Chapter 5: Winter, The Beginning of Love’s Opera
THEIR long holiday break had never seemed to drag on as much as it was this time around. Vincent was deeply distressed as he sat on the couch at his family home, surrounded by his mother and older sisters. The tea one of them had prepared should have been exquisite, but he couldn’t taste anything.
I want to see Oriana. It didn’t matter whether he was touring the region, lounging around in their estate, or attending dance parties he’d been invited to—that was all he ever thought about.
Their third year had ended, and with it, they’d entered a long holiday. He spent every year around this period cooped up in their territory; inspecting the region and mingling with the neighboring nobility wasn’t an optional duty. And yet this year, since his father was returning to the capital, Vincent decided to accompany him. There was absolutely no chance he’d glimpse Oriana back in their region, and while being in the capital guaranteed nothing, there was a non-zero chance he might see her at least.
Even I must admit I’m acting like a lovestruck maiden.
Two-thirds of their break was already over by now, and his cunning plan to run into her had yet to bear him any fruit. The only thing he’d managed to accomplish was reading more books.
“Vincent, in two more hours, we’ll be leaving. Make sure you are prepared,” his mother warned, having noticed that his mind had been wandering throughout their tea hour. She treasured having teatime with her family more than anything else, and he’d upset her with his disregard.
Flustered, Vincent reached his hand out. His mother accepted it, wearing an impassive mask on her face, and stood up. He was a bit late noticing it, but his sisters had already disappeared from the room. They had likely retreated to their dressing rooms to pick out their gowns for the opera later. It wouldn’t be too long before their respective partners visited to fetch them.
“Allow me to escort you to your dressing room, Mother,” Vincent said.
“It was your preparations I was discussing just now,” his mother reminded him.
“I’m a man. It won’t take me long at all.”
She gave Vincent a fleeting look but said no more after that. As she desired, he played the part of the respectful son, wearing a polite smile as he pulled her along and delivered her to her dressing room.
When he left her there and turned to leave for his own room, the butler Marcel intercepted him. “I have delivered your bouquet,” he said.
“All right. Thank you.”
Every year, Vincent had an anonymous bouquet delivered to Oriana on her birthday. He suspected no one would find it suspicious if a random bouquet showed up alongside the mountain of other presents she was surely showered with. At first, he did it as a way to send a secret signal to her that he still retained his memories. Each time he would take a walk around their estate and pluck the flowers himself to arrange the bouquet. Afterward, he would entrust it to Marcel and have him deliver it to the Elsha estate, in such a way that it couldn’t be traced back to him.
The flowers he picked were the sort that blossomed in forests and on roadsides, the natural, plain sort. They were neither an opulent nor vibrant assortment, but they did possess a quaint calmness. Admittedly, they weren’t at all fitting for a birthday bouquet, but that was also why he was positive she would be able to identify who’d sent them.
I never dreamed she didn’t have her memories.
If she’d had her memories from their previous timeline, she would have recognized them immediately. They were the same kind of flowers he’d gathered out of nowhere before when he invited her to go to the ball with him.
“Also,” Marcel continued, “there is something I’d like to inform you about, regarding the event later today.”
“What? You want me to tuck the organizer’s favorite flower into the pocket of my suit? Is that it?” Vincent responded sarcastically. He had been proactively attending events as of late in hopes he might be able to see Oriana, but after days and days of these outings, the exhaustion was beginning to catch up to him.
Marcel flashed a polite smile at him and said, “The Elshas have reserved seats in the gallery.”
Vincent froze in place.
“According to rumor, Mr. Elsha has even had some sweet drinks prepared for a lady.”
Oriana didn’t have a mother. It was possible Mister Elsha was inviting along his next potential partner, but it wouldn’t be strange at all for him to take his beloved, only daughter along to enjoy the opera.
Vincent tried to still his thundering pulse as he fixed his eyes on Marcel. “So you still remember her name, do you?”
“Of course. I haven’t burned your agreement with your father either, since you have maintained the top seat throughout your exams.”
“Dammit…” Vincent pulled a face, but Marcel didn’t look the least bit bothered. If anything, he seemed to be enjoying himself. Vincent huffed at him, “Fetch my sky-blue tie pin for me.”
“As you wish.”
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“GOODNESS, this year is quite the spectacle.”
“Agreed. Every single year manages to be no less incredible than the last.”
It was the morning of her birthday. Oriana was wearing pajamas with a cardigan pulled over them, standing there staring up alongside the elderly head maid. There, in the middle of the entrance, a stack of presents was piled high—a given for the only daughter of an up-and-coming merchant family.
If Oriana were to be honest, there wasn’t a single gift among them that pleased her. Her father’s acquaintances competed among themselves to see who could send the most valuable gift, but not a single one of them actually considered whether their gift would make her happy or not.
“All right, well, I’m going to go eat,” she said.
“The kitchen staff are fired up this morning, given the occasion.”
“I’ll be sure to thank them.”
“Oh, my lady,” the maid called after her. “Be sure to at least take a glance over the inventory and the cards you’ve received.”
“’Kaaay.”
The head maid had looked after her ever since she was born, so to Oriana, she was like a mother figure. Thus, however reluctant she was to do this, she still obediently heeded the older woman’s command. Oriana always checked the gift inventory every year, to make sure that whenever and wherever she encountered someone who had sent something, she wouldn’t be caught off guard and risk offending them.
As she glanced over the list, she saw rows of names belonging to her father’s acquaintances and all manner of gifts that she couldn’t make heads or tails of. She secretly checked to see if Rysted’s name was listed as well. Thankfully, the present he offered was nothing too over the top for an apprentice. That felt like a load off her chest. Ever since their long holiday break started, she’d been anxious every single day about whether or not he’d resume his annoyingly persistent advances. Her fears had been unfounded, thankfully. She hadn’t seen him even once.
Oriana was lazily glancing through the last few names when her eyes landed on the final item, and immediately, her face lit up. “Ah, a bouquet! They sent one this year, too!”
It had been about ten years now since this anonymous person began sending her a bouquet. The flowers were plain and simple, and it was the same gift every year. Nonetheless, she found herself beginning to anticipate it. Of all the presents people sent her, this was the only one that felt truly sincere—specially picked just for her.
“Yes. I thought you would be pleased, so I already put them in some water.”
“Take them to my room later!” Oriana said.
“Very well.” The maid paused. “But I do wonder who your secret admirer could be.”
Oriana plucked a card out from the bouquet. Happy Birthday it read—a typical, formulaic greeting. Nonetheless, she grinned from ear to ear. “It doesn’t matter who it is. Although, if I do discover their identity, I’d like to thank them for these past ten years.”