Wicked Husband-Chapter 60 - 59

Eileen stared blankly at the newspaper, her eyes fixed on the front-page photo from their wedding yesterday. She squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them again, hoping the headline would magically change.

"Is that really me?"

She couldn’t believe it. Eileen kept her eyes wide open, staring at the newspaper. Cesare, who was sipping his strongly brewed tea and scanning the headlines, glanced at her, then picked up La Verita from the table and handed it to her.

Without meeting his gaze, Eileen hesitated to take the newspaper from him. Cesare waited patiently, understanding her reluctance.

Finally, she gathered her courage and accepted the newspaper from Cesare’s waiting hand.

She must have gripped it too tightly because it crinkled in her hands. Holding the trembling newspaper, she looked at the photo.

The picture showed Cesare as he appeared at the wedding, though, to be honest, it didn’t do him justice. He was far more striking in person.

Though the photo captured Cesare as a handsome man, it couldn’t convey his unique, dangerous, yet alluring presence. The black-and-white print failed to capture the color of his red eyes.

"It would have been nice if the red could be shown," she thought with regret, knowing the people of the Empire couldn’t see Cesare’s beautiful eyes. Slowly, Eileen shifted her gaze.

She looked at the unfamiliar woman standing next to Cesare. The woman, in a delicately embroidered white wedding dress, with curly hair cascading down, was smiling slightly.

A shy smile graced the bride’s face in the faded photograph. Porcelain features, large eyes, and a delicate nose – an undeniable beauty. Eileen couldn’t discern the hair or eye color, but it hardly mattered. This woman wasn’t her.

A knot of confusion tightened in her chest. Surely there had been a mistake during development, an error that superimposed another woman’s face onto hers. Initial shock morphed into a strange sense of relief. This ethereal creature, a perfect match for Cesare, would make a far more fitting Grand Duchess than her own awkward self.

The only pang was the absence of a true record of that momentous occasion. So many photographs taken, yet not a single one to capture their shared memory. Eileen sighed, defeated, as she folded the newspaper.

Cesare, engrossed in the newspaper beside her, lowered his teacup with a soft clink. His perceptive gaze landed on Eileen’s slumped form.

"Eileen?" he murmured, concern etching lines on his brow.

She tried to offer a smile, but it faltered under his scrutiny. Wordlessly, she pushed the newspaper across the table, her hand trembling slightly.

"The wedding photo," she finally managed, voice barely above a whisper. "There seems to be a mistake."

Cesare raised an eyebrow as he looked down at the newspaper. He gazed at Eileen for a moment, then let out a short hum and said, "It doesn’t quite do you justice. Your eyes are especially beautiful."

He pointed out the shortcomings of the photograph and then handed the newspaper back to Eileen. Startled, she alternated between looking at the paper and Cesare.

"Um, the photo looks strange..."

"Are you upset because it came out poorly?"

"What? Poorly? No, the person in the photo is as beautiful as a fairy. That’s not it at all."

Eileen bit her lip, trying to hide her dismay. Why didn’t Cesare understand? The woman in the photo wasn’t her. Or perhaps he simply didn’t care.

Feeling already down about not having a proper wedding photo, Cesare’s seemingly offhand remark made her feel worse. Eileen unfolded the crumpled newspaper and showed it to him again.

"Look... it’s not my face. It looks like the photo was printed over someone else’s face."

She spoke cautiously, trying not to sound like she was whining, but simply stating a fact. Cesare silently stared at her for a moment.

"Eileen."

"Yes?"

As he settled beside her, Eileen responded in a small, dejected voice. The casual parting of his robe revealed a glimpse of his chest, a sight that felt inappropriately bold for the midday hour. Briefly mesmerized, she was pulled back to reality by the touch of his hand on her cheek.

"You are my wife," Cesare stated, his voice firm yet gentle.

The obviousness of the statement left her confused. Eileen offered a hesitant nod in agreement.

"At the wedding, you vowed to obey your husband, and I vowed to trust you completely. Do you remember that?"

Another small nod from Eileen was met with a fond gaze from Cesare. His large hand lingered on her cheek as he continued, "Then, Eileen, who deserves your trust – your living husband or a voice from the past?"

Eileen deliberated for a moment but soon provided the answer Cesare sought.

"My husband..."

Cesare then gave a straightforward conclusion.

"The wedding photo in the newspaper is of you, Eileen."

Eileen longed to protest, to insist on the undeniable difference staring back at her from the photograph. But words deserted her. Cesare’s crimson eyes held her captive, their depths swirling with an inexplicable certainty.

His voice, a low, pleasant rumble, washed over her. "You are beautiful, Eileen. Not just subjectively, but objectively. As others see you."

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Didn’t you say it yourself? You look like a fairy." 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

A blush crept up Eileen’s neck, a stark contrast to the woman in the photo. "That was... because I thought it was someone else," she stammered, a weak attempt at explanation.

He reached out, gently pinching her cheek before rising from the bed. "Finish reading the article. I’ll be back shortly."

Eileen remained alone, the echo of Cesare’s goodbye lingering in the air. Her gaze drifted back to the newspaper, the forgotten breakfast a testament to her disorientation. "Is this truly me?" the question echoed in the quiet room.

Since Cesare had confirmed it was her photo, Eileen accepted it must indeed be true, though the confusion caused her head to ache. She turned the page to escape the image on the front page, and her headache slightly eased.

Deciding to follow Cesare’s instructions, Eileen began to read the article on the second page carefully.

[It can be said without exaggeration that it was a scene straight out of the founding myth of the Traon Empire.

The Grand Duke Erzet and his wife captivated all the guests with their unimaginable beauty...]

The article’s effusive praise, comparing the wedding to the very founding myth of the Traon Empire, sent a shiver down Eileen’s spine. The writer described her appearance in such detail it felt intrusive, almost fabricated. Had she and Cesare even attended the same ceremony?

’Is it because it’s a pro-imperial newspaper?’

Still, she had to trust Cesare’s words. He never lied to her. While he might not always reveal the whole truth, he never hid or deceived her.

’But to think that I... am the woman in this photo...’

Taking a deep breath, Eileen forced herself to return to the front page. The moment her eyes met the image, the unsettling disconnect returned, a vice tightening around her temples. The lingering soreness from their wedding night entwined with the blooming headache, a physical manifestation of the disquiet gnawing at her.

Eventually, Eileen decided to stop thinking for a while and clear her mind by finding and reading an article unrelated to the wedding. After a long search, she finally found a political article and slowly began to read.

[Count Domenico, as the new Speaker of the Senate, predicts changes in the Traon Parliament... Seeking to mediate between the royal family and the nobility...]

***

The day after the wedding ceremony, the Grand Duke remained as calm as usual. The only difference was the abundant floral decorations throughout the reception hall. Lilies from yesterday’s wedding emitted their fragrance, filling the drawing room with their sweet scent. However, Count Domenico seemed oblivious to the flowers, pacing nervously with an anxious expression, resembling a mouse caught in a trap. Cesare observed his restless state and twisted a wry smile.

"Count Domenico."

"Your Grace!"

As soon as Cesare appeared, Count Domenico hurriedly approached. Cesare lightly gestured for him to sit, taking a seat on the sofa himself. The Count, with an agitated face, settled on the opposite sofa.

Leaning back against the cushions, Cesare spoke casually, "Must you meet me on the first day of our honeymoon? Leave my bride alone in the bedroom."

At this jest, Count Domenico’s face stiffened.

"Isn’t that how Your Grace made it?"

With a dry and stern look, Count Domenico continued, "Since when did Your Grace take such an interest in politics? Seizing military power—are you eyeing the throne now?"

Despite the blunt remark, Cesare only twisted his lips into a smile without responding. Eventually, the Count’s impatience surfaced, and he trembled with indignation.

"Would you prefer to eliminate us all? Execute every noble if that’s your desire!"

In response, Cesare chuckled softly.

"You seem to misunderstand, Count. I could still claim the throne. We’re quite the affectionate brothers."

His eyes, tinged with a hint of red, curved into a smile. His well-shaped lips moved slowly.

"And as for the nobles of the Empire..."

As if playing a mischievous game, Cesare intercepted the Count’s words.

"Even if they were all killed, wouldn’t my desires still be fulfilled?"

***