We're Married, After All - Chapter 90 - Summer Rain
It was late summer.
That day, Danel sat hidden in the thicket, gazing at the old annex. More precisely, he was watching the woman with brown hair, sitting on the annex’s terrace, enjoying the breeze.
A late afternoon when the heat had finally subsided and rain was falling—a perfect day for reading. Yet, the woman’s hands were empty. Naturally, she wasn’t fond of books.
Even on days when she had to spend long hours alone in boredom, she never brought a novel with her. Instead, she simply watched the sky change over time, the trees swaying wildly in the wind, the birds fluttering through the gentle summer rain.
“What’s so fascinating about that?”
Danel observed her with a gaze so persistent it felt like a slow caress. The woman, completely unaware that her every move was being etched into someone’s memory, simply stared beyond the forest with her clear green eyes.
How much time had passed? Her eyelids began to flutter languidly.
This was nothing new. Though she loved the silence, a monotonous view could easily bore a person.
Danel remained waiting on the other side of the quiet forest. The rain had grown heavier, drenching his shoulders and dripping down to the ground, but he didn’t move an inch.
Before long, drowsiness overtook the woman. Just a few steps away, there was a sunbed, but she likely wouldn’t bother moving to it. For someone who suffered from chronic insomnia, drowsiness was a rare and precious visitor.
As expected, she curled herself up and soon fell asleep. Danel watched for a moment before slowly stepping out from the undergrowth.
The closer he got to the annex, the clearer her previously blurred face became—along with the quiet, rhythmic sound of her breathing.
“Tsk…”
Danel exhaled sharply as he felt his own muscles tense painfully. The sound was quite loud, but he wasn’t concerned. She wouldn’t hear it anyway.
He stepped onto the terrace. Creak. Creak. The wooden planks groaned beneath his footsteps. The floor that barely made a sound when she rolled across the carpet now seemed to cry out with every step he took.
Danel thought it sounded like a warning. He wasn’t sure to whom it was directed—perhaps to the woman, cautioning her about what was to come. Or maybe it was a reprimand, urging him to stop.
“Either way, it won’t change anything.”
Danel slowly lifted her into his arms. She wasn’t particularly fussy about where she slept, but he was still worried about her.
Her brown hair spilled weakly over his arm. Danel pressed her head gently against his chest and walked forward, unhurriedly.
Creak. Creak.
The noise grew louder than before, but he paid it no mind.
Though she struggled to fall asleep, once she did, she sank into a deep slumber. The moment her breathing became steady and even like this, she wouldn’t wake up.
No matter what happened.
Danel placed her on the sunbed. Carefully, he propped her head against the backrest, then picked up the fallen blanket and draped it over her shoulders. He couldn’t have her catching a cold from the late summer rain.
Then, he simply stared at her face for a long while.
Her round forehead, the smooth line of her nose, the lips tinged with a faint flush of pink, the strands of brown hair brushing against her cheek in the breeze…
Even after watching for so long, he never grew tired of it. On the contrary, it felt like he could never get enough. He began to wonder if isolating himself in a monastery had ever been meaningful at all.
Danel pressed his fingertip against her soft lower lip. Her mouth parted slightly.
He brought his lips close, as if to drink in her breath. Kissing was nice, but this—this was better. He preferred to swallow her breath, to let even the faintest trace of her linger inside him.
“Mmm…”
She let out a quiet moan in her sleep. Danel hastily covered her lips with his own. Warm breath spilled into his mouth.
That was just the beginning.
He moved more brazenly now, sliding his nose along her skin to take in her scent. The nape of her neck, the curve of her chest, the dip of her waist, her thighs, her calves, her ankles—he traced them all, savoring the soft, lingering fragrance of her skin.
But today, at the spot where her scent should have been strongest, there was a foreign smell.
The smell of s***n, left behind by her fiancé just hours ago.
Danel had watched everything—the way she trembled in that cunning man’s arms, from start to finish.
In the past, when he was less mad than he was now, he would have tried to capture such moments in his sketchbook. After all, the sight of pleasure spreading across an otherwise expressionless face was breathtakingly beautiful.
But at some point, even glancing away at his sketchbook had started to feel like a waste of time.
So, he simply began to watch.
And once that man left—once she was alone again—he let himself soak in the sight of her, as much as he pleased.
