Odalisque - Chapter 74

After catching her breath, she leaned entirely against Dimus without lifting her head. Her hand, clutching his clothing, was full of tension, as if she was proving her resolve.

“You probably don’t know the kind of resolve I’ve made, Marquis.”

“Does pleasing me require such ‘resolve’?”

Dimus responded in a mocking tone. Liv said nothing in response; instead, she tightly clung to his clothing. In the past, such creases would have annoyed him, but seeing her clinging to him so desperately made the wrinkling seem insignificant.

Dimus raised his hand, gently brushing the back of Liv’s head. Her soft hair tangled around his fingers, loosening her once neatly kept hairstyle. Watching the growing disarray of her hair caused by his touch, Dimus lowered his hand to grasp her neck. When he pulled forcefully on her nape, Liv obediently raised her head to meet his gaze.

“If you want to tell me what resolve you’ve made, I’ll listen.”

Perhaps because of the earlier kiss, a faint blush lingered around Liv’s eyes, making her look subtly excited.

“No, it’s nothing significant to you, Marquis. It’s just…”

Her slightly swollen lips trembled from the short but rough kiss.

“I just want you to know I’ve decided to accept it this time as well.”

For the first time, Dimus felt like he could not understand Liv’s thoughts. Her straightforward gaze had always made her inner feelings clear, yet now they seemed obscured.

However, he couldn’t dwell on this strange feeling. Soon, Liv extended her arms and actively pulled him in for another kiss.

***

The reaction at the boutique was even more intense than at Hyrob.

The fact that the Marquis of Dietrion himself had brought a woman to get a dress fitted!

It was only natural that the shopkeeper, the staff, and even the attendants couldn’t take their eyes off Liv. In their gazes, Liv could sense envy, jealousy, and shock. Though there might have been some pure admiration, it was outweighed by the negative emotions.

Even though she had anticipated this, she still felt uncomfortable.

Just a word to the Marquis could dispel all of those stares. But that would only be temporary. The Marquis couldn’t manage every moment of her daily life, and she would continue to face such hostility and unpleasant curiosity wherever she went. If it couldn’t be erased completely, it would be better to grow accustomed to it. At least then, she could ignore it.

However, what surprised her was the Marquis’s attitude.

Until now, Liv had assumed that the Marquis was just as eager as she was to keep their relationship hidden. After all, he had once said himself, “I don’t like leaving traces.” Showing her off so openly now was bound to attract the “greedy people” he despised.

Lying in the bed, the air still warm after their passionate moments, Liv slowly turned her head. The Marquis had not left immediately after their encounter this time, just as he had stayed to give her the jewelry previously. Today, however, there seemed to be no specific purpose for his lingering.

Such small actions gave rise to new hopes.

His gradually changing behavior threw her feelings into disarray. It was as if someone had reached into her chest and stirred everything up.

“I thought you disliked rumors.”

“I do.”

Sitting on the bed, smoking a cigar, the Marquis answered in a cold tone.

“Is there anyone who actually likes such things?”

As always, he was composed and put together. When they were intimate, it was always Liv who ended up in disarray.

She used to think it didn’t matter because their relationship was inherently one-sided and hierarchical. However, now that she wanted more from him, seeing him so impeccably dressed made her feel a bit resentful. He had just openly taken her to a boutique today. He had presented her without hesitation in front of others.

“But today, you didn’t seem to care about such things at all, Marquis.”

Why had he decided to make their relationship known? Surely he wasn’t planning to reveal his “peculiar tastes.”

“Sometimes rumors can be quite useful.”

The Marquis added indifferently, “I dislike people digging into my affairs; it doesn’t mean I want to hide.”

“Since nothing is known about you, I assumed you’d prefer to stay quiet.”

“There are people who want me to stay hidden.”

The Marquis sneered.

“But I don’t have to cater to their wishes.”

Occasionally, he would casually mention things related to his past. Whether he did it because he knew Liv wouldn’t repeat it or simply because he trusted her discretion, she couldn’t be sure.

Either way, Liv liked it. She couldn’t ask him to tell her more, but whenever he dropped hints like this, she would file away each piece, adding to her understanding of the side of him she alone knew.

In that sense, today’s information was interesting. People wanting to keep the Marquis hidden—could it be something related to his family? Camille had said that the Marquis’s lineage was unknown.

Maybe he really was a surviving member of some royal bloodline.

Imagining Dimus as a royal was easy. Draped in the finest fabrics and adorned with the world’s most precious jewels, he was magnificent even in her fantasies.

Lost in her futile imagination, Liv snapped back to reality at the sensation of a touch against her bare skin. Dimus was gently scratching her side with his fingers—more precisely, the scar on her side.

“It seems I dislike it when you get marred more than I thought.”

It was a sharp scratch caused by a pin. Earlier, at the boutique, an apprentice had accidentally pricked her while taking measurements. Behind the crying apprentice, a few staff members, failing to hide their satisfaction, had glanced at Liv.

The apprentice had probably been pressured into it by a senior employee. Had Liv complained, the apprentice would have been the one held accountable and fired.

Liv chose not to make an issue of it. Because of that, the Marquis only noticed the wound on her side after they had returned to the bed.

“It will heal soon. It’s not deep.”

“Tch.”

The Marquis’s face remained displeased despite Liv’s assurance. She let herself relax into his touch.

“Do you have a reason for preferring unblemished skin?”

“Because it’s beautiful.”

Maybe because he kept touching the wound, it started to itch slightly where a faint scab had formed. Or maybe her body temperature, which had just cooled, was rising again.

“Isn’t it a simple matter? Anything damaged loses its value.”

Liv’s gaze shifted to her side. It was a wound that would soon disappear—a visible representation of human malice: red, sore, subtly irritating.

“But scars are also proof of survival.”

Her eyes moved from her scar to the man’s hand. Between his fingers, not easily noticeable unless spread apart, Liv knew there was a scar there.

“Like the scar on your hand, Marquis. Proof of victory.”

What expression would he make if she told him she liked that scar?

The Marquis seemed to dislike the scar on his hand, but Liv cherished it.

It made him seem more human, a man who appeared to live untouched by even a speck of dust. It reassured her, reminding her that he, too, was human, like her.

It made her feel she could, perhaps, dare to desire more from him.

“Even just enduring life can be considered a victory.”

At Liv’s words, the Marquis narrowed his eyes. She could feel his once teasing touch grow firmer. As he gripped her, pressing down with force, the Marquis’s lips curved into a sly, slanted smile.

“Your perspective is certainly peculiar.”

A faint puff of cigar smoke escaped his slightly parted lips.

“Intriguing.”

“I don’t claim that my perspective is the correct one. But… when you say you dislike scars, it sounds like you’re referring to the one on your hand.”

The Marquis silently drew on his cigar, his gaze still fixed on Liv. The glowing ember at the tip of the cigar briefly flared.

“I just thought… perhaps it would be good to think differently.”

The smoke grew thicker, spreading throughout the room. Amid the faintly stinging haze, the Marquis’s cold voice resonated.

“Have you ever seen limbs torn apart, cast across the ground?”

His tone was detached.

“On a dirt-covered battlefield, with blood dried and mixed with the earth, losing a limb is almost trivial. Even if one manages to survive, they’ll have to live with a grotesquely twisted body, unable to sleep peacefully…”

She couldn’t tell what he was describing. But one thing was certain—such vivid descriptions could only come from someone who had witnessed it firsthand.

“Their screams, their cries of despair—how loud, how ugly they were.”

For the first time, a foreign emotion flickered across his usually arrogant and cynical eyes. It was emptiness.

It disappeared before Liv could react to it. She tried to search for traces of that feeling, but the Marquis turned away indifferently, preventing her from studying him further.

He got up and placed his cigar in the ashtray. It looked like he intended to leave. Liv spoke to his back as he moved.

“Still, if they survived, couldn’t they at least dream of hope?”

Dimus, who seemed poised to exit through the door, glanced back at Liv.