Odalisque - Chapter 75

“Hope?”

“The hope that tomorrow could be better than today.”

Liv slowly lifted herself.

“Even without a huge stroke of luck… At least tomorrow could be better than today.”

“Have you cared for your sick sister all this time with that kind of mindset?”

The question seemed closer to curiosity than mockery. The Marquis, with his head tilted slightly, stared intently at Liv.

“Believing that she would someday recover?”

“Yes. And in the end, I found hope. Thanks to you, Marquis…”

Liv hesitated momentarily before speaking, looking at the Marquis with a calm gaze.

“Because you answered my prayers.”

The Marquis said nothing. His expression was so inscrutable that Liv had no idea what he was thinking. Though she knew he was good at maintaining a poker face, today he was even more unreadable.

The one consolation was that there were no signs of mockery or disdain in his gaze. At the very least, it meant he was taking her words seriously.

A strange silence filled the room. It was Liv who looked away first. Glancing down, she began to move. Since the Marquis was leaving, she figured she, too, should get ready to wash up and leave.

As usual, she was about to head to the bathroom when suddenly, the Marquis spoke.

“Stay here tonight.”

Liv instantly knew that this wasn’t one of the generous but empty words he often offered.

If he made a request disguised as an invitation, Liv had no means of refusing. She doubted the Marquis would consider her personal feelings—that she didn’t want to be left alone in the cold room. Even so, she responded impulsively.

“I can’t sleep alone.”

Ridiculous. She wasn’t a child, and the idea that she couldn’t sleep alone was absurd. But the words had already left her lips.

The Marquis raised his eyebrows, narrowing his eyes in response, prompting Liv to quickly offer an excuse.

“I-I’ve gotten used to sleeping with Corida.”

Embarrassment flushed her cheeks. She cleared her throat unnecessarily and averted her gaze.

Perhaps she had gone mad, even if only for a moment. It was foolish of her to be swept away by the Marquis’s occasional kindness and let her desires soar so high. The longer the silence stretched, the hotter her face grew.

Just as she was about to give in to the embarrassment and say she would stay, the Marquis spoke, “Wash up and come out.”

Ah, so he was telling her to go home after all.

She tried to understand it that way, but the Marquis added in a calm voice, “I don’t sleep in Berryworth.”

“…What?”

Liv looked at the Marquis with wide eyes. He wore his usual indifferent expression, but there was an inexplicable hint of amusement in his voice.

“You asked to stay, didn’t you?”

It was as if he were looking at a child afraid of the dark.

She could have tried to brush it off as a joke. But Liv couldn’t bring herself to do so. After all, she never knew when the Marquis might change his mind and leave her again, as he often did after sex.

Swallowing nervously, Liv climbed off the bed. She could only hope her pounding heart would calm down soon.

***

One common misconception people had was that Dimus couldn’t get along with others.

To put it precisely, Dimus didn’t “can’t” interact with people; he “wouldn’t.” But no one knew the difference. Since he had consistently kept everyone at arm’s length, there had never been an opportunity for anyone to notice.

It seemed Liv was no different. When she realized that Dimus was someone who could share a bed with someone else all night, she visibly tensed. He wondered how monstrous she must have imagined him to be in her mind.

It was absurd, but ultimately insignificant. After all, now she knew her assumptions were wrong.

“I’ve made sure to deliver the message clearly to Miss Corida. I’ve also arranged for guards to be stationed around the house for her safety, so you need not worry.”

Liv, who had been unable to hide her anxiety about leaving Corida alone at home, finally let out a sigh of relief. Philip, after providing Liv with a few more instructions, quietly left.

They were in one of the many rooms of the Langess mansion. Though it wasn’t Dimus’s private bedroom, it was far too luxurious tobe called a guest room.

Maybe because they had stayed at the Langess mansion before, Liv didn’t seem uncomfortable preparing to sleep in this room.

Come to think of it, he had once thought he didn’t want to send her away from the mansion.

“Do you need anything before bed?”

“No, nothing. But Marquis, are you really going to sleep like that?”

Liv’s face showed a hint of puzzlement. To someone about to go to bed, Dimus’s attire did indeed seem uncomfortable.

Dimus glanced at his outfit. Admittedly, it wasn’t what one would wear for a comfortable night’s sleep. The shirt, buttoned up to the neck, and the trousers—while technically loungewear—were far from appropriate sleepwear.

“Is there a problem?”

“If you find sharing a bed uncomfortable, you don’t have to push yourself.”

“I never do anything that I find burdensome.”

Dimus was well aware of his capabilities. Whatever he chose to do was always within his control.

The woman standing before him was living proof. She had walked into his grasp willingly, and nothing she did had ever deviated from his expectations.

Upon hearing his words, Liv pressed her lips together. In stark contrast to Dimus’s attire, Liv wore a loose, worn nightgown. She averted her gaze from Dimus, her discomfort evident.

“You look uncomfortable.”

Her words sounded like a sulk, almost as if she were pouting. Perhaps it was a crazy thought, but…

“Wearing something light is said to help with a good night’s sleep.”

“Teacher.”

Liv, who had been mumbling, snapped her head up. Dimus looked directly at her, throwing out his next words in an indifferent tone.

“Do you want to undress me?”

He expected her to blush, shake her head, or wave her hands in a flustered denial.

But instead, Liv remained remarkably composed, almost as if mocking his expectation. In fact, she seemed to realize something, letting out a soft murmur. She blinked slowly, fiddling with the blanket before finally parting her lips.

“Can’t you relax in front of me?”

The moment the words left her mouth, Liv hesitated, stealing glances at him. But soon after, she feigned a calm tone and added, “I’m the only one who gets into your bed, after all.”

Suddenly, he recalled the time she had awkwardly tried to seduce him, hastily undressing herself. This felt similar to that moment.

Liv probably didn’t know what it meant that he had brought her to the Langess mansion, shown her the basement, and now even allowed her to stay the night. The truth was, he was already showering her with more affection than she could ever deserve.

But since she knew nothing, she continued to demand more.

Dimus knew that if he expressed any displeasure, Liv would immediately retract her words. If he had been irritated, he would have laughed at her without a second thought. Yet, to his surprise—perhaps fortunately, perhaps unfortunately—he felt more curiosity than annoyance.

“Would you attend to my bed, then, Teacher?”

This was the woman who had once called the scar between his fingers a “medal of victory.”

“Me?”

“Yes. Since you’re so eager to undress me, I’ll give you the chance.”

He was curious to see if she would feel the same once she saw his body.

Medal of victory? He found that expression ludicrously naive.

“How about it?”

“All right.”

Dimus let out a small, irritated laugh as Liv nodded innocently. She, oblivious to his rising irritation, approached him unguardedly and reached out.

She undid the first button of his shirt, which was tightly fastened around his neck.

Standing right in front of him, Liv cautiously undid his buttons. He looked down at her face as she focused on her task.

How long had it been since someone had undressed him?

He was used to roughly pulling his own shirt off, but now, having someone else do it felt novel and strange.

He had always been self-sufficient. At the academy, on the battlefield, and especially in his private life. There were emotional reasons, like his reluctance to show the scar-ridden torso underneath, but it went beyond that.

Even now, though it didn’t matter anymore, he remained constantly alert. During the height of the war, he lived with his life on the line, needing to scrutinize and verify every small act of service.

While Dimus briefly reminisced, Liv had undone more than half of the shirt’s buttons. The bare skin hidden beneath was slowly revealed.

Her hand, which had been moving at a steady pace, began to falter.

“Is it revolting?”

Though phrased as a question, his tone made it sound like a statement. He knew that, objectively, his body was unpleasant to look at.

“Like bugs crawling across the surface.”

That was exactly how it sometimes felt. He often imagined his scars growing larger, his body itching all over, like maggots crawling on his skin throughout the night.

No matter how tightly he wrapped himself in clothing to avoid looking at his own body, it made no difference. His memories of shattered, torn, and mangled limbs remained vivid, ever-present. The stench, the cries of agony—they, too, were vivid and constant.

He didn’t want to acknowledge that the grotesque pieces of flesh had once been people.

In that sense, nude artwork was the epitome of beauty. Its flawless form, preserved forever—how peaceful and beautiful.

Dimus stared at Liv. With her head lowered, he couldn’t see her expression.

“Tell me, Teacher. Do you still see these scars as a medal of victory?”