78. Wednesday's Uninvited Guest
The bedroom, with its blackout curtains drawn, was enveloped in cozy darkness even in broad daylight.
Bjorn woke up and lay still in bed, staring at the ceiling. Even without checking his watch, he knew it was already afternoon. With no particular plans, there was no reason to be busy.
If only that woman weren't Erna.
Bjorn slowly chewed on the name that came to mind as he was still awake, then let out a long sigh and closed his eyes again.
On days when he'd return home late at night, he didn't bother to visit his wife's bedroom. It was more comfortable for both of them. But Erna would follow him around, nagging him constantly. Sometimes, she even looked as if she was about to cry.
It's starting again.
Bjorn sat up, thinking of the annoying woman. Not long after pulling the bell, the maids hurriedly opened the curtains, and a sudden blast of sunlight flooded in, instantly illuminating the bedroom.
Bjorn leaned back against the head cushion and gazed out the window at the scenery. The long, slanting sunlight tickled his skin with a pleasant warmth. It felt like Erna's touch. As that thought crossed his mind, he suddenly realized the surroundings were excessively quiet.
“Her Highness has gone out.”
The maid, who had brought morning tea in the late afternoon, quietly spoke. It was admirable to give advance notice before asking, but it wasn't the kind of answer he particularly liked.
“What’s the matter?”
“We don’t know that much either. We’ll ask Mrs. Fitz and then...”
"No."
Bjorn shook his head, holding his teacup.
“That won’t happen.”
The rich aroma of tea tickled his nostrils. The sun was warm, and the breeze carried a faint floral scent. On a day too beautiful for a single woman to ruin the mood, there was no need to bother with unnecessary details.
Having reached a clear conclusion, Björn began his normal day.
He sipped tea, skimmed through the newspaper, took a leisurely shower, and sat down at the breakfast table set out on the balcony. It was a leisurely spring day, and he felt like he had returned to life before his wife's presence disrupted his daily routine.
Bjorn stayed on the sunny balcony until his wet hair had time to dry. The red-haired painter. The woman's voice was calling his name affectionately. The same paintbrushes he'd seen in that shop window. Slowly erasing the stained memories that had surfaced on Erna's face, at the poker table, and in his glass of wine.
In fact, he already had everything that woman had.
Bjorn knew this well. Erna was a naive woman who revealed her true feelings, and he wasn't so dull as to fail to notice. The heart of that woman, who followed him like a newly hatched duckling, who looked at him as if he were her whole world, who understood and accepted everything, could not possibly be anything other than love.
The artist's true intentions are unknown, but to Erna, Pavel Lore is nothing more than a friend. The reason she gave him the paintbrush was nothing more than friendship, and there's nothing between them. And the woman loves him. The fact that he knows all too well only makes him feel worse, and that feeling of being so bad makes him feel even worse again.
Jealousy? He occasionally asked himself this self-deprecating question, but the conclusion has always been the same: a hollow laugh. What could I possibly be jealous of? A mere insignificant relationship with someone like that. Unless he's crazy.
Even so, Bjorn decided to erase the pathetic image of himself who had been obsessed with trivial things, but who had wandered outside because he didn't want to show it.
It was a relationship where he could simply enjoy his wife and cherish her just as much. It was a relationship that could remain that way. Without adding unnecessary meaning and making things tacky, just as it was. Light and refreshing. Like another treat added to this comfortable life.
Bjorn picked up an apple; his heart lightened. Leaning against the railing, the breeze blew, his hair gently caressing his forehead. The fountain's water was dazzling, and the sweet juice of the apple he took a bite of tasted sweetly on his tongue.
The dirty feeling that had been lingering all week disappeared cleanly in that splendid time.
It seemed like that.
“It’s already this late.”
The young Grand Duchess, who had been talking alone for two full hours, opened her eyes wide in surprise.
“I don’t want to take up too much of Grandma’s time, so I’ll go back for today.”
It's already taking up too much of her time, and every week, so it's embarrassing to be doing this again.
Even when she gave her a stinging, piercing glare, Bjorn's wife simply smiled. She looked as delicate as a spring sprout, yet she was as tough as an old vine.
“How long do you plan on continuing this nonsense?”
Duchess Arsene, who had been silent throughout, asked a question with a sigh. Her white cat, dozing on the intruder's lap, let out a languid meow.
That day, Duchess Arsene didn't step out of her bedroom. She hated her grandson, who had been the pride of her life, but she hated his bride even more, who seemed to be the only proof of his current status.
The Grand Duchess remained alone in the empty reception room for two hours before leaving, leaving behind a gift box and a message promising to return the following week.
She had ordered them all to be thrown out, as she couldn't bear to look at them, but the meddlesome maid insisted on taking out the gifts and showing them to her. Slippers, a shawl, and a corsage brooch. As someone who enjoyed frivolous luxury, she expected her to try to curry favor with expensive items, but they were surprisingly ordinary. But even more absurd was the small cushion and feathered fishing rod from a box next to it. They were gifts from Charlotte, the cat of the Duchess of Arsene.
Her suspicions that she was playing a mean prank were quickly dispelled. Duchess Arsene heard the Grand Duke give Philip a reading desk and Isabelle a pair of flower scissors. They seemed to have completely forgotten that her husband's parents were the King and Queen. Considering their hobbies of reading and flower arranging, she supposed she was trying to choose something useful. But when she heard that Leonid's gift was a glasses strap, she couldn't help but laugh.
She thought she was a vulgar person who'd gotten the title of Grand Duchess just by looking good, but she turned out to be a surprisingly interesting child. The following Wednesday, when Bjorn's wife showed up at the Arsene House again, she met her for that very reason.
'Let me get straight to the point. Tell me what your purpose is.'
Duchess Arsene sat down with the child and immediately asked her a stern question. Was she a cunning, unspeakable monster, or a clueless fool? She was determined to find out.
'I was planning on telling you anyway if we could meet today.'
Seeing her smiling happily, the Duchess felt like she was an idiot.
'It's Bjorn's birthday in a few months. I really want to invite Grandma to dinner that day.'
Seeing how she often threw out such bold words, she seemed to be close to being a monster.
'Don't you realize it's been years since I've celebrated your husband's birthday or anything?'
'I know, but I still really want to invite Grandma this year.'
'Why on earth?'
'This is the first birthday present I want to give my husband.'
Bjorn's second wife, who seemed like a fool or a monster, declared war with an angelic smile.
'Did your husband tell you to do it?'
In response to the question raised by the child who dared to tease the Duchess of Arsene.
"No. Please keep it a secret from Bjorn. I'm preparing a surprise gift."
The Grand Duchess gave a cautious, thrilling reply, dampening her spirits. And for nearly two months now, every Wednesday, without fail, she has been appearing, disrupting the Duchess's peaceful life.
If she locked herself in the room and didn't bother to speak to her, she'd go off drinking tea and playing with the cat. And if she sat down with her, even with a sullen expression, she'd chatter away, mostly about her husband, Bjorn.
“I need the twin Princes’ birthdays to pass quickly so I can breathe easier.”
Duchess Arsene clicked her tongue and grumbled. Charlotte, having climbed down from Erna's lap, sat down gently on the cushion on one side of the sofa.
“It’s not just this year that they have a birthday, Grandma.”
Even as she uttered those terrifying words, the child's face remained clear. She couldn't help but chuckle, wondering if Bjorn had chosen a bride who would be quite troublesome.
“Don’t come back again.”
The Duchess Arsene's last words were the same every week.
“See you next week.”
The answer from Wednesday's intruder was the same.
It was an evening when the banks of the Avit River were dyed red when the carriage carrying Erna passed the Grand Duke's Bridge.
Erna, munching on a licorice candy to soothe her sore throat, glanced out the car window with a face filled with excitement. The scenery—the rosy sky, the river, and the illuminated bridge—was so beautiful it evoked admiration. Every day, it was always the same, just like Bjorn.
As the carriage reached the end of the bridge, Erna awoke from her brief, sweet dream. She would soon arrive at Schwerin Palace, and then, for a while, the reality of having a husband she hated would begin. Of course, that was assuming he was still at home.
Erna endured it.
She'd endured her husband breaking promises and leaving for a social club without permission. She'd endured him drinking heavily and not coming home until dawn the next day. She'd endured and endured and endured this behavior over and over again. But her husband always seemed to think this was the end, and he always showed more. This morning's incident was no exception.
Erna waited for Bjorn until late in the morning, dozing off and waking up repeatedly. She repeatedly promised herself to sleep soundly, not caring whether he'd come or not. But once she lay down in bed, she found it difficult to relax.
"Bjorn, please, can't you be a little more of a good husband? I don't like this."
Seeing him step down from the carriage, reeking of alcohol, the resentment she had been holding back burst out. Bjorn, who had been staring at Erna with eyes unusually still for a drunk, chuckled cynically and ran a hand through his disheveled hair.
'Who the hell do you think you're married to?'
While she paused at the incomprehensible question, Bjorn strode up to her. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze as he looked down, as cold as the pale dawn.
'Isn't it ridiculous to marry a prodigal son and expect a saint?'
'That's not what I meant...'
"If you're going to marry a man like this, you should love him. Isn't that your duty?"
Bjorn whispered a sweet, sly remark, his voice almost like a whisper of love. Then, slowly, as if nothing had happened, he passed Erna.
Still, she tried to endure it. She wanted to see it through, somehow. But Bjorn finally broke Erna's last remaining patience.
'We decided to sleep in the same bed.'
Watching Bjorn's back as he headed toward her bedroom, Erna mustered up her courage and spoke. She hated him, but she still didn't want to be ignored by him.
"Leave it at that, Erna. I'll listen to your noble rain complaints tomorrow."
With those heartless words, mixed with a sigh, Bjorn opened the bedroom door. Even after the door closed, Erna remained in the quiet hallway for a long while.
As the carriage came to a halt, Erna opened her eyes, which she had tightly closed, as if trying to erase her complex emotions. She felt like she could understand if he stayed up all night drinking and playing poker. No, she hoped.
“Welcome, Your Highness. The Prince is waiting.”
However, Mrs. Fitz, who came out to greet Erna, gave her news that was completely different from what she had hoped for.
Today, there was really nothing about this man that she liked.
The bedroom, with its blackout curtains drawn, was enveloped in cozy darkness even in broad daylight.
Bjorn woke up and lay still in bed, staring at the ceiling. Even without checking his watch, he knew it was already afternoon. With no particular plans, there was no reason to be busy.
If only that woman weren't Erna.
Bjorn slowly chewed on the name that came to mind as he was still awake, then let out a long sigh and closed his eyes again.
On days when he'd return home late at night, he didn't bother to visit his wife's bedroom. It was more comfortable for both of them. But Erna would follow him around, nagging him constantly. Sometimes, she even looked as if she was about to cry.
It's starting again.
Bjorn sat up, thinking of the annoying woman. Not long after pulling the bell, the maids hurriedly opened the curtains, and a sudden blast of sunlight flooded in, instantly illuminating the bedroom.
Bjorn leaned back against the head cushion and gazed out the window at the scenery. The long, slanting sunlight tickled his skin with a pleasant warmth. It felt like Erna's touch. As that thought crossed his mind, he suddenly realized the surroundings were excessively quiet.
“Her Highness has gone out.”
The maid, who had brought morning tea in the late afternoon, quietly spoke. It was admirable to give advance notice before asking, but it wasn't the kind of answer he particularly liked.
“What’s the matter?”
“We don’t know that much either. We’ll ask Mrs. Fitz and then...”
"No."
Bjorn shook his head, holding his teacup.
“That won’t happen.”
The rich aroma of tea tickled his nostrils. The sun was warm, and the breeze carried a faint floral scent. On a day too beautiful for a single woman to ruin the mood, there was no need to bother with unnecessary details.
Having reached a clear conclusion, Björn began his normal day.
He sipped tea, skimmed through the newspaper, took a leisurely shower, and sat down at the breakfast table set out on the balcony. It was a leisurely spring day, and he felt like he had returned to life before his wife's presence disrupted his daily routine.
Bjorn stayed on the sunny balcony until his wet hair had time to dry. The red-haired painter. The woman's voice was calling his name affectionately. The same paintbrushes he'd seen in that shop window. Slowly erasing the stained memories that had surfaced on Erna's face, at the poker table, and in his glass of wine.
In fact, he already had everything that woman had.
Bjorn knew this well. Erna was a naive woman who revealed her true feelings, and he wasn't so dull as to fail to notice. The heart of that woman, who followed him like a newly hatched duckling, who looked at him as if he were her whole world, who understood and accepted everything, could not possibly be anything other than love.
The artist's true intentions are unknown, but to Erna, Pavel Lore is nothing more than a friend. The reason she gave him the paintbrush was nothing more than friendship, and there's nothing between them. And the woman loves him. The fact that he knows all too well only makes him feel worse, and that feeling of being so bad makes him feel even worse again.
Jealousy? He occasionally asked himself this self-deprecating question, but the conclusion has always been the same: a hollow laugh. What could I possibly be jealous of? A mere insignificant relationship with someone like that. Unless he's crazy.
Even so, Bjorn decided to erase the pathetic image of himself who had been obsessed with trivial things, but who had wandered outside because he didn't want to show it.
It was a relationship where he could simply enjoy his wife and cherish her just as much. It was a relationship that could remain that way. Without adding unnecessary meaning and making things tacky, just as it was. Light and refreshing. Like another treat added to this comfortable life.
Bjorn picked up an apple; his heart lightened. Leaning against the railing, the breeze blew, his hair gently caressing his forehead. The fountain's water was dazzling, and the sweet juice of the apple he took a bite of tasted sweetly on his tongue.
The dirty feeling that had been lingering all week disappeared cleanly in that splendid time.
It seemed like that.
***
“It’s already this late.”
The young Grand Duchess, who had been talking alone for two full hours, opened her eyes wide in surprise.
“I don’t want to take up too much of Grandma’s time, so I’ll go back for today.”
It's already taking up too much of her time, and every week, so it's embarrassing to be doing this again.
Even when she gave her a stinging, piercing glare, Bjorn's wife simply smiled. She looked as delicate as a spring sprout, yet she was as tough as an old vine.
“How long do you plan on continuing this nonsense?”
Duchess Arsene, who had been silent throughout, asked a question with a sigh. Her white cat, dozing on the intruder's lap, let out a languid meow.
Erna Dneister first descended upon the Duke of Arsene's estate toward the end of last winter. She came to pay her respects, saying she'd had a good honeymoon or something like that.
The Grand Duchess remained alone in the empty reception room for two hours before leaving, leaving behind a gift box and a message promising to return the following week.
She had ordered them all to be thrown out, as she couldn't bear to look at them, but the meddlesome maid insisted on taking out the gifts and showing them to her. Slippers, a shawl, and a corsage brooch. As someone who enjoyed frivolous luxury, she expected her to try to curry favor with expensive items, but they were surprisingly ordinary. But even more absurd was the small cushion and feathered fishing rod from a box next to it. They were gifts from Charlotte, the cat of the Duchess of Arsene.
Her suspicions that she was playing a mean prank were quickly dispelled. Duchess Arsene heard the Grand Duke give Philip a reading desk and Isabelle a pair of flower scissors. They seemed to have completely forgotten that her husband's parents were the King and Queen. Considering their hobbies of reading and flower arranging, she supposed she was trying to choose something useful. But when she heard that Leonid's gift was a glasses strap, she couldn't help but laugh.
She thought she was a vulgar person who'd gotten the title of Grand Duchess just by looking good, but she turned out to be a surprisingly interesting child. The following Wednesday, when Bjorn's wife showed up at the Arsene House again, she met her for that very reason.
'Let me get straight to the point. Tell me what your purpose is.'
Duchess Arsene sat down with the child and immediately asked her a stern question. Was she a cunning, unspeakable monster, or a clueless fool? She was determined to find out.
'I was planning on telling you anyway if we could meet today.'
Seeing her smiling happily, the Duchess felt like she was an idiot.
'It's Bjorn's birthday in a few months. I really want to invite Grandma to dinner that day.'
Seeing how she often threw out such bold words, she seemed to be close to being a monster.
'Don't you realize it's been years since I've celebrated your husband's birthday or anything?'
'I know, but I still really want to invite Grandma this year.'
'Why on earth?'
'This is the first birthday present I want to give my husband.'
Bjorn's second wife, who seemed like a fool or a monster, declared war with an angelic smile.
'Did your husband tell you to do it?'
In response to the question raised by the child who dared to tease the Duchess of Arsene.
"No. Please keep it a secret from Bjorn. I'm preparing a surprise gift."
The Grand Duchess gave a cautious, thrilling reply, dampening her spirits. And for nearly two months now, every Wednesday, without fail, she has been appearing, disrupting the Duchess's peaceful life.
If she locked herself in the room and didn't bother to speak to her, she'd go off drinking tea and playing with the cat. And if she sat down with her, even with a sullen expression, she'd chatter away, mostly about her husband, Bjorn.
“I need the twin Princes’ birthdays to pass quickly so I can breathe easier.”
Duchess Arsene clicked her tongue and grumbled. Charlotte, having climbed down from Erna's lap, sat down gently on the cushion on one side of the sofa.
“It’s not just this year that they have a birthday, Grandma.”
Even as she uttered those terrifying words, the child's face remained clear. She couldn't help but chuckle, wondering if Bjorn had chosen a bride who would be quite troublesome.
“Don’t come back again.”
The Duchess Arsene's last words were the same every week.
“See you next week.”
The answer from Wednesday's intruder was the same.
***
It was an evening when the banks of the Avit River were dyed red when the carriage carrying Erna passed the Grand Duke's Bridge.
Erna, munching on a licorice candy to soothe her sore throat, glanced out the car window with a face filled with excitement. The scenery—the rosy sky, the river, and the illuminated bridge—was so beautiful it evoked admiration. Every day, it was always the same, just like Bjorn.
As the carriage reached the end of the bridge, Erna awoke from her brief, sweet dream. She would soon arrive at Schwerin Palace, and then, for a while, the reality of having a husband she hated would begin. Of course, that was assuming he was still at home.
Erna endured it.
She'd endured her husband breaking promises and leaving for a social club without permission. She'd endured him drinking heavily and not coming home until dawn the next day. She'd endured and endured and endured this behavior over and over again. But her husband always seemed to think this was the end, and he always showed more. This morning's incident was no exception.
Erna waited for Bjorn until late in the morning, dozing off and waking up repeatedly. She repeatedly promised herself to sleep soundly, not caring whether he'd come or not. But once she lay down in bed, she found it difficult to relax.
"Bjorn, please, can't you be a little more of a good husband? I don't like this."
Seeing him step down from the carriage, reeking of alcohol, the resentment she had been holding back burst out. Bjorn, who had been staring at Erna with eyes unusually still for a drunk, chuckled cynically and ran a hand through his disheveled hair.
'Who the hell do you think you're married to?'
While she paused at the incomprehensible question, Bjorn strode up to her. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze as he looked down, as cold as the pale dawn.
'Isn't it ridiculous to marry a prodigal son and expect a saint?'
'That's not what I meant...'
"If you're going to marry a man like this, you should love him. Isn't that your duty?"
Bjorn whispered a sweet, sly remark, his voice almost like a whisper of love. Then, slowly, as if nothing had happened, he passed Erna.
Still, she tried to endure it. She wanted to see it through, somehow. But Bjorn finally broke Erna's last remaining patience.
'We decided to sleep in the same bed.'
Watching Bjorn's back as he headed toward her bedroom, Erna mustered up her courage and spoke. She hated him, but she still didn't want to be ignored by him.
"Leave it at that, Erna. I'll listen to your noble rain complaints tomorrow."
With those heartless words, mixed with a sigh, Bjorn opened the bedroom door. Even after the door closed, Erna remained in the quiet hallway for a long while.
As the carriage came to a halt, Erna opened her eyes, which she had tightly closed, as if trying to erase her complex emotions. She felt like she could understand if he stayed up all night drinking and playing poker. No, she hoped.
“Welcome, Your Highness. The Prince is waiting.”
However, Mrs. Fitz, who came out to greet Erna, gave her news that was completely different from what she had hoped for.
Today, there was really nothing about this man that she liked.
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