliked sweets. I realized anew that love was not something one learned from books.
Another failure.
This time the door would slam shut again. Thinking that, I squeezed my eyes closed.
Huh…?
Contrary to expectation, the door remained open. Yet Ania was nowhere to be seen. A person could not suddenly shoot into the sky or sink into the ground.
“Ah… Young lady!”
I understood the reason only when a maid let out a startled scream. Looking down, I found Ania there—collapsed on the floor.