7-5

"I saw you standing under the bridge, with people working for Shawl," Jorgen said.

Dalia remained silent. Initially, she spoke out of an emotional impulse to break the awkwardness, but now, hearing Jorgen mention what she had hidden, she regretted it. This was supposed to be a secret meeting.

"You followed me?" she asked.

"I'm your bodyguard. When you go outside in a thunderstorm in the middle of the night, I have to stay alert."

"You could've just called out to me in the beginning. No need to sneak around for so long."

"If what you were doing wasn't dangerous, there would've been no need to stop you. My job is just to make sure you return safely."

"Since you already saw, why ask me what happened?"

"I only saw you talking from a distance. I don't know the actual situation."

"This is really embarrassing. You've gone too far."

"That's why I didn't press you earlier. You insisted on me speaking out."

"I'm done talking to you, Jorgen."

"The butler doesn't know yet. But to prevent you from doing this again, he'll likely station someone at the door every night."

"Is that a threat?"

"A threat? No. Actions that cause harm to others are threats. What I'm doing is for your safety. If you can prove that meeting wasn't and won't be a problem, I can pretend I didn't see it."

"In the end, you're still interrogating me."

"You've got time to decide whether to tell me before we return to the house."

"This is getting tiring."

Dalia stopped walking.

Jorgen also stopped, turning back. "You're not planning to go home?"

"It doesn't matter. It's not really my home anyway."

Dalia realized she'd just said something dangerous. I shouldn't make him suspicious. She lowered her head, wiping her face vigorously; she wished she could reveal the whole truth as easily as wiping away rain. But as long as it rained, her face would never dry. More raindrops fell from her hair and drifted through the air.

Jorgen tugged on her right arm. "Let's go," he said.

Dalia stood still for a moment, then continued walking under the umbrella.

"I can tell you," she said. "But you can't tell anyone."

"No problem."

"I went to see that person to inquire about Dean."

"Why inquire about him?"

"I want to know what he thinks of me." Dalia paused, waiting for Jorgen's reaction. "Because I like him." After a brief silence, she continued.

At least, it wasn't entirely a lie.

"He's good-looking, and he's caring…" she added.

—Perhaps that was too much.

"Secrecy is important in their line of work. I doubt his people would tell you anything easily," Jorgen said.

"I just wanted to try. Isn't that allowed? It's exactly because they're so secretive that I… wait, what did you mean by their line of work? What do they do?"

"Dean is an investigator with the Security Bureau. We all know that."

Dalia sensed that Jorgen and Dean might have had further conversations. This was dangerous territory, and she needed to change the topic.

"Anyway, that's it. You guessed right. He didn't tell me anything useful. He said he's just an ordinary colleague of Dean's."

"If you really want to know, you could just ask Shawl himself."

"Don't be silly. It's not the time for that yet."

The thunder had stopped, and the rain had lightened considerably. They turned the street corner, with the southern wall of the mansion already in sight.

"Shelley told me she's afraid you don't like her enough." Dalia turned to Jorgen. "How do you really feel about her? And by the way, I'm not trying to be your messenger."

"Then why bother?"

"I'm just asking, reminding you not to hurt her feelings. If you're determined to be cold to her, then you shouldn't have…"

"No matter what I do, she won't stop complaining."

"That's not true. She might be a bit too anxious, but that's because she likes you. You should relax sometimes. I know you often put on a serious face around her."

Jorgen frowned, looking sideways, appearing somewhat impatient.

"I wasn't prying into your business earlier."

"So what? I'm not doing business with you. It's not a trade of one question for another. Your matters may not concern me, but Shelley has complained to me more than once. I feel bad for her, but the constant fuss is annoying. If you think your business has nothing to do with me, then handle it yourself, and don't affect me. Okay?"

"Of course. I'll break up with her tomorrow, so you won't be bothered anymore."

"Oh, please. You're just trying to save face, even if it means upsetting more people. It's exactly because of this attitude that Shelley is so unhappy. Besides, you have no right to speak to me like that. Don't forget, I'm your employer. I provide you a place to live and the money to buy her gifts. I didn't hire you to take out your frustration on me..."

Dalia couldn't figure out how her anger had flared up so quickly. It was like a few bright sparks suddenly leaping from what should've been an extinguished fire. She remembered the instructor's hands around her throat, the way he'd spoken—not his words exactly, but the sheer force with which he tried to assert his authority, disregarding her dignity. The sparks burned her chest before they even touched Jorgen. She lowered her head, staring at the ground, where ripples disturbed by constant raindrops spread before her feet. She felt a strong urge to stop walking and step out from under the umbrella Jorgen was holding. But she didn't. They continued approaching the mansion.

"The lights are on," Jorgen said.

"What?" Dalia raised her head.

"Look up. Your bedroom. The lights are on."

Besides what Jorgen pointed out, Dalia could also hear familiar voices coming from behind the upstairs windows.

"Great. The butler already knows I sneaked out tonight."

"Just tell them I was with you. Let's go in through the front door."

They stopped in front of the mansion door. With the eaves shielding them, Jorgen closed the umbrella. Dalia turned around, standing in front of him with her back against the door.

"Sorry. About what I said earlier…"

"It's fine."

"I was too hasty, especially when you suddenly mentioned breaking up with her."

"Let's not talk about it now."

"I still have something to say."

"Go ahead."

"We're friends… right? If you don't want to answer, just nod. I mean, if you agree."

"Yes."

"If that's the case, can you promise me something?"

He looked at her, waiting for her to finish.

"Everyone lies. And I… might be worse than others in that regard because I have to."

"I understand. You need someone to manage…"

"Let me finish. When I have to lie, I feel awful. But I really hate it when others lie to me. I… I despise it. You're my friend, right? I hope you can be honest with me as much as possible. Don't lie to me unless it's absolutely necessary. Of course, I know you're not the type to lie, but I just wanted to let you know how I feel."

"Go inside, Dalia."

"Did you hear me?"

"I did. Now you need to rest."

Two days later, on a cloudy afternoon, Jorgen stood at the entrance of the town church, waiting for Shelley. They had a date. Shelley had chosen this meeting place, as the church was hosting a charity event, with people constantly coming and going. This made Jorgen, who stood there seemingly without purpose, feel uneasy. He knew Shelley insisted on choosing this location so the town would notice them together.

Shelley arrived. She smiled as she spotted him from afar, quickly walking over, and broke into a small run when she was about five meters away. She wasn't late; Jorgen had simply arrived early. For their dates, he usually arrived on time, sometimes delayed by work. But today, he had consciously left home half an hour early. He was reluctant to admit that Dalia's words had affected him.

Since that day, he and Dalia had only exchanged a few words, their conversation limited to the roles of master and servant.

"You're early."

Shelley's voice, as small as her stature, tried to rise. She had achieved her goal; some passersby glanced over at them. Not many knew Shelley, but most of the townspeople who knew Dalia Wharton also knew, or at least had seen, Jorgen. Typically, under such scrutiny, Jorgen would turn slightly to avoid showing his face. But today, he didn't. He looked into Shelley's eyes: she was happy, even though their date had barely begun.

—But wasn't she always like this? Jorgen knew that he'd never truly been bothered by Shelley's enthusiasm. Otherwise, they wouldn't be here together now. Maybe I should tell her she looks beautiful today—

"Let's go."

Jorgen said as he took her hand. Though they had long settled on today's plan, he still felt some hesitation. Before dinner, he would take her to a puppet show—a mildly famous puppeteer was performing in Menethil. The venue was the local school's auditorium, which indicated the main audience. The school auditorium wasn't exactly Jorgen's kind of place, but since Shelley was holding onto his arm excitedly, he now had a reason to be there.