Karl smiled and asked Bert,
"Lord of Washington, what’s with the outfit today?"
As he walked in, Bert loosened the scarf around his neck.
"I caught a cold. Felt chilly, so I put on a bit more."
The mont he spoke, his voice was terribly hoarse. After finishing, he coughed several tis. Turning slightly away from them, he raised a hand to cover his mouth, suppressing the coughs before finally adding an apology,
"Sorry I’m late."
Seeing him in this state, Catherine, who was seated nearby, couldn’t help but lift her gaze toward him.
His face looked sowhat pale, and his whole deanor was weary and worn.
Catherine felt a pang of tenderness—how could she not? She had loved him so deeply.
Yet, thinking about the state of their relationship now, Catherine knew she couldn’t be the one to show concern first—not until he explained clearly what kind of feelings he actually had for her.
So she only glanced at him once, then turned her head back to the tableware in front of her, remaining silent.
Bert’s heavy, intent gaze lingered for a mont on her clean, delicate profile. Then he took off his down jacket and scarf and sat down. He should have taken the seat beside Catherine, but instead he chose the one with a chair between them.
Karl and Marylin both looked at him in confusion. In his hoarse voice, he explained,
"I’ve caught a cold. I don’t want to pass it on to her."
Hearing that, Catherine’s heart clenched painfully.
Realization dawned on Karl and Marylin at once. Marylin smiled and said,
"Lord of Washington is really considerate toward Cici."
Bert didn’t pursue the topic and instead said to them,
"Let’s order."
Marylin handed a nu to Catherine.
"Cici, order whatever you like."
With that, Karl also looked over with a faint smile. Naturally, Bert’s gaze followed as well. Although Catherine didn’t turn her head, she could feel it—deep, heavy, burning, fixed squarely on her.
She felt a trace of discomfort under his unwavering stare.
She handed the nu back to Marylin with a soft smile.
"You go ahead and order. I’m fine with anything."
She had never been the type to decide on dishes in situations like this; she always prioritized others’ preferences. Besides, with Bert watching her so intently, she couldn’t calm her mind enough to choose anything at all.
Marylin then passed the responsibility of ordering to Bert.
"In that case, Lord of Washington, you decide."
Bert took the nu, skimd through it briefly, then closed it and handed it back to Marylin, giving calm instructions,
"She doesn’t eat spicy food. The weather’s cold, so don’t order anything too chilled. As for the rest, you can choose. We’ll go along with whatever the hosts decide."
Though it was only a few simple sentences, every word showed his consideration for Catherine. And that single "we" subtly and openly drew him and Catherine closer together.
Catherine sat there quietly, yet her heart was struck again and again.
She had eaten with Bert many tis before. She had never told him she didn’t eat spicy food, and he had never asked what she liked or disliked—yet he sohow knew her preferences perfectly.
The only explanation was that he had observed her with painstaking care.
In the end, Karl and Marylin took charge of ordering the dishes. Considering that they would be driving, and that Bert was ill, they didn’t order any alcohol, opting for juice instead.
Bert lifted his gaze toward Karl and Marylin and asked,
"How are the wedding preparations coming along?"
After asking that question, he turned to the side and began coughing again.
Marylin and Karl both looked toward Catherine at the sa ti. With no choice, Catherine silently poured a glass of water, stood up, and walked over to hand it to Bert.
She did so partly because of the unspoken pressure from Marylin and Karl, and partly because she truly couldn’t help herself—watching him cough like that, her instinct was to get him so water.
Bert took the glass. His dark eyes, deep and intent, rested on her as he suppressed another cough and said,
"Thank you."
Catherine said nothing. She turned around and returned to her seat.
Karl looked at Bert as he drank, concern evident in his voice.
"Lord of Washington, that cold of yours seems pretty serious. Have you taken any dicine?"
After drinking the water, Bert felt so relief from the dryness and irritation in his throat, and only then did he reply,
"No. I hardly ever catch colds, and I don’t have a habit of taking dicine."
Catherine couldn’t help glancing at him again. If it were a mild cold, maybe he could push through without dication—but in his current state, it was clearly a bad one. How could he not take anything?
As Catherine looked over, Bert’s gaze t hers at the sa ti. Their eyes crossed in midair. His was intense and dark; Catherine instinctively looked away, withdrawing her gaze.
Let him do whatever he wanted, she thought. It was his body, and he was the one who would suffer.
Karl returned to the question Bert had asked earlier.
"The wedding preparations have already begun. The details are pretty complicated, so we’re discussing and coordinating them bit by bit."
He then added,
"As for the wedding rings, the wedding dress, and all the formal attire for the ceremony—we’ll be relying on the two of you."
Marylin chid in as well,
"This dinner tonight is partly to thank you both for designing such perfect rings and outfits for the proposal, and partly to formally entrust you with everything. We’ll leave the wedding rings and attire entirely in your hands."
As she spoke, Marylin lifted the red, fla-shaped ring in her hand and said to Catherine with a smile,
"I really love it. All my colleagues say it’s especially beautiful."
Having her own design receive such affirmation naturally made Catherine happy as well. She smiled and replied,
"I’m glad you like it."
Just as Catherine finished speaking, a low voice sounded by her ear,
"Will you take it?"
It was Bert.
The question was clearly directed at Catherine—asking whether she would accept the job of designing the wedding rings and attire for the MOS Corp. couple.
This was the first exchange between them since things had turned sour.
Catherine turned back, sowhat flustered, and shot him a glare before answering,
"Whether you take it or not has nothing to do with . I’m only responsible for the rings."
Then she turned to Marylin again.
"I’d be very happy to continue designing your wedding rings."
Marylin had expressed her love for the engagent ring Catherine designed more than once. Catherine could tell that the appreciation was genuine, not re polite flattery. So this ti, faced with Marylin’s renewed trust, Catherine didn’t put on airs or refuse—she accepted readily.
Marylin treated her as a friend, and Catherine was more than willing to design a wedding ring worthy of a lifeti of mories for her friend.
"Then I’ll take it too."
After Catherine agreed, Bert added quietly beside her.
Karl laughed.
"Lord of Washington, that’s quite the ’husband following the wife’s lead,’ isn’t it?"
Catherine’s face flushed instantly. "Husband following the wife’s lead"—why did he have to say it like that? Clearly, Bert was following her decision!
Thankfully, perhaps sensing her embarrassnt, no one continued teasing her about it, and the rest of the al passed quite pleasantly.
Bert chatted casually with Karl, while Marylin talked with Catherine. Catherine wasn’t especially talkative, so most of the conversation was led by Marylin, revolving around amusing stories from her and Karl’s wedding preparations.
Each ti Catherine saw Karl and Marylin exchange sweet, knowing smiles, she felt how beautiful their love truly was—the affection in their eyes seed almost to overflow.
Inevitably, a small sense of loss crept into her heart. Why was everyone else’s love so sweet, while hers was repeatedly filled with obstacles?
After the dinner ended, the four of them left together. Naturally, Marylin went with Karl in one car, leaving Catherine and Bert alone.
Catherine turned to leave, but he caught her wrist.
"I’ll take you ho."
She struggled.
"No need. I can go back on my own."
There was no loud argunt between them, yet they were still fighting—locked in a cold war.
Bert’s large hand tightened around her wrist, refusing to let go. His voice sounded rough and hoarse.
"Don’t make a fuss."
Then he tugged her toward the parking lot.
His voice clearly lacked energy. Thinking of how badly he was sick, Catherine’s resistance unconsciously weakened. No matter what, she didn’t want to argue with him while he was ill.
So she let him pull her into his car. On the way to Catherine’s place, neither of them spoke. Bert focused on driving, while Catherine kept her head turned toward the window. He coughed several tis along the way, and each ti he did, Catherine’s heart grew more unsettled.
When the car finally stopped downstairs at Catherine’s building, just as she was about to get out, she couldn’t hold it in anymore. She turned to him and said softly,
"I think you should go to the pharmacy and get so dicine."
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