Chapter 87.1

Lia groggily opened her eyes and found herself lying on Claude’s lap, her head pounding and her throat feeling like sandpaper. She glanced around the room blearily, taking in the scene before her with dull eyes.

A pair of gentle fingers brushed a strand of hair off her forehead, making Lia’s cheek tingle. She heard Claude’s voice above her, teasingly saying, “For something that’s supposed to be nothing, that drink was really strong. You’re going to become a drunk at this rate.”

Lia sighed, feeling the nausea of a terrible hangover wash over her. “I think I understand why people drink when they’re angry or when they’re suffocating,” she said. “It helps numb the pain.”

Claude chided her gently, saying, “You shouldn’t drink so much all at once. That’s why you’re feeling so sick now.”

As if on cue, Lia’s stomach roiled and she turned green. Claude must have noticed, because he stood up and opened the windows, letting in a rush of cool night air to freshen the stuffy room.

“I’ll have to warn the people of Del Casa to lock up their liquor cabinets,” Claude joked. “Looks like you’ve developed a habit of drinking whenever you’re upset.”

Lia looked at him, surprised that he had noticed her distress. “You know I’m upset?” she asked.

Claude nodded, his eyebrows raised. “I figured. And I’m sorry, because I’m the one who made you that way,” he said apologetically.

Lia’s heart sank at his words. She had been hoping for a fight, something to distract her from the pain of her own emotions. But Claude’s understanding and remorse only made her feel worse.

“I used to suppress my feelings all the time,” she said, her voice heavy with sadness. “When I was young, I was afraid that the Marquise would hurt my mother if I showed any signs of being different. And then, when I was older, I didn’t want to ruin my mother’s happiness by being honest about who I was. And now… I’m holding back because I don’t want to make you sad.”

“Lia,” said Claude.

“I’m angry. At myself, at the people who judge me, but I don’t know how to be mad anymore. I got so used to having to restrain myself that this is easier, and this makes me furious.”

Claude grabbed her by the shoulder, his hand trembling. After the accident, Canillia was drowned in self-reproach. From the cause of the accident to the injury of his hand, she blamed everything on herself. She was soft-hearted and kind, and did not overlook the pain of others. His heart fluttered toward her at this tenderness that was unlike anything he had seen before. It was not just because of her beauty. From the first time he laid eyes on her, she became irreplaceable.

“Canillia,” he said, his voice shaking. “You don’t have to try to understand everyone, and you certainly don’t have to care about their opinions. There are people in this world who will hate you for no reason, but there are also people who love you unconditionally, like me and like all the others who care about you.”

He gazed out the window, his eyes fixed on the dark blue horizon. “If it’s easier for you to suppress your emotions, then do it. But promise me that you’ll tell me what’s making you angry, and I’ll get angry on your behalf. I have a short fuse and I’d rather act on my anger than hold it in.”

Lia slowly stood up, and Claude tenderly wiped the tears from her cheeks with his hand. She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes and burying her face in his palm.

Claude lifted her chin and pressed his lips to hers in a sweet, bittersweet kiss flavored with the scent of alcohol. After teasingly pulling on her bottom lip, he pulled back and licked the corner of his mouth.

“Are you sober now?” he asked.

“I’ve never been drunk,” Lia replied, her eyes glazed over.

“I see.” Claude smiled and pulled her onto his lap, hugging her tightly and pressing his lips to her neck. Lia looked out the window blankly, her thoughts becoming harder and harder to read.

It made Claude uneasy, as if he was trying to hold onto a fraying thread that was quickly slipping through his fingers. He didn’t know when the string would break, but he hoped that he could be there to catch her when it did. He feared that one day, when he opened his eyes, she would disappear without a trace, as if she was someone who never existed in the first place. He couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that suffocated him, and he didn’t know where to place the blame.

Without a word, he buried his face in Lia’s neck and kissed her fiercely. He undid the ribbon on her blouse and slipped his hand inside her skirt, caressing her soft skin. His tongue delved deep into her mouth as he wrapped his fingers around the waistband of her underwear. Lia pushed him away, her small fists pounding against his chest in embarrassment. But the more she tried to escape, the tighter Claude held on.

The noise of the train’s tracks, the whoosh of the wind, Lia’s sweet breath, and even the beauty of her distorted face all made his breath quicken.

But as soon as Lia stopped struggling and became obedient, something inside Claude broke. He couldn’t, or wouldn’t, admit that what he was feeling was guilt. He looked away, knowing that if he acknowledged it, he knew what it was he had to do.

He was afraid of this unfamiliar feeling of loss, of letting go voluntarily. He had never lost anything before, and he wasn’t sure he knew how.