B-ronken-R-ing 159...

***

Inés slowly blinked her eyes open, the world emerging through a hazy lens. Her olive-green gaze wandered across the dim surroundings. A hint of bergamot, Arondra's favorite fragrance, hung in the air, signaling that she was in the Escalante residence in Calztela.

A strange calm washed over her, soothing the traces of nausea. She nearly sighed in relief, but the sigh died away soon.

Cárcel was not present by her side, and she silently thanked the stars that he hadn't entered the bedroom yet. Facing him now would make her feel uneasy, adding to her weariness. The dream had already left her sapped; talking to a clueless Cárcel after what she had experienced in the dream was a daunting prospect. Her hand reached out to stroke the void beside her.

He could be extremely keen and observant about anything regarding Inés, especially when she felt unwell or was not in a good mood. Any sign of illness triggered his obsessive concern, so she preferred avoiding him to sidestep the inevitable complications.

Cárcel would only be satisfied if Inés looked to be in perfect condition. After encountering his past self in her dream, she understood why he fussed so much over her, and the revelation left a bitter taste in her mouth. It was as if she had bitten into a seemingly sweet fruit, only to end up biting her own tongue instead.

Regret and guilt surged within her, the tendrils of nervousness creeping in as they did whenever she considered herself a fool. If she were to encounter Cárcel now, the memories of her dream might flood back, but all that surfaced was a passing envy she felt over the twenty-six-year-old Cárcel Escalante from her first life.

She felt like an utter fool.

Perhaps she had overlooked a potential candidate. She delved deeper into her memories in search of a suitable match for Cárcel among the Mendozan ladies, but her efforts proved futile. A heavy sigh swelled in her throat, and she covered her face, feeling the weight of her own folly.

She knew she was wearing the artificial expression, as if unseen eyes observed her in the shadows, as though someone monitored her to ensure she didn't forget the purpose of her life. Nevertheless, she still felt like an idiot, much like she had in the dream.

Acknowledging her past jealous tendencies, Inés entertained a fleeting notion of casting blameless Cárcel and all those women into the depths of the Calztelan ocean. A petty impulse, driven by wounded pride, overshadowed reason.

Cárcel bore the blame for everything. If he were present, his fussing would have made her forget all about the unsettling dream... Inés then scolded herself for entertaining the hope of his company after all she had done to him in her dream.

Still, she couldn't deny that she hated the large bed and the emptiness that greeted her upon awakening. His absence echoed profoundly.

Feeling uncharacteristically sentimental, Inés covered her face. Was this emotion a result of the dream or a manifestation of her past memories?

She felt defeated as she finally admitted to herself that, deep down, she had hoped to wake up to his familiar face. This place, indeed, had the power to render her feeling the strangest thing.

"Are you up?" Cárcel's voice broke through her reverie, a sweet yet unwelcome intrusion.

The sound of the balcony door clicking shut followed before he added, "You should have slept longer."

"What time is it now?" asked Inés.

Pulling out a pocket watch, he glanced at it and replied, "Four o'clock."

"In the morning...?"

"Yes."

"How long did I sleep for?"

"Not too long. Around eleven hours or so." When it came to Inés, his standards for timeliness tended to be very lenient.

"You should have woken me up..."

"But you're not well."

"I'm fine," she said.

Seating himself at the edge of the bed, he insisted, "You are ill."

Funnily enough, his presence seemed to fill the void within her. If Inés had known he would appear so soon, she would have never admitted her shameful feelings to herself.

She didn't have a chance to mock her own hypocrisy, since all her senses were already attuned to his every move. Just as she had observed him in her dream, she paid close attention to him, and his silhouette gained clarity in the darkness.

Their gazes locked. His eyes widened in surprise; though he grinned, the grin didn't quite reach his eyes.

He sighed, "You had a fever," placing his cold hand on her forehead, chilled from the outdoor air. Feeling the marked temperature difference, Inés finally realized she did have a mild fever. But she didn't worry too much about it, since she usually had a mild fever around this time of year.

"I barely feel hot," she remarked.

Cárcel's hand paused briefly before gently pressing against her forehead, challenging her assertion of having no fever. But Inés was distracted by the ocean breeze and a faint whiff of cigar smoke, barely perceptible to most. It dawned on her that he must have indulged in a cigar some time ago.

"How long have you been out on the balcony?" she asked. "Your hands are so cold."

"Sorry. They must be freezing." He abruptly withdrew his hands, leaving Inés surprised.

Grabbing his hands mid-air, she estimated, "An hour or two?"

Cárcel looked at his hands in hers, momentarily lost in thought before realizing her inquiry. "Ah, not that long."

She guessed again, "Three hours?"

"Just a couple."

"Why?"

"Because of the cigar smell."

"The smell?"

"I was worried the scent had settled on my clothes," he clarified.

Inés fought the urge to let a sigh escape.

Most wealthy men enjoyed the luxury of a dedicated cigar room within their houses, but this residence housed only a cramped little room reminiscent of a prison cell. So, Cárcel often smoked on the balcony, the first-floor terrace, or in the garden. It became a routine for him to spend a considerable time outside after indulging in his cigar, worried Inés might frown at the lingering scent.

Even in Calztela's relatively mild winter, the morning and night air still had a brisk chill. She couldn't suppress a frustrated sigh whenever she spotted him standing around in the cold for a long time. No matter how emphatically she reassured him that the smell didn't bother her, she found herself unable to convince him.

She had let him do as he pleased thus far, but today, she couldn't ignore the concern that tugged at her. Why did he persist in this manner? Was it an elaborate ploy to evoke her pity? But she dismissed the notion. Cárcel lacked the cunning for such schemes. If he possessed that level of guile, he likely wouldn't have fallen for her in the first place. This unwitting fool... she mused.

"Your hand is so cold... Why not chase out Alfonso and turn his room in a cigar room?" suggested Inés.

Cárcel chuckled. "I can't do that to him."

"Then, why don't you just smoke in the bedroom?"

"That's even less likely than chasing Alfonso out of his room."

In her first life, Inés had smoked more cigars than the average man, so she did not see the need for his behavior at all. In fact, she relished the smoky fragrance.

"Then, just quit smoking altogether."

"I am trying to cut back," he agreed.

Alfonso had told her that Cárcel used to smoke all evening long, but since their marriage, she had only seen him indulge in one or two cigars a night. If he reduced even more, he would hardly smoke at all. Even in Mendoza, before they tied the knot, he never reeked of cigar smoke...

It was only then that Inés realized Cárcel had adhered to this routine for years, even during his days as an avid smoker. With this realization, she released her grip on his hand.

Cárcel, unaware of her internal musings, tucked her into the blanket. Silently gazing up at him, Inés was met with a grin that made her think nothing bad had ever happened between them.

"Stay healthy, Inés," he said in a lulling tone that transported her back to the innocence of a nine-year-old girl.

Strangely, she didn't mind. She must be losing her mind, she thought, allowing emotions to override reason.

"But I already am. I'm not sick..."

"Alright, alright. Just go back to sleep," Cárcel coaxed, leaning over her to form a comforting roof. In that moment, Inés felt like he was the only reliable presence in her world. Without hesitation, their lips met in a series of kisses. His tongue delved deeper, caressing hers in a warm embrace. Although she had no problem breathing, a moan escaped her.

Pushing him away, she turned her head. "You'll catch my fever."

"If you're not sick, there shouldn't be anything for me to catch."

"Okay, then... I am sick. Happy? So-"

His lips claimed hers again, a brief yet more intense kiss. Her earlobes burned bright red, and she silently thanked the darkness shrouding the room.

Inés resumed her protest. "I just told you that you'll catch my fever-"

"I'm trying to catch it from you. So, it shouldn't be an issue." Cárcel shrugged.

"What?"

"Thanks to you, I can take a few days off from training."

She wanted to retort, snickering about how his abnormal stamina should serve as a fortress against any virus, but her words remained unspoken until he raised himself.

"You..." she finally uttered.

"Hmm?" he inquired.

"Aren't you going to sleep?"

"I have morning training. If I sleep now, I won't get up in time."

"Did you... stay awake all night?"

Instead of blaming her for his lack of sleep, Cárcel simply smiled. "Your fever was higher before. After midnight, it started coming down. I fed you some medication at dawn, so you should feel better by lunchtime. I hope you gave me your fever, and you'll get better soon. I'm sorry I made you so sick, Inés."

She was at a loss for words. He was apologizing for her illness when she should be the one offering the apology. He had taken the words right out of her mouth.

"Sleep well," he said. "I'll be back later."