The Bodyguard's Wife
Most people had no idea Elodie was in Korea. But a few did.
The airport staff who'd crossed her path on the way out of France. Her parents. And certain key figures in both the Korean and French governments.
They knew the Saint had entered the country, and they kept their mouths shut. Part of it was simple caution — you didn't casually tangle with the Saint. The rest was pressure from Elodie herself, who'd made it clear she wanted a quiet stay.
Her reputation wasn't confined to France. It was global. And she was a high-ranking Awakened in her own right, so there was no good reason to poke the bear. Information control, gag orders, tight reins on every loose-lipped gossip — they locked it all down and kept their word.
"A visa… is that what you're asking for?"
Song Jun-woo, vice president of the Korean Awakened Association, was one of the people who knew Elodie had entered the country.
"Yes. If you want to stay in another country and work, you need a visa. But I'm not familiar with how things work in Korea, and I'd rather keep this as quiet as possible — so I called you."
"I understand. That said, Saint, we could issue you citizenship outright rather than a visa."
The procedures for obtaining citizenship? The qualifications? He was more than ready to ignore every last one of them. And Song Jun-woo was hardly alone in that. The Saint was coming — and they were going to stop at a visa? Nine out of ten people on the street would have said the same thing. In practice, they would have, too.
Whatever her intentions, they won't do us any harm. Taking her in is pure gain.
The Saint's character was every bit as fine as the rumors claimed. No exaggeration. Everyone who'd met her said so, and Song Jun-woo agreed with every fiber of his being. Even setting her title aside, having her here would be an enormous help.
"You're already making an exception just by hearing out a request this improper. I couldn't possibly ask for more. Thank you — truly — for taking the trouble."
"Ah… not at all."
Song Jun-woo answered in a faintly dazed voice. He knew a request like this was a little much for the Association's vice president. He also knew it wasn't really that big a deal. The actual paperwork would fall to his subordinates, after all.
"And if it wouldn't be too much trouble… I'd like visas for two more people as well."
"As long as they have no criminal record, that shouldn't be difficult. Just send me their personal information by email."
"Thank you. I'll leave it in your hands, then."
Elodie ended the call with another word of thanks. Silence settled over the vice president's office, with only Song Jun-woo left sitting in it. His right arm went slack and dropped onto the desk, the darkened phone still in his hand.
A visa, huh.
Was she planning to settle in Korea for good? Word was that things were moving strangely on the French side as well. Thoughts crowded into Song Jun-woo's head, then dissolved, then crowded in again.
"…Haa."
He let out a long breath and started working his phone. The question of why she'd gone through the Awakened Association instead of the government flickered through his mind, then settled into a simple conclusion: she was an Awakened, so this was just easier.
"Let's bring your wife over."
The first time I said those words, Henri's eyes went wide as saucers. For a man that stiff to look that shocked — it hit me hard, too.
"That isn't possible."
"Henri. Until now, I've respected your wishes, and she agreed with them, so I never thought it was my place to interfere. Honestly, I still feel that way."
"Then why…?"
"Because I agree with Ji-hyuk. And because I can't stand this any longer. Bring her over. Quickly."
Up to now, they'd been apart, but still within the same country. Meeting hadn't been hard. But now that Elodie had decided to stay in Korea, everything was different — and our thinking, our approach, had to change with it. A different country. A much greater distance. Elodie pushed hard on that point, and Henri, who held her in the highest regard, couldn't hold out against her stubbornness.
Still, if Henri's wife had insisted on remaining in France no matter what, I'd have been ready to drop it. Pushing Henri was one thing. Forcing his wife would have been crossing a line. Some people might say it's the same thing either way — but to me, pressure and a suggestion were entirely different.
"I can live with the Saint?! I'm absolutely going!"
Luckily — or unluckily — his wife turned out to be extremely enthusiastic. Every carefully assembled sentence I'd prepared to persuade her went up in smoke on the spot.
And so, today, we met Henri's wife at the airport and spent a warm, lively stretch of time together. Henri stood beside us looking distinctly unsettled.
"Is it really you, Saint? Oh my goodness…! The black hair suits you so well!"
"Thank you. And you're still as bright and beautiful as ever, Valerie."
"Oh my!"
Light brown hair, a small frame. Slender, yet with curves that made it clear she was very much a grown woman. Henri's wife, Valerie Dubois, stood in front of Elodie and simply didn't know what to do with herself — and this was in a quiet corner of the arrivals hall. Elodie had dyed her hair black, at least, and Valerie's natural energy was already loud enough that it worked out. If this had happened in the middle of a thoroughfare, every eye in the place would have been on them. The fact that they were speaking rapid, hard-to-follow French helped a little, too.
"Back in France you were always at the Ystua family's main house, and even knowing Henri was at your side, I never had a good enough excuse to visit. It was so frustrating!"
"Was it? Henri never said a word about that…"
"Well, as you know, Saint, he's so terribly quiet. I have to dig and dig just to get a sentence or two out of him."
The moment Valerie shot him a look of mock grievance, Henri hastily averted his eyes and blinked. His expression stayed dry, but the fluster showed clearly in his gaze.
"Oh, I'm so sorry. I got so excited I just kept talking without a break."
Valerie finally put a little distance between herself and Elodie and met my eyes. Henri, being her husband, seemed content to pretend I barely existed.
"Valerie Dubois."
"Seo Ji-hyuk."
"You're the one who called before, aren't you? The husband the Saint has her eye on."
"Embarrassing as it is to admit — yes."
I nodded, and the light in Valerie's eyes settled into something calmer. Polite. Cautious. Exactly the way a person looks when meeting someone for the first time.
"It's a pleasure."
"The pleasure's mine. You must be tired — shall we head straight home?"
"Let's do that."
That composure didn't last long. The moment we boarded the express bus, her energy came roaring back as if it had never left — largely because she'd been seated right next to the Saint.
"Did you book the seats this way on purpose?"
Henri, sitting beside me in the row ahead of Elodie and Valerie, asked in a low voice. Fortunately, she wasn't being loud enough to truly bother anyone. Still, it clearly got under his skin.
"Yes. When we spoke on the phone before, you mentioned how much she likes Elodie."
"So you planned this."
"Helped break the ice a little, didn't it?"
"Yes. Thank you."
Henri exhaled a long, heavy sigh and dipped his head. The look of a man finally able to breathe again.
"By the way — what did your wife do for work? Or was she a full-time homemaker?"
Elodie had told me the salary from the Ystua household was quite substantial. Henri himself was a fairly accomplished Awakened and had put money aside. In other words, Valerie hadn't needed to work. That was exactly what had sparked my curiosity.
"My wife ran a wine shop. I never imagined she'd sell the whole thing off and come here on the Saint's word alone."
A bitter smile touched Henri's lips. He seemed to feel a sting of self-reproach that her affection for Elodie ran deeper than he'd expected. I paused a moment, then gave the corner of my mouth a careful twist — just enough to look like a gentle smile.
"I don't think that was the only reason she decided to come to Korea."
"Pardon?"
Henri blinked in surprise and met my eyes.
"How many people would uproot their entire lives for another country on fan devotion alone? Isn't it more likely… that she desperately wanted to live with you, Henri?"
There was no question Valerie was fond of the Saint. Elodie had once saved her life, after all — that alone would have deepened the attachment. It was probably why she'd respected Henri's choice to stay by Elodie's side for so long. But that didn't mean she felt nothing for Henri himself. She wasn't some ordinary housewife whose passion had cooled into something quieter and more ordinary. What lived in Valerie's eyes was a fierce love for Henri — fiercer than newlyweds still burning with honeymoon fire. Stronger, maybe, than the first rush of first love. Henri simply hadn't noticed.
"That… may well be. In truth, even though we barely saw each other, we never once fought. Nothing unfortunate ever came of it, either."
Henri nodded readily, accepting what I'd said. Clearly the idea hadn't been entirely foreign to him.
"Right. So I thought the best thing would be for you to stay by your wife's side and keep doing the work you've always done. Of course, if you just wanted to be a family man, that would be fine too."
"Repaying the debt I owe the Saint would take more than a lifetime. I will not be the first to step back."
Henri's resolve was as solid as ever. You could shake him as hard as you liked, cut the legs out from under him — he still wouldn't budge.
"I see."
I was short on words, and there was no need to dress it up further, so I left it at that. It was enough. Heavy talk ends here. I'd heard his conviction and been moved by it. Time for something lighter. That was what I told myself as I opened my mouth again — and the afterglow of that quiet emotion had already sparked a new idea.
"You said your wife ran a wine shop, right?"
"Hm? Yes. She did."
"Then what would you think of running one on the first floor of the building? Sound all right?"
Henri drew a salary from the Ystua household, but something about it always seemed insufficient, and given the nature of his work, real benefits were hard to come by. Helping him open a wine shop, though? That struck me as a solid idea. Living support was fine welfare — but taking it one step further seemed better still. Put a wine shop on the first floor, fill the empty space with something pleasant, and everyone wins.
Henri's eyes flicked left and right, looking thoroughly thrown.
"It's so unexpected I barely know what to say… but this is far too generous."
"It benefits me too. Your wife is beautiful — if she's holding down the first floor, people will notice. A beautiful woman has always been the best kind of advertising."
"A commercial advantage…"
Henri trailed off, sinking into thought. The fact that there was a practical angle seemed to ease some of the weight off his shoulders.
"I'll talk it over with Elodie, so give it some positive thought. And of course, I'd like your wife to do the same."
In the end, Valerie opened a wine shop on the first floor.
The interior work went through a contractor I knew. We stocked wine racks, cellars, and whatever else you could buy domestically. And the most important piece — the wine itself. The stock from Valerie's old shop was to be flown over by plane, handled by her parents, who'd stayed behind to wind the place down.
The business registration, the licenses, every scrap of red tape — Elodie and I walked through those ourselves. The visas were a non-issue; Elodie had already taken care of them.
The shop's name was Leroy Wine Shop. Conveniently located, a little unusual, and it drew a solid crowd from the day it opened. A sidewalk sign advertising a proprietor who'd run a shop in France itself didn't hurt. Neither did the unusual menu item — recipes for delicious, approachable wine concoctions. Having an apartment complex one block over helped, too.
"Hello."
"Oh — yes, hello. Cleaning again today?"
I stopped by the shop while mopping the hallway, and Valerie greeted me warmly. Seeing each other face to face every day had worn away the awkwardness and suspicion.
Nice.
It was only natural, in a way — but the beginner Korean primer in her hand made her look genuinely admirable. And she paid monthly rent to keep the shop running. All in all, she had her head on straight. She could have lived rent-free and had turned it down herself.
"Yeah. How's business?"
"Going well, thanks to you. The 'easy, approachable wine' angle really landed."
Wine has a reputation for being difficult. Even I thought so, after my time in France. But approachable wines did exist. Valerie had filtered out the low-quality ones and imported the good ones among them.
"Glad to hear it."
I answered naturally in French. Valerie still wasn't comfortable enough with Korean. When she sold wine, though, she mixed Hangul and English and did her best. Henri, when he covered for her, did the same. Guarding Elodie only mattered when she actually left the house, after all.
"Yes. I'm really grateful. Thanks to all the help, we settled in so quickly — and we didn't have to go through any of the headaches with the paperwork."
"That was more Elodie's doing than mine."
"Of course the Saint is merciful… but I know now. If it hadn't been for you, Ji-hyuk, she wouldn't have gone that far."
Was that true? I wasn't sure — but I could believe it.
"Is that so?"
"Yes, it is. Anyway, I really am grateful, and…"
Bzzz.
Mid-conversation, the phone in Valerie's pocket buzzed.
"Sorry. Just a moment."
She set the conversation aside with careful politeness and pulled out her phone. Since it had come to that, and I didn't have anything left to say, I said goodbye and started to leave —
"Really? You're coming here?"
Just before the shop door closed, a scrap of conversation drifted out and caught my ear. Quite interesting, that.