Our Summer Is Not Over - vanish into fiction

When the conversation started to become tedious, Mia turned her head and, among the large crowd, spotted Dylan, who seemed to shine brighter than anyone else. It felt as if everything in the ballroom that gave off light was illuminating him.

She couldn’t even make out who was standing in front of him. Dylan was the only one in her field of vision.

A lady, noticing Mia’s silence, followed her gaze and murmured softly,

“Duke March and Duke Rihardt?”

“What do you suppose they’re talking about?”

“Perhaps something related to the war?”

Only then did Mia realize that the person standing opposite Dylan was Walter March.

Walter’s jet-black hair was tousled by the wind, and he ran his hand through it in annoyance. Despite being nearly fifty, he didn’t look his age.

The noblewomen might have been frightened by his vivid red eyes, but they simply covered their mouths, captivated by his appearance.

“The two of them standing together look like a painting.”

Everyone knew that Walter had lost his wife and his late-born daughter during the war with Murad and that he had no one by his side now. He didn’t seem interested in women, but now that the war was over, the nobles speculated that someone would eventually take their place beside him.

The conversation between the two seemed to come to an end before long. When Dylan nodded, Walter patted him twice on the shoulder and walked away. As Walter disappeared, sighs of disappointment arose here and there.

Just as the gazes that had been fixed on Walter tried to return to their original positions, someone’s question caused everyone’s eyes to turn again toward Dylan.

“Baron Bormann has come as well?”

“Oh my, it’s Vice Admiral! He’s famous for never attending parties. What’s so special about today?”

“It seems the Perville Marquisate is throwing quite the party. All these nobles are gathered here, and you only see this at palace balls.”

“The Marchioness must be feeling quite proud tonight.”

While everyone’s attention was focused on Elio Bormann, Mia’s gaze remained locked on Dylan standing before him.

Elio kept talking to Dylan about something. Unlike when Dylan had been talking with Walter, his face was now clearly filled with annoyance and irritation. Only when Elio’s face finally blocked her view of Dylan did Mia turn her attention back to the ladies.

She knew it wasn’t polite to let her mind wander when people were right in front of her, but she just couldn’t get the image of Dylan she’d seen a moment ago out of her head. In the end, she excused herself, weaving through the crowd to find a quieter spot.

A few nobles followed, introducing themselves and hoping to continue the conversation.

“I’m sorry, but I need a moment alone to rest. I’ll come back to soon, and we can talk then.”

Though everyone expressed their disappointment at her gentle reply, no one insisted further. Mia took a glass of champagne and surveyed the dazzling ballroom.

When she no longer saw Dylan, she was finally able to stop thinking about him. She found it odd how she could always pick him out no matter where he was.

“Am I bewitched or what…”

She couldn’t quite put her finger on what this emotion, this feeling, this constant train of thought meant. But she was sure of one thing:

If she got any closer, it would be a problem.

For a year, she would do as Dylan wished and share his bed, and after that, she would receive her parents’ remains and return to her homeland.

She had spent seventeen years building up her determination, so she couldn’t let herself be shaken by such trivial feelings.

So…

Just then, she heard the chatter of young boys and girls not far away. It was a special area that seemed to have been set up for the younger children.

“It’s Princess Cydemia!”

“You should call her Duchess Rihardt!”

A little girl, puffing out her cheeks, placed her hands on her hips and spoke to a boy.

Setting aside her wandering thoughts, Mia turned toward them. Sensing they had caught her attention, the little girl quickly trotted over to Mia.