Chapter 8
A Safe World

The doorman looked utterly perplexed.

Layla gave a small nod, as if to say she understood. No doubt he had never seen a guest drag an old, squeaky bicycle up to the finest hotel in the city.

Only after glancing back and forth several times between the Duke’s elegant party and Layla did the man finally take the bicycle from her. Layla offered a brief word of thanks and stepped into the hotel. The tea room lay to the right of the central lobby.

The maître d’ hurried over and guided them to the riverside terrace. Layla took the very last seat—directly across from Duke Matthias von Herhardt.

The moment his steady gaze met hers, the memory it stirred forced her to drop her eyes. Sunlight filtered in at an angle beneath the canopy, flashing off the thin gold rims of her spectacles.

Isn’t the one who shows themselves supposed to feel more embarrassed than the one who sees?

Yet even after what had happened, the Duke looked at her as if nothing were out of the ordinary. Layla found that remarkable.

Then again, for nobles, servants were no different from furniture or paintings. No one felt shame at being unclothed in front of a chair, nor would a chair blush at seeing a naked man.

While Layla reached her own conclusions, the tea table was set. Without ordering, a dark coffee appeared before the Duke. His long, elegant fingers curled around the cup.

For a time, the two nobles carried on as though Layla weren’t even there. They spoke of today’s exhibition, their relatives’ affairs, the party to be held at the estate that weekend. Matthias’s smooth baritone and Claudine’s bright soprano alternated with practiced rhythm.

If that was all, why had Claudine bothered to drag her along? But Layla did not trouble herself with such questions. Since the summer they had first met at twelve, Claudine’s actions had always been beyond her understanding.

“So, Layla. How is school? Do you enjoy it?”

The clink of porcelain against saucer accompanied Claudine’s lifted voice. Barely a year older, she always spoke to Layla as if to a child.

“Yes, my lady.”

For Uncle Bill. Layla recited the familiar charm as she answered.

Claudine, satisfied, nodded. She asked a handful of perfunctory questions about school, and Layla answered them all with the same practiced smile.

Yes, my lady.

That was almost always the only answer Claudine wanted. And Layla had grown used to giving it.

“Next year you’ll be graduating.”

Though her expression bordered on boredom, Claudine’s voice remained warmly pleasant.

“Yes, my lady.”

Layla replied dutifully once more.

“And what do you plan to do after?”

“I’m enrolled in the class preparing for a teaching certificate.”

“A teacher…”

Claudine let the word trail off as she lifted her teacup. The ribbon and corsage adorning her little hat swayed with the motion of her nodding head.

“You’re a good girl, Layla. That’s a fine goal. I think it suits you perfectly.”

She smiled again, like someone praising a child.

“Don’t you agree, Lord Herhardt?”

Following Claudine’s gaze, Layla glanced at the Duke. Through her spectacles, his eyes looked an even clearer, brighter blue. The realization that those eyes were fixed on her made her flinch and quickly lower her gaze.

“I suppose so.”

He agreed without hesitation. And with that, Layla’s presence faded back into nothingness. Relieved, she wished only for the uncomfortable teatime to end.

She was supposed to meet Kyle after his tennis game, in the city. What if she was late?

Restless, she lifted her head—just as Matthias turned to look again. This time she didn’t turn away. She stared quietly at him instead.

As a child, she had thought that if she looked into those eyes, like panes of blue glass, a clear ringing note would sound. Remembering that foolish fantasy after so long only made the Duke feel stranger, more unsettling. It was as if her clearer vision had sharpened her feelings too.

“Forgive me, my lord. And you as well, my lady.”

At last, unable to endure it any longer, Layla spoke.

“Would it be terribly rude if I excused myself?”

Her gaze, freed from the Duke, landed on Claudine’s face. At last she could breathe properly.

“I’m expected to meet a friend soon.”

Her voice betrayed the anxiety she couldn’t quite hide.

Claudine laughed softly and gave a slight nod of permission. Layla’s relief showed plainly.

She rose, bowed with careful grace, and left the hotel in haste. She pedaled hard down the bustling street. But the farther she fled from that world, the more sharply the image of that man’s face lingered.

It’s only because of the glasses, she told herself between gasps of breath. I saw clearly, so it stayed clearly. That’s all.

The thought reassured her. What if that shameful incident by the river had happened after she had gotten her spectacles? The idea made her dizzy.

By the time the thought blurred her head and nearly sent her reeling, she had reached the meeting place. Kyle was already there, waving with a wide grin.

It was a safe world, where she could rest easy.

“She’s grown, hasn’t she? You could almost call her a young lady now.”

Claudine’s cheerful chatter followed Layla’s departure, though she spoke as if of a daughter rather than a peer.

“She’s of that age,” Matthias replied, with polite indifference and the proper smile.

“Yes. Of that age.”

Claudine paused briefly, then smiled as brightly as the summer sun.

“Oh, did you hear? Riette bought a splendid new car.”

She shifted the subject smoothly, and the two nobles resumed their conversation—their own world’s conversation. Layla Llewellyn, who had sat opposite them only moments ago, seemed to vanish as though she had never been there at all.

And yet she appeared again, unexpectedly.

On the road back to Arvis, traffic forced the car to a halt. Matthias, gazing idly out the window, spotted her.

Layla.

She walked with her bicycle beside her, accompanied by a boy. No doubt the friend she had been eager to meet.

He studied the boy’s familiar face and soon recalled who he was: the physician’s son. Kyle Etman.

The boy kept flicking at his spectacles. Layla called something to him, but the teasing only grew. She sighed—and then laughed.

The two of them laughed together, long and freely. They stopped at the library steps. Layla leaned her bicycle and sat; the boy unpacked a paper bag from her basket. Out came two bottles of soda and sandwiches.

Side by side, they ate. When the boy spoke, Layla laughed. When Layla laughed, so did the boy.

The car began moving again. Matthias turned his gaze away.

Claudine, too, looked from the opposite window back to him. They exchanged a smile and resumed polite conversation. Yet at some point, Matthias found himself remembering the teatime.

Layla Llewellyn had never touched her cup. She had sat with her hands folded neatly on her knees until she slipped quietly away.

She left me and went to the boy.

That thought brought back the image of her face—staring at him, her expression full of unease.

Because she wanted to go to him.

The memory of her hurrying from the terrace returned. She had practically run away.

Run away, to go to that boy.

By then the car was rolling beneath the plane trees lining the road to Arvis.

Passing the very spot where her bicycle had once fallen, Matthias acknowledged it, if only to himself: Layla Llewellyn could never belong to him. Yet he could not quite say he liked the feeling.

“Since you treated me, dessert’s on me,” Layla said with a bright smile, rising from the library steps. She tucked the empty bag and bottles carefully into her bicycle basket.

“Forget it. No need to split hairs like that,” Kyle replied with an embarrassed grin, settling onto the bicycle.

Layla slipped naturally onto the back seat. Her warmth seeped through his shirt, clearer than the summer heat. Kyle tried to calm the fire in his chest as he started to pedal.

She gripped his shirt so lightly it was almost teasing. Yet even that made him smile.

He had left his own bicycle behind on purpose—just so he could ride back like this, with Layla. She would never guess.

“Hey, Kyle.”

Her gentle voice slipped between the turning of the chain.

“Mm?”

The tendons on his hand stood out white as he tightened his grip on the handlebars.

“I’ll buy you ice cream too.”

For a moment he was speechless. Then he laughed.

“That’s what you were building up to? Just admit it—you want some yourself.”

“…That’s not it.”

Which, of course, meant it was.

Kyle turned toward the cafeteria they often visited after school. As he parked, Layla darted inside.

He leaned against the shade of the awning to cool himself, and soon she came back, holding two vanilla cones.

They ate side by side. Just another moment in their ordinary routine. But Kyle kept sneaking glances at her. Maybe it was only that her glasses made her seem unfamiliar.

“Layla.”

Unable to stop himself any longer, he whispered her name. She turned, cheeks flushed. It was the heat, surely—but his heart still leapt.

Swallowing hard, he took a huge bite of his melting ice cream.

“Tastes good,” he said at last.

Layla chuckled softly.

“Right? Vanilla’s my favorite.”

She lifted her head, gazing up at the clear summer sky.

Kyle thought, fleetingly, that her neck was so long and slender. Flustered, he quickly looked away and shoved another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

It was cold and sweet.