TMRDWMP CH 12
- Jun 8
- 7 min read
Chapter 12
• ────── ✦ ────── •
When are You Free?
In any case, since she had come this far, she couldn't simply go back. Monica pulled her fist from Garcia's hand and held her palm out flat. It was a silent demand for him to pay for her ruined dress and ribbon.
“I spent my entire life savings on those.”
Garcia raised his dark golden brows.
“What kind of thoughtless young lady spends her entire life savings on a bit of ribbon?”
“…I’d been saving up for it!”
Monica clenched her fist once more. Garcia let out a hollow laugh.
“That tone of yours—”
Monica stopped herself, she was speaking like a petulant child. A stark contrast from the polite, refined manner she had used when she first met him, mistaking him for Louis. However, she had no intention of correcting herself. She lifted her chin with deliberate arrogance.
“I have no desire to have my tone corrected by a gigolo.”
It was the truth, after all. Why should a man who called her horse-tail and spent his time brawling in the streets like a common thug have any say in how she speak? Fortunately, Garcia didn't seem inclined to argue the point. He merely glanced down at her, biting the end of his finished cigar.
“What?”
“Good grief.”
The man didn't blink even as Monica glared at him. He reached out, grabbed her wrist again, and ran his thumb across her palm.
“Ow...”
Monica let out an involuntary groan as the pressure hit the raw, dirty scrapes. A smirk played on Garcia's lips, the cigar butt still clenched between his teeth.
“Seems you can't even see what is more urgent.”
He kept a firm hold on her hand as he stood up and led her to the fountain in the centre of the square. The tiled fountain, a symbol of La Spezia's wealth, was currently turned off. Garcia unhesitatingly scooped up some water and began to rub her palm.
“Ow!”
It wasn't so much that it actually hurt, but rather that she was more flustered by a complete stranger rubbing her hands vigorously. Garcia ignored her protests entirely and finished washing both of her hands.
“You'd hardly be able to hold your money with hands in that state.”
“Ugh.”
Monica looked up at him, dissatisfied. Garcia gave a short laugh and tapped the edge of the fountain, gesturing for her to sit. His overbearing attitude was far from aristocratic, yet it was somehow harder to resist. Monica rolled her eyes but sat on the brick ledge. Garcia crouched in front of her.
“Tsk.”
Through the tear in her skirt, her knees were visible, covered in scrapes and dried blood. The man reached for the hem of his own shirt, which was tucked into his trousers, and ripped it. Monica was stunned by the unexpected action, but the man remained nonchalant, as if he were tearing someone else's shirt. He soaked the fabric in the fountain and began to wipe her knees.
“What a mess for a young lady’s knees.”
“...”
“You'll never get married like this.”
And whose fault is that!
Monica wanted to shriek, but she kept her mouth shut. She knew deep down that this situation wasn't entirely Garcia's fault. Moreover, he could have easily run away, yet he had returned.
“She has nothing to do with this, so let her go.”
After all, he had come back for her. Surprisingly, Garcia’s touch was gentle. He was careful not to cause her any more pain. He let out a casual remark.
“Be glad this isn't a battlefield.”
“Huh?”
“If you were a wounded soldier, I wouldn't be handling you this softly.”
Monica blinked. He was right. With so many wounded soldiers, the luxury of gentle treatment was unheard of. But how did this man know that? Was he a war veteran too?
She watched him quietly as he chewed on the cigar butt before spitting it out, his hands moving continuously. Perhaps sensing her sudden silence, Garcia stopped wrapping the fabric around her knee and looked up, a grin spreading across his face.
“What? Are you touched?”
“Do you really not know Louis?”
Garcia’s eyes immediately narrowed.
“I don't know that annoying bastard.”
“You clearly do.”
“I don't.”
“That is exactly how someone who knows him would react.”
“Mind your own business, alright?”
Garcia deliberately tightened the cloth around her knee. Monica yelped in annoyance.
“Just hearing that man's name gives me three days of bad luck, so don't let it cross your lips.”
“I will. Louis, Louis, Louis, Louis...”
Monica chanted the name several times the moment he finished speaking.
“This woman!”
Are you brothers? You look exactly the same.
As she was about to ask, her eyes caught the area just below Garcia's right eye as he winced. Beneath the hollow of his eye, visible only under the scrutiny of the bright sunlight, was a faint scar. Monica was lost for words.
Ah, that...
But before she could say anything, Garcia spoke again.
“If you say his name one more time, I'm not paying you back.”
“Huh!”
Monica was taken aback. She had been demanding payment for the dress and ribbon, but she hadn't actually expected him to agree to it.
“You're going to pay me back?”
“Damn it. You said you couldn't work because of me. You only have three outfits left, and one of them is a nightgown.”
That was exactly what Monica had been lamenting just moments ago.
“Talk about bad luck, getting caught up with a woman like her.”
Garcia grumbled, running a hand through his blonde hair. Monica rounded her lips, resisting the urge to point out that he looked like the type to dodge a debt rather than settle it. Garcia frowned at her expression but said nothing more.
“So, are you free?”
“Free?”
“To go buy clothes.”
Monica blinked twice. Garcia crossed his arms and looked her up and down with a swaggering air.
“I'll cover the ribbon. As for that dress, no matter how generously I look at it, it isn't new. You've clearly worn it for years and got your money's worth. I wouldn't know how much to give you for a rag that might fetch ten shillings at a market, so I figured it's better if we just go and buy a decent one together.”
He's offering to buy me a dress, so why do I feel so insulted?
“But there's nothing but trash in that market. Besides, I can't go near there for a while because of those thugs.”
Garcia gestured with his chin towards the direction they had come from. It meant they would have to go to the commercial district. However, Monica glanced at the clock tower in Argent Square and was horrified. It was already nearly lunchtime.
“Oh, no, I don't have time!”
She remembered Mrs. Mollet's instructions to care for Martinel after the doctor's visit at noon. Furthermore, as a nurse-governess, she needed to consult with the physician. Monica scrambled to her feet.
“This is bad. I have to go!”
Garcia clicked his tongue and asked seriously.
“Then when are you free?”
Monica tried to calculate how long it would take to get back to the mansion. Her pace... she stammered for a moment before blurting out.
“Saturday.”
“Meet me here on Saturday at lunch.”
She had heard from the maids this morning that Mrs. Mollet gave the servants one day off a week. Although she hadn't negotiated her day off with the mistress yet, she hoped a brief outing would be permitted.
“The square fountain.”
It was a one-sided arrangement. Garcia tilted his head lazily.
“What if I don’t show up?”
Monica fixed him with a terrifying expression.
“If you don't come, I will kill you.”
With that, she turned and hurried away. Garcia watched her go, running as light as paper despite her injured knees, and finally let out a baffled laugh.
“You don't even know where I live.”
He looked down at his torn shirt. That bastard would probably nag him about it, but what did he care? To that man, a shirt like this didn't even count as clothing. Garcia tucked the remains of his shirt back into his trousers. His gaze remained fixed on the woman's retreating figure as she disappeared across the square, her black hair swaying.
Come to think of it, I didn't even get her name.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Nothing for it. I'll have to show up on Saturday. I wonder if that's even possible...
• ───────── ☽༓☾ ───────── •
Monica had no choice but to change into her dull green dress. The nightgown was out of the question, and everyone had already seen the taffeta dress. It was a bit warm, but she had no other option. Once she received her weekly wages, she would have to buy some simple clothes or see if any of the maids had something they were willing to sell.
Of course, there was a minor scene when Maria saw Monica return to the mansion with her clothes in tatters.
“That damn Hans!”
“Leaving someone who doesn't even know the way to fend for themselves until they're in this state! I'll give him a beating!”
Monica barely managed to hold back Maria, who was already rolling up her sleeves. She was hot-headed, but a kind soul.
“I’m fine. It’s my fault for not being careful.”
“Instead, I'd like to fix my clothes. Could I borrow a needle and thread?”
Maria shrugged and held out her hand.
“I'll fix them for you.”
“I don't want to be a burden.”
“We have to keep working until dinner anyway. And you said you have no other clothes.”
Monica had no choice but to hand over the dress. As Maria took the torn garment, she gave a light warning.
“La Spezia may look peaceful, but it's a city that was untouched by the war. Do you know what that means?”
There were very few cities left in the kingdom where money still circulated properly. La Spezia was the only one in the south.
“It's a city where all the riff-raff of the south have gathered. Be absolutely careful of strangers. Do you understand?”
“Yes...”
Monica replied weakly and smiled to herself.
Am I not one of that riff-raff too?
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