The room they arrived at, guided by the butler, was smaller than the one they stayed in at the Seayermansion but was suitably antique and cozy for the two of them to share.
Since sharing the same room was no longer uncomfortable, the two naturally began preparing for bed as soon as they entered.
Sitting at the dressing table, Dalia removed her earrings and glanced at the man reflected in the mirror.
She was reminded of Clayton, who had commented earlier that the child was beautiful.
"From his reaction earlier, it doesn't seem like he dislikes children..."
Of course, she had somewhat pressured him into answering, but he wasn't the type to say things he didn't mean.
Recalling his comment about the child being pretty, it didn't seem like he disliked children.
It felt more like he didn't know how to interact with children, possibly because he had grown up alone.
"At least he doesn't dislike kids, so getting him to warm up to them later shouldn't be hard."
Just a few days ago, she had only been concerned about how to win him over, but now she had the mental space to think more about their future.
Still, she couldn't let her guard down. Until heartfelt declarations of love came from Clayton, she couldn't afford to relax.
Thus, Dalia began thinking of ways to grow closer to Clayton.
"If only something noteworthy could happen before we reach the villa."
As she pondered over a good opportunity, Gretel's words suddenly came to her mind.
"Tomorrow evening, there will be a Falling Blossom Festival by the river. If you're not too busy, how about enjoying the festival with the duke?"
They said the fireworks pouring down like rain in the night sky are incredibly beautiful.
And apparently, there's a belief that if you hold hands with someone while the fireworks fall, you'll be together forever.
She knew it was probably just a sales pitch, but now that she knew of such a tale, she couldn't let it pass.
She decided to persuade Clayton somehow to see the festival the next day.
"Besides, it's a classic trope for men and women to fall in love while enjoying a festival."
Determined, Dalia set her earrings down on the dressing table.
Having made up her mind, she casually asked the man who was changing clothes.
"Your Grace, I heard from the Viscountess that there's a Falling Blossom Festival in town tomorrow night. So, I was wondering, could we leave a day later? There's no urgent reason for us to depart, right?"
Clayton, who had been undoing his cufflinks, lifted his head, his expression calm and unreadable.
For a moment, Clayton met Dalia's gaze through the mirror and replied.
"If you want to go."
"Really?"
Unlike the nervous tone with which she had asked, Dalia spun around in surprise at how readily Clayton agreed.
"Are we really going to the festival together?"
Dalia bounced slightly with excitement, her face glowing with a bright smile.
From the start, when Damon first mentioned it, he had thought it might be nice to go together, and there was no real need to arrive early at the villa, so he had simply agreed.
It puzzled him that her reaction was even better than when he had filled a room with luxury goods as a gift. But still.
Clayton looked down at Dalia, who was chattering non-stop in front of him.
With an utterly excited expression, Dalia was smiling constantly.
He thought this situation wasn't bad. No, rather...
"I asked about the festival, and it turns out it's quite famous. People from other countries even come to see it. Don't you think we came at just the right time?"
He felt good.
* * *
The next evening.
Thinking about the festival that night, Dalia was brimming with excitement all day from morning to evening.
She was so cheerful that even the maid attending to her asked if something good had happened.
With such high expectations, she arrived at the festival site.
They said many people traveled from afar to enjoy the festival, and it seemed true, as long lines of people crowded along the riverbanks.
"There are so many people."
Seeing the crowd was larger than expected, Dalia subtly glanced at him.
Clayton didn't like crowded places, and sure enough, his deeply furrowed brows reflected his mood.
She looked around, trying to find a place with fewer people.
Then she spotted a large rock in a small grove and grabbed Clayton, leading him there.
"There are too many people here, so let's go up there to watch."
The rock they reached after pushing through the crowd was relatively quiet.
The spot wasn't as good as where they had been earlier, but Clayton seemed more at ease.
"Feeling better now? It's farther than where we were, but I think we'll still have a good view from here."
Dalia, tilting her head this way and that, pointed to the pouches hanging from the strings.
In the middle of the river, long wooden poles extended several strings, from which paper-like pouches were hanging in rows.
"I asked the maid before coming here. The pouches hanging on those strings are filled with charcoal powder made from burning oak bark. Later, they'll light them, and the powder inside will catch fire..."
As Dalia chattered non-stop, having clearly researched thoroughly beforehand, the sound of bells marked the start of the festival.
People dressed in white on the boats began lighting the fires.
As the pouches caught fire, sparks rose and began falling downward like flower petals.
"Wow!"
Exclamations of awe could be heard from all around. Dalia, too, was entranced by the falling sparks.
"They say the reason it's called the Falling Blossom Festival is because the sparks fall downward."
A gentle smile spread across Dalia's face.
Clayton, who had been staring blankly at her, followed her gaze to the falling sparks.
"…It's like a flower that only blooms at night. That flower is fading so spectacularly."
After staring blankly into the air for a moment, Dalia suddenly clapped her hands, as if something important had just come to her.
"Oh, right! Your Grace, give me your hand!"
"My hand?"
"Yes! Quickly!"
For some reason, Dalia urged Clayton with urgency.
Unsure of the situation, Clayton hesitantly held out his hand, and Dalia eagerly grabbed it.
Then she slightly bowed her head and began mumbling something, as if making a wish.
"..."
Clayton, watching Dalia mumble intently, shifted his gaze downward.
There, he saw her white hands clasping his right hand with both of hers.
'There's a belief that if you hold hands with your lover as the sparks fall like flower rain from the night sky, you'll be together forever.'
At that moment, Damon's words came back to him.
'Why is she holding my hand?'
At first, he thought Dalia might not know the significance of holding hands at this festival.
But recalling how Dalia had been talking about the festival non-stop since they arrived, he shook his head.
'Surely not...'
And then, a certain thought crossed his mind.
'If you hold hands as the sparks fall, you'll never be separated.'
If Dalia knew that, then this was...
His once-quiet heart began to pound.
All she did was hold his hand. Yet that small action caused a tremendous wave in Clayton's heart.
"What are you doing?"
Clayton's voice, squeezed out with difficulty, was rough.
"I'm making a wish."
Even as she answered his question, Dalia kept her eyes closed, still holding onto his hand.
His heartbeat quickened even more.
"…What are you wishing for?"
Dalia raised her head, her amethyst-like eyes meeting Clayton's.
"I wished to stay by your side forever."
Thud.
His heart, which had been racing, dropped low only to rise rapidly again.
He blinked, wondering if he had misheard, but the warmth enveloping his hand reminded him it was real.
"…You want to stay by my side forever?"
At his question, Dalia pouted, as if offended.
"Of course, we're married, aren't we?"
Ah.
Clayton let out a short sigh as he stared into her straight, violet eyes.
That single remark from Dalia ignited the distrust that had been gnawing at Clayton.
"Perhaps..."
A fierce wind began to blow.
The flames of his distrust flared and scattered like sparks.
"Was I the only one afraid? Just as I didn't want to let Dalia go, maybe she also…"
The embers of distrust that had burned so fiercely melted away in the cool waters, leaving no trace.