Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 155 - Hundred And Fifty Five

The air was filled with the sweet smell of roasted nuts and sugary pastries.

Marissa left him again and moved through the crowd with a light steps. She stopped at a small stall selling fried dough balls covered in honey.

"One, please," she said to the vendor.

Derek, standing right behind her like a tall, silent shadow, tossed a silver coin to the man.

"Keep the rest," Derek said.

Marissa took the warm treat. She bit into it. The honey was sticky and sweet. She giggled, licking a drop of syrup from her thumb.

Derek watched her. He watched the way her eyes crinkled at the corners. He watched the way she didn’t care that she was getting sticky. Her inner child, long suppressed by the cruelty of her family and the coldness of the Thompson estate, was finally awakened.

She moved to the next stall. It sold spiced apple cider. She tasted it. She laughed when the steam tickled her nose.

She went to a candy seller. She picked up a stick of crystallized sugar. She broke off a piece and offered it to Derek.

"Try it," she said, smiling.

Derek leaned down and took the candy from her fingers with his mouth. His lips brushed her skin. Marissa blushed, but she didn’t pull away. She just laughed again, a soft, musical sound that made Derek’s chest ache with a strange, heavy warmth.

Then, a new sound cut through the chatter of the market.

Music.

It was lively and rhythmic. Drums beat a steady pulse, and flutes sang a high, happy melody.

Marissa’s head snapped up. Her eyes sparkled.

"Music," she whispered.

She grabbed Derek’s sleeve and pulled him toward the center of the square.

"Let’s go look," she said.

They pushed through the crowd. In the middle of the square, a large space had been cleared.

Women were dancing.

There were dozens of them. They were women of all ages—young wives, mothers, grandmothers. They all wore simple dresses, their faces flushed with joy.

And they all wore wreaths.

Some were made of daisies. Some were made of ivy. Some were made of expensive roses. They were the wreaths given to them by their husbands or lovers for the festival. It was a tradition. A dance of love and celebration.

Marissa touched the wreath on her own head. The one Derek had made. The red roses and white lilies were still fresh and vibrant against her dark curls.

The music swelled. The flutes played faster. The women spun, their skirts flaring out like colorful bells. They held hands, forming a circle, laughing and singing along with the tune.

Marissa watched them. Her foot started tapping on the cobblestones. Her body swayed slightly to the rhythm. She looked at Derek. He was watching the dancers, but his hand was resting protectively on the small of her back.

"Go," Derek whispered near her ear. "Join them."

Marissa looked at him, surprised. "Really?"

"Yes," Derek said. "You have a wreath. You belong there."

Marissa smiled. It was a bright, dazzling smile.

She let go of his sleeve. She stepped into the circle.

Two women opened the line for her immediately, welcoming her with smiles. They saw her wreath. They saw the happiness in her eyes. They didn’t see a Duchess. They just saw a woman in love.

Marissa joined hands with a baker’s wife and a seamstress.

The music picked up speed. Marissa danced.

She twirled. She skipped. She laughed as the woman next to her spun her around. Her cream-colored dress with the red roses flowed around her, matching the flowers in her hair. She felt free. She felt light. She forgot about her worries.

She danced her heart out.

Derek stood on the edge of the crowd. His arms were crossed over his chest, but his posture wasn’t closed off. He was leaning forward, his eyes locked on one figure.

He watched her spin. He watched her hair fly loose from the ribbons. He watched the way the sunlight shone on her face.

He had never seen her like this.

At home, she was sharp. She was calculating. She was a weapon.

Here, she was just... joy.

Derek felt a lump in his throat. He felt a fierce, overwhelming surge of emotion that terrified him.

"If this is how she looks when she is happy," Derek whispered to himself, his voice low and rough. "Then I want to make her happy forever."

He wanted to burn down the world just to keep that smile on her face. He wanted to buy every flower in the kingdom to make her wreaths every day.

He was mesmerized.

He watched the way she moved her body. It wasn’t the trained, seductive dance of a lady like Senna. It was natural. It was wild. It was pure life.

He couldn’t control himself anymore.

The desire to be near her, to touch her, to claim that happiness for himself, became too strong. He couldn’t just watch from the sidelines. He needed to be the reason she was smiling. He needed to be the one holding her.

Marissa was laughing, breathless from a fast turn. She was about to clap her hands along with the beat.

Suddenly, someone gently grabbed her hand.

It wasn’t one of the women. The grip was large, warm, and calloused.

Marissa stopped dancing. She turned around, her chest heaving from exertion.

She saw Derek.

He was standing right behind her, ignoring the other dancers who were swirling around them.

"Your Grace?" She asked, breathless.

He didn’t answer. He was staring at her.

His eyes were burning. They were dark, intense, and filled with a raw hunger that made Marissa’s knees go weak. His face was taut, the muscles in his jaw working as he clenched his teeth.

He looked like a man who was starving, and she was the only food in the world.

Marissa suddenly felt aroused. The innocent joy of the dance shifted into something heavier, something hotter. To see his desire so openly, so plainly on his face, made her blood rush.

He didn’t say a word. He tightened his grip on her hand.

He led her out of the crowd.

He didn’t walk fast, but his stride was purposeful. He pulled her gently but firmly away from the music, away from the laughter.

The other women, who were still dancing with each other and enjoying the festival activities, did not even look their way. They were lost in the song.

Marissa stumbled a little, trying to keep up with his long legs.

"Your Grace?" she whispered.