My Beloved, Whom I Desire to Kill - 263

Whether it was a good feeling or a shameful one, Giselle puckered her lips to keep them from curling up and slyly gave him a look, then subtly offered one of her feet. As soon as Edwin took her foot in his hand, his eyes narrowed.

—It still fits in one hand. When are you going to grow up?

After making a mischievous joke to a woman who had already grown to her full height, he began to take off the sock Giselle was already wearing. His long fingers wrapped around her ankle in one go, stroking it down, past her heel, and to her toes. When he tugged the end of the sock, it slid down, fully revealing her bare skin. Giselle’s face flushed hot as she watched the sight.

This must be the first time he’s touched my feet….

His hands touched various parts of her foot as he put on the new sock. By the time he was done with one, she could feel, without even looking in a mirror, that her face was as red as someone who had single-handedly finished a bottle of wine. Her mind was as dizzy as if she were drunk.

—It fits well.

He let go and held out his hand again. Giselle shifted slightly and sat up, offering her other foot. With one knee bent and the other foot in his hand, her skirt would be in his line of sight. Giselle didn’t bother to cover up. No, she even stretched her arm out behind her to lean back, staring intently at Edwin.

The man, who had been taking off her sock, stopped as his gaze went past it. The faint smile on his lips disappeared. He had taken the bait.

If this man were to take me right here, I wouldn’t push him away. It wasn’t that she was exactly ready, but a sudden curiosity struck her; she wanted to see what would happen if they went all the way.

His eyes started wandering, like a person who didn’t know where to look, and the back of his neck turned a deep red. Edwin hastily put the sock on, placed her foot down, and stood up immediately. Then, as if nothing had happened, he picked up the next gift box and handed it to her, telling her to open it.

—Tch, how boring.

His reaction to seeing her skirt was a good sign, but it was so tiresome that he didn’t stray even one step outside the confines of Edwin Eckleston’s self-control.

Giselle sat with both legs to the side, giving him a sideways glance. Only then, as if realizing what she had done, Edwin stared at her with an expression that was blatantly taken aback.

—Did you just test me?

—Mr. Edwin Eccleston, you have failed the test.

At her remark that he should have let his male instincts show to pass, he was dumbfounded and began to complain as he opened the gift she had given him.

—You won’t even let me kiss you, so what’s the point…

To think he believes we must follow a proper order. That was so like Edwin Eckleston.

They spent that day at home, except for a walk with the dog. They played card games and listened to a Christmas special on the radio, but time flew by just by eating the cookies Edwin had brought and reminiscing about past Christmases together.

Their first Christmas together, back when she had just met him as a starving war orphan and he was a kind soldier, Edwin had tried to fool her, even though she was past the age of believing in Santa.

—To be an adult who’s more naive than a ten-year-old.

—I was just willing to share my pure childlike heart at that age.

They both burst out laughing as they recalled the old memory. They followed their shared timeline from the very beginning, and when they started to talk about how they had spent the Christmases in the years they were apart, they became quiet. Why was it that the time they had not spent together, which was closer in a sense than their shared memories, felt so distant and faint?

As evening approached, they prepared dinner together, a meal Edwin had pre-ordered: the Rudnick family’s special Christmas stew.

It seemed he had kept the fleeting comment she had made while arresting Reming in his heart. He watched her intently as she read the recipe she had written down from memory.

In fact, this was the second time she was making the stew, a consequence of the copycat incident from yesterday. It was the price for not showing Edwin her memory of the previous day, but thanks to that, she felt confident that today’s stew would taste even more like the one she remembered.

—Okay, now we just need to let it simmer for about an hour.

The man who had just placed the heavy cast iron lid on the pot looked down at Giselle’s body with a strange look. She felt as though she knew why. This was probably the first time he’d seen her in an apron. And she felt she could guess what he was thinking.

—What? Do I look like I’d make a good wife?

—No, I want to take it off.

…What?

Edwin held the stunned Giselle in his arms, untied the knot at the back of her waist, and actually took off her apron. He didn’t make a move when I gave him a chance, but has he changed his mind now? Of course, this was Giselle’s own mistaken assumption, as she was the only one curious about the special privilege of a lover that he hadn’t even dangled as a lure.

—A duchess doesn’t wear things like this.

It was his way of saying that if she married him, he wouldn’t let her do any housework.

An hour later, they each had a steaming bowl of stew in front of them and first clinked their wine glasses. However, Giselle only pretended to drink before setting her glass down and picking up her spoon. She wanted to fully savor the taste of the stew.

—So this is what it tastes like. It warms the heart.

Edwin, who had also picked up his spoon, was the first to speak.

—Is it similar to the taste you remember?

Giselle lowered her head to her soup bowl and gave a small nod. The familiar taste brought back memories of Christmases before she had met this man. They were so poor that she had to fight her siblings for a single piece of meat, but back then, she had no idea that the days of having a family to fight with wouldn’t last forever.

—Didn’t you miss this taste? Why didn’t you ever tell me?

—With all the wonderful and much tastier things at the duke’s estate, I just completely forgot about it.

He narrowed his eyes, as if to say, ‘As if.’ Giselle pushed aside her habit of pretending to be fine and answered honestly with a deep sigh.

—It hasn’t been that long since this stew stopped being a painful memory I wanted to forget and became a memory I wanted to taste again.

The fact that she wasn’t the only one who had survived and carried the memory of their family was a great comfort.

I wonder if my brother is eating Mom’s Christmas stew right now, too?

Last month, while exchanging messages with Konstanz under Operation Weasel, she had asked what kind of meat Nico used to get from the next village every Christmas. He might have remembered the stew and even tried to make it.

—From now on, this will be our Christmas dinner.

The man, who had a sadder face than Giselle, who was lost in thought, suggested.

—We’ll carry on the Rudnick family tradition together. And next year, we’ll rescue your brother and do it as a trio.

Thanks to a man whose heart was as beautiful as his face, Giselle found herself smiling again without fail, even when she thought she could no longer.

—That’s a nice thought. But you said a duchess doesn’t cook. So who will make the Rudnick family’s special stew?

—I will.

Giselle tilted her head.

—You know how to cook?

—I didn’t, so I learned.

Edwin took a note with Giselle’s recipe out of his pocket, which he must have taken at some point, and smiled sweetly. He had asked her for the recipe because he wanted to make it for her.

They enjoyed their special Christmas dinner, even adding wine, something she didn’t have as a child. The carols that had been playing on the radio all day stopped, and the Queen’s Christmas address began.

—My beloved people…

Both their faces simultaneously soured. Edwin immediately turned off the radio and put on a record instead. After dinner, they danced in front of the tree to the music from the player.

As she got warm, Giselle opened the window. Outside, pure white snowflakes were still falling from the dark blue night sky. She stared at them for a long time until a sudden thought came to mind.

—Want to go outside?

They went out to the covered terrace in the backyard, built a fire in the hearth, and sat huddled together on a single lounge chair, wrapped in a thick blanket. The mug in her hands gave off the warm, spicy scent of mulled wine, and the snowy landscape stretched out before them, sparkling like sugar in the moonlight. The world was so quiet that they could even hear the whispers of the falling snowflakes. The crackling sound of the burning logs felt as distant as a dream. It had been so long since she had faced a world so beautiful and peaceful.

In this moment, the only loud and boisterous thing was the dog, blissfully rolling around in the snow. Edwin, who was watching Rodie with Giselle, let out a small laugh.

—You used to be like that when you were little.

When did I ever act like a dog? Giselle lifted her head from his chest and gave him a sideways glance.

—Don’t you remember? You’d run around like a puppy, then lie down in the snow like that, flapping your arms and legs, and insist you’d made a snow angel.

—I insisted? You said back then that if your cute little angel made it, it was an angel for sure.