There Is No Paradise Where You Escaped - Chapter 66

The sweat on Vivianne’s palms showed no sign of drying. Her lips were constantly chapping, and her back was completely soaked.

Yet even amid all this, Vivianne couldn’t bring herself to say she would give up the performance. Instead, she pulled out the music sheet she had sealed away deep within her.

But the old, faded score was rotted and torn, with entire sections missing. To make matters worse, the champagne she had hastily downed earlier had severely impaired her memory. For someone like Vivianne, who rarely drank, this was her first real trial of alcohol.

As something she thought would never happen in her life unfolded before her eyes, she found herself blaming the deceptively sweet champagne.

Vivianne nervously fidgeted with her fingers, racking her brain.

      What should I play?

López’s Cello Sonata No. 3? Morning’s Happiness? Herrera’s Nocturne No. 9?

Melodies flashed through her mind, but she couldn’t remember the notes exactly. On top of that, the pieces she recalled all required technical finesse—and Vivianne, whose fingers had likely stiffened, had no choice but to aim for something easier.

Unfortunately, by now, even the scores of the simpler pieces she could manage had been more than half-erased from her memory.

Vivianne, stuck in a deadlock, couldn’t begin playing, and the audience that had been waiting began to murmur. Amid the echoing whispers, she broke out in a cold sweat as she tried to choose a piece. She took a deep breath, calming herself again and again.

She sneaked a glance at the Queen.

The Queen, now growing bored from the extended silence, had begun speaking to her lady-in-waiting, and Sarah Chadwick stood stiffly in place, staring directly at Vivianne.

Vivianne bit the inside of her cheek and closed her eyes.

In the pitch darkness behind her lids, she forced herself to focus and searched her memory for a piece to play.

Ah. She remembered.

And the person who flashed through her mind like a savior was none other than her childhood cello teacher.

Sánchez, an unknown musician, had left his hometown and come to Preston, a place that had produced countless musicians.

The heavy shadows beneath his eyes and his perpetually somber expression had remained vivid in her mind, even after all these years.

Driven by a vow to succeed, Sánchez had poured his entire fortune into settling in Preston, but sadly, he never made it as a musician.

However, he had an exceptional gift for teaching. A few of his students gained widespread fame and even caught the attention of nobles, and Vivianne Aveline was one of them.

One day, he showed up with a face even gloomier than usual. It was because the debut of his ambitious composition, Cello and Piano Duet No. 3 in D Minor, had not received as much attention as he had hoped.

Looking like he might die at any moment, Sánchez had turned the dusty sheet music into a practice piece.

Because piano accompaniment was essential, he helped Vivianne with her practice by playing the piano part himself.

As Sánchez played the accompaniment, his choked sobs seeped into the melody, and Vivianne had wept silently alongside her cello’s lament.

The vividly recalled melody, along with the heartbreaking memories of that time, opened an escape route for Vivianne.

A faint smile appeared on Vivianne’s tense face.

As long as her hands didn’t shake, she could get through the five-minute piece just fine.

She took a deep breath, gripped her bow, and began.

The murmurs faded into silence.

And the cello’s deep resonance poured down to the floor as the music began.

As the cello’s bass tones resonated through her chest, Vivianne’s eyes slowly closed.

It felt as if the tangled mess of her bones, flesh, and blood were finally returning to where they belonged.

Like the hollow body of the cello, her heart emptied itself, little by little, only to refill, slowly, completely, with every note the cello released.

The sensations in her fingers, which she thought she’d completely forgotten, started to come back with every bar of the music she played.

The cello’s notes poured forth and formed an ocean within her, and Vivianne swam through it.

“Now, Vivianne. Try to picture it clearly. A still and quiet night. A dazzling moon—not just in the sky, but also reflected on the surface of a lake. Sparkling. The moonlight, glittering like a jewel, touches a lone daffodil blooming on the lawn, making it shimmer silver. There’s no one around. Only the wind. The lonely daffodil simply sways in the breeze. Every day, with no one to speak to.”

The daffodil Sánchez had once seen by the lake had been lonely. Perhaps he had projected himself onto that daffodil.

“The subtitle of this piece is ‘The Lake and the Daffodil.’ The piano expresses the lake’s melody, and the cello expresses the daffodil’s. So, Vivianne, your cello has to embrace the piano.”

A tragic musician, unrecognized by the world. Under the brilliant moonlight, he had longed to be seen. And when the lake finally spoke to him, he had been so elated, so thrilled, that he had chattered away excitedly.

That was why Vivianne had once questioned him:

“But, Teacher—if the cello is the main character of this piece, why does it have to support the piano’s melody? And if the daffodil is the lonely one, why is it the one comforting the lake? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Vivianne. Do you think only something big can hold something small? No—it’s the other way around too. Even small things can hold something big. Just like you and me. Someday, let’s become the kind of people who can comfort things far bigger than ourselves.”

It was around the time that Sánchez’s echoing voice finally faded from her mind that she noticed it—the piano accompaniment, which she hadn’t realized was playing.

The pianist knew the piece.

As the now-rich melody filled the space, Vivianne’s emotions surged. She was fully immersed in the atmosphere the piece evoked—so much so that she forgot reality.

Memories flooded her: It was spring in Preston. The warm sunlight streamed straight through the open window, pooling gently on the floor. A breeze, heavy with the scent of lavender, wafted in and gently rustled the linen curtains.

Her mother had sat at the piano, playing. And Vivianne, surrounded by the warmth of the sun and the breeze’s lavender scent, had layered her cello’s melody on top of the piano’s.

It had simply been part of her everyday life, so ordinary, she never had time to recognize how precious it was.

But now, having lost everything, Vivianne realized that even the smallest piece of that daily life was too dear to ever let go. It returned to her as sorrow.

And then came the cello’s final note, stretching out with longing, as if grasping desperately at memories too precious to let go.

Vivianne didn’t want to wake up from this dream. But reality beckoned.

As the bow lifted from the strings, a long silence followed, then, little by little, applause began to rise.

Still overwhelmed by emotion, Vivianne was caught in the lingering echo.

Slowly, she lifted her heavy eyelids, and a faint shimmer of tears glistened in her gray eyes.

Vivianne turned to the audience and gave her thanks for their thunderous applause. Then she turned to face the pianist.

How do you know this piece? Do you know Mr. Sánchez? I was his student. Were you, too?

All the questions she had lined up in her mind disappeared, because until she looked, she hadn’t realized the person sitting at the piano was Edwin.

But the questions died as she met his icy, unfeeling blue eyes. Vivianne’s lips parted in shock.

The breeze that had once carried flowers in her heart now roared back as a storm.

────── ✾ ──────

Alice’s eyes brimmed with tears at the touching scene—one money couldn’t buy. The Duke himself had stepped forward for his unfortunate lover, who was struggling with a lackluster performance. And once the piano accompaniment began, Vivianne’s playing noticeably gained depth and poise.

Together, their music deeply moved the audience. This officially confirmed that the Duke of Baytness’s feelings for Vivianne Aveline were strong and unmistakable.

Sarah Chadwick had trapped herself in her own web of jealousy and schemes.

Alice glanced first at the Queen’s expression. The look of resignation on her face told her all she needed to know—Sarah’s matchmaking efforts had come to an end.

Feeling triumphant, Alice approached Sarah, whose expression was far from pleasant. It was time to scratch at Sarah Chadwick’s pride, just as she had once shamelessly clawed at Alice’s by stealing her man all those years ago.

“They really do look good together, don’t they?”

Alice’s tone was flat.

“If those two get married, they’ll be the most famous couple in Neway, don’t you think? Sarah, darling, if the Duke and Aveline have a wedding, would you attend?”

Sarah, who had been listening silently, burst into a laugh—sharp and mocking. Alice narrowed her eyes at the uncharacteristically bitter response.

“How pathetic,” Sarah sneered.

“Excuse me?” Alice frowned. She hoped Sarah realized her mistake in choosing her words so carelessly.

“You haven’t changed one bit. Back when I used to call you ‘sister’ and follow you around… even then, you were the same. I actually pitied you when you got married off to that old count. The daughter of a crumbling viscount family, ending up a countess—some might say that’s a kind of success.”

As Sarah’s hostility became more direct, Alice’s frown eased, and a calm smile settled on her face.

“Well, thank you for your pity, Sarah. I suppose now it’s my turn to pity you. Your chances of marrying the Duke are over, aren’t they? I’ll remember it forever—how poor Sarah tried so hard to bring down and belittle poor Aveline, who was even more unfortunate than us, just to win over the Duke. And still failed.”

Alice smiled heartily.

“Like the time Morgan proposed to me.”

But when Sarah struck at Alice’s one true weakness, her composure cracked.

“You know what Morgan told me that day? He said he’d finally found true love.”

“…”

“Then why are you still clinging to a love from that day? Morgan never truly loved you.”

Alice scoffed.

“You were sneaking around with Morgan behind my back for who knows how long, weren’t you? Seducing him with that sly little charm of yours.”

“I’m sorry, but I was only with him as a friend. I never did anything to Morgan. You’re just letting your hatred cloud your judgment. Don’t take it the wrong way—I don’t have any ill feelings.”

“Oh, really? Morgan and I were close—we understood each other. I was sure he was going to propose soon. I was so excited I told you about it, and then you started avoiding me and spending all your time alone with Morgan—as if you wanted to sabotage it.”

“That’s your delusion,” Sarah said with a sweet smile.

Alice clenched her jaw and stepped forward threateningly.

But Sarah ignored her, turning her gaze to the stage where the Duke and Vivianne stood.

“You asked if I’d attend the Duke’s wedding? Yes. Of course, I will. Want to know why?”

Sarah turned halfway around and looked at Alice directly in her furious eyes.

“Because if anything brought those two together—it was me.”

With that, Sarah turned away. The music ended just then, and a quiet breeze swept through the ballroom.

────── ✾ ──────

“I’d like to hear Miss Aveline play the cello. What do you think, Your Grace? If I asked Her Majesty, I think she’d allow it.”

Sarah had subtly probed Edwin, trying to gauge his thoughts. He usually responded politely, though never too deeply.

She needed certainty: if Edwin truly intended to marry her, Vivianne’s defiance meant nothing. But if he wasn’t, that changed everything.

“If that’s what Miss Chadwick wishes,” he’d replied.

Even when presented with a situation bound to put Aveline in a difficult spot, Edwin’s expression remained indifferent. His passive acceptance of what was clearly a hostile act gave Sarah a glimmer of hope.

Up until the moment Vivianne began playing a bland piece she had never heard before, Sarah had felt rather satisfied.

Seeing others pity the tense, stiff performance had even given her a sense of pleasure, up until the moment Edwin walked onto the stage and sat at the piano.

Vivianne’s unexpected partnership with the Duke, and their heartbreaking, beautiful duet, made it clear: there was no future for Sarah in this marriage.

And worse: she realized the Duke of Baytness had used her.

Sarah Chadwick, who had desired to marry the Duke, had been deceived. She had failed to see the truth hidden beneath the surface.

As she stepped out of the ballroom, the applause faded behind her. Better to be pitied than mocked, at least pity preserved some dignity.

And in the end, the outcome wasn’t so bad. At least this humiliation confirmed the Duke’s heart, and her own defeat, without total disgrace.