Chapter 32
It was not that he had never learned tea etiquette at the temple. However, the clergy’s manners were quite different from those of nobles. He did not know well, but each of her movements seemed to carry meaning. That was likely why he couldn’t take his eyes off her small, unblemished hands.
Perhaps what froze him was the elbow that kept brushing his arm the entire time she prepared the tea, or perhaps it was the face hovering right before him.
What drove him mad was that, far from any rejection, he was instead enjoying it all.
“If you add sugar like this and wait a moment before stirring, the flavor becomes richer.”
Bjorn, distracted by the absurd urge to twirl a lock of hair that had fallen across her cheek around his fingers, only came to his senses when he heard Leila’s voice.
“Would you try it just like that? If you mix up the order, I’ll tell you.”
Feeling like the greatest fool alive, he awkwardly lifted the teapot. Like during the last meal, Leila kindly explained one by one how to tilt the teapot so the tea would not spill, how to elegantly pick up a sugar cube, how to neatly spread clotted cream on a scone, and how to eat a watercress sandwich cleanly.
In the process, her fingers and his brushed and tangled countless times. She even committed the outrageous act of gently enclosing the back of his hand with hers to show how to hold the teacup level.
At the sensation of the soft skin that couldn’t even cover half his rough hand, Bjorn nearly dropped the cup, and at the same time his uncooperative lower half rose stiffly for the third time today against his will.
“Miss Leila, I have something to tell you.”
The plan to slowly bring up the matter in a relaxed atmosphere was abruptly changed. Bjorn could no longer endure spending time pressed so close to Leila.
Leila, who had just praised his finished tea and was about to drink her own, paused and nodded.
“I’m listening, Sir Bjorn.”
Guilt clawed at his conscience at the gentle eyes looking at him without suspicion, but it couldn’t be helped. Bjorn pushed away the presence called Leila Bailey that kept trying to enter his heart and opened his mouth.
“I need money. A lot of it.”
It was the first magic phrase.
“……“
Hearing his abrupt request, Leila opened her mouth briefly then gently covered it with one hand. Waiting for her reply, Bjorn felt more miserable than ever.
‘Say you have debt. Gambling debt, that is. With this she won’t help but run away in disgust.’
It was the so-called debtor operation. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the small play meant to drive Leila away was turning into a large-scale deception, but like a snowball already rolling, it would not stop.
Leila, who had been covering her mouth, slowly spoke with trembling pupils.
“Surely… the money you bought the parasol with wasn’t…”
“No!”
Bjorn shouted reflexively at the absurd assumption and buried his face in his hand, cold sweat forming.
‘Damn it, do I really have to go this far…’
“I personally borrowed money. After returning from the war, I got into betting gambling at a fellow knight’s suggestion… I kept hoping to at least recover my stake, and the debt kept increasing.”
“My goodness… roughly how much is it?”
Even then, Leila asked the needed amount without showing dislike. Hoping she would give up here, Bjorn said the number he had prepared.
“I think one million sol would at least put out the urgent fire.”
Bjorn’s monthly pay, which he considered fairly generous, was five thousand sol. As far as he knew, the annual income of an ordinary noble house was about five hundred thousand sol, so one million sol was an enormous sum.
Leila seemed startled by the amount and took in a sharp breath. He felt like irredeemable trash.
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