No One Ever Loved Me - Chapter 131

Ricardo climbed into the carriage with the same shamelessness he had when we left together before.

In contrast to his unwavering confidence, the once-ambitious palace guard slumped like a worn-out cloak, trudging quietly up to the coachman’s bench.

“Stop staring,” Ricardo said.

It had only been a week. For me, a week that felt like a month—overwhelmed with responsibilities, constantly juggling tasks, and now also handling Ricardo.

But that guard? He had shown up for maybe two days, pretending to be dutiful, then disappeared completely by the third.

After being kicked out of the Bastian estate, he acted like there was a restraining order from the Rosette estate too. He vanished so cleanly, not even a strand of his hair had been spotted.

The day I returned from the Bastian estate was that day—the day that changed everything. I hadn’t had time or space to think about him, much less look for him.

Those were two days of shock after shock.

I’d never denied that I wanted to be loved like anyone else, but admitting it—even to myself—was another matter entirely.

“Stop staring,” Ricardo repeated.

He reached across suddenly and pulled the curtain closed.

I’d been so lost in thought about the guard’s vanished ambition, my gaze had stayed fixed out the window even as my mind wandered elsewhere.

“The queen rushed you out so early you skipped breakfast. On an empty stomach, that face might actually give you motion sickness.”

The guard, now deemed a motion-sickness hazard, still slumped like a soggy rag, unaware of the insult—though honestly, he probably wouldn’t have reacted even if he’d heard.

“Lia,” Ricardo said softly.

The curtain filtered the sunlight enough to keep the brightness out, but not completely. If I narrowed my eyes, I could still see the blurred outlines of the world outside.

Since I still hadn’t turned away from the window, Ricardo gently covered my eyes with his hand.

“This is more likely to give me motion sickness than the view, Ricardo.”

“If you feel queasy, lean on me. You can throw up too, if you want. If you’re worried about making a mess, I’ll catch it in my hands myself.”

That ridiculous contract seemed to have given Ricardo an almost frightening sense of entitlement to play the role of my lover.

Did he even realize how unromantic it was to start a relationship with a legal agreement?

There’s that phrase—“contract relationship”—as if the word contract were some sort of adjective, but in our case, it was literal.

A real contract, binding and irrevocable.

“When the duchess was trying to sell me, you seemed like you were at least pretending to agree with the idea.”

“I’m surprised you knew it was a sales pitch.”

“I only figured it out after I failed to sell. That part stuck with me.”

“Most products don’t do anything. They just sit there, waiting for someone to buy them.”

“But you didn’t take me.” Ricardo looked wounded. “I would’ve gone willingly. It’s just… her pitch was awful. She showed off all my flaws and said, ‘Well, at least he’s good-looking. Shouldn’t that be enough?’”

He looked like he truly regretted not being purchased.

Funny, considering he was the one who turned me down at the time.

But that was thanks to the Duchess of Bastian, who used his birth mother as leverage, knowing full well how he felt about me. She’d set a trap—for both of us.

She hadn’t been trying to sell Ricardo.

She’d been trying to sell me.

To remind him, again and again, that even as the heir to the duchy, he couldn’t have the woman he wanted unless she allowed it.

And even if we did marry, so long as his birth mother was alive, we’d never have a peaceful life. That was her threat.

“I was the one who wasn’t sold, Ricardo. You acted like you were going to buy, then changed your mind and left me sitting on the shelf.”

Ricardo looked scandalized—not at the idea of refusing to buy me, but at me calling myself merchandise.

“Please, for once, act like the consumer you are. You’re a royal lady-in-waiting trusted by the queen, and now you even hold the authority to appoint the next Count Rosette. That’s premium real estate on the marriage market. Go shopping. Compare quality. Pick what makes you happy.”

Ironically, he’d just declared himself for sale again.

“People say you have to enjoy something to do it well. I’ve never shopped before, so even if the shelves are full, I just walk right past them.”

It wasn’t that I’d never bought anything. I just never thought of it as fun. It was always necessity, always stress, always wondering if there was a cheaper option.

“So I’m the only thing you’ve ever looked at and thought, ‘I want that,’ huh?”

Ricardo smiled like a man who had just discovered a new favorite hobby.

Yes, I wanted him—but that didn’t mean I saw him like some item on display.

“You can’t call this shopping. We signed a mutual contract. People don’t make contracts with objects.”

At that, his smile faltered a bit.

He looked down, exhaled slowly.

“Ricardo?”

“Just… give me a second.”

I wasn’t sure what had stirred him so deeply, but he pressed his palms together like in prayer and whispered something under his breath.

“People say men can’t bring themselves to make lovers out of women they truly admire. What nonsense. That’s just something half-baked cowards say.”

He lowered himself to sit on the carriage floor.

His broad frame barely fit in the space, and yet when he looked up, our eyes met easily.

“I admire you. I revere you. And I still want to touch you. To make you mine.”

“That’s… a lot. On both counts.”

Reverence didn’t need explaining.

But desire—wanting to touch, to claim—that was new. Startling.

Ricardo had always insisted his feelings had nothing to do with lust. That his devotion was pure.

And while I had accepted, in my own strange way, that we were now in a relationship thanks to those signed contracts, hearing him express desire like this—without warning—caught me completely off guard.

“Ricardo…”

I gently slipped my hand out of his grasp.

Without showing a hint of displeasure, Ricardo withdrew his empty hand and returned to the seat beside me.

“Whether it’s affection or possessiveness, it’s your decision. I won’t force you.”

“Force me.”

“…What?”

“If physical contact makes you uncomfortable, refuse it. Even if you’re not sure whether you dislike it, refuse anyway. If you’re not quite opposed but also not really enjoying it, say that, too.”

Even though it sounded like an order, it didn’t come off that way—probably because no one typically gives orders like this.

“You’re the one holding the leash in this relationship. If it wouldn’t inconvenience you, I’d honestly love to make an actual leash and wear it around my neck.”

“That’s… no, that’s seriously terrible.”

“Then I won’t even think about it.”

“You’re free to think.”

“Lia.”

Suddenly, Ricardo smiled. A radiant, joy-filled smile.

He was the kind of man who could stop a hundred strangers on the street, and all hundred would agree he was handsome. Even I found my eyes briefly drawn to him.

“I’ll give you my freedom—my body, my heart, even my thoughts. According to that contract, you entrusted your final days to me, which to me sounded like you were giving me your whole life. Even if I gave up my body, my mind, and my freedom, it still wouldn’t compare to what you’ve given me. I’d be too ashamed to even lift my head. So please—put a leash on me, pull it just for fun, anything.”

Just like how he had crammed his towering frame awkwardly onto the floor of the carriage earlier, Ricardo had stuffed an entire romance into a contract that didn’t contain even a trace of it.

It was optimism so extreme, I found myself at a loss for words.

And yet, rather than just nodding and leaving it at that, I opened my mouth—probably because he’d just said I could do whatever I wanted.

“I’ll refuse.”

I couldn’t even manage control over my own thoughts. Trying to take charge of Ricardo’s body, heart, and mind sounded like an exhausting ordeal.

“I figured you would.”

“If you said it just to test me, I’m relieved.”

“No way. It was more like a wish—something I whispered, hoping it might come true someday.”

Luckily, the carriage came to a halt at the Queen’s Palace before I had to come up with a reply to that absurd line.

Ricardo stepped out and offered his hand to escort me.

“Shouldn’t you go see Her Majesty?”

“Not at all.”

“Even if not the Queen, you must have business at the palace. I can go see Her Highness alone.”

We could’ve taken separate carriages, but I figured he chose mine today because we were now, officially, lovers.

Even I knew that being a couple meant choosing to spend time together when you didn’t have to.

“I have no business here. I came because today’s the day you’re entering the palace.”

Apparently, even tagging along to someone else’s workplace was something lovers did.

“It’s also a good opportunity to show Her Highness that she doesn’t need to keep searching for your future husband.”

“Ricardo. You do know Her Highness has absolutely no interest in finding me a husband, right?”

The Queen only spoke of my remarriage but never actually did anything to make it happen.

After all, she had even demoted me to handmaiden just to keep Ricardo as a useful pawn. There was no way she’d let me remarry until he’d outlived his usefulness.

I had used that same idea to push Ricardo away more than once, so it was fair to say we both used each other.

“Who knows? Whether it’s genuine disinterest or just pretending.”

“You know it’s genuine.”

“And I also know she’s the kind of person who pretends not to care, then strikes when you least expect it.”

Generally, Ricardo remained wary of Queen Margaret, while she never seemed to pay him much attention.

“If the Queen’s consort gives birth to a son soon, then what’s to stop Her Highness?”

“She’s capable of anything, sure—but I doubt she’d bother with something as trivial as my remarriage.”

Ricardo waved off a servant who approached to guide us, sighing deeply.

“Lia, the Queen likes you.”

“Her Highness cherishes me, yes.”

“I didn’t say cherish—I said like.”

It didn’t feel like the kind of conversation to be having in the hallway of the Queen’s Palace.

“You’re too soft on people who like you.”

“Me?”

It was a ridiculous claim, considering how relentlessly I had pushed Ricardo away.

“Just look at Lady Damier or Pepe. If they had an ulterior motive, you’d find that easier to deal with. But when they don’t, you just let your guard down and let them in.”

“Ricardo, stop talking about the imaginary me. Let’s focus on the real one.”

“I am talking about the real you.”

Having already cut Margaret off completely, it all just sounded even more nonsensical now.

“If the Queen pushed a man at you who was reasonably handsome, had a modest title, and came from a decent family, you’d seriously consider it—for your happiness.”

Maybe I would’ve, if not for the contract I signed with Ricardo.

But we had made that contract. And even if he’d decided to stuff nonexistent romance into it, that piece of paper was still the only shield I had against a miserable future. I was confident now that I wouldn’t even glance down any other path.

I was about to say that when—

“Coincidentally, I’ve been narrowing down a list of men who are reasonably handsome, have modest titles, and don’t come from poor families.”

Clearly, the Queen’s Palace hallway was not the place for this conversation.

Unlike the servant who had withdrawn at Ricardo’s wave, the Queen herself approached us boldly, catching us off guard.

“Sir Ricardo. You’re too much. A man with a face like yours will have women aching over him for a lifetime. Your title is too much as well—Duke of Bastian. I can’t let my favorite handmaiden spend her life cleaning up after another noble house. The only thing you don’t have too much of is money—and that’s fine. The more, the better. But even that’s moot since duchesses can’t use the duke’s wealth for personal affairs. So, not really an advantage, is it?”

After finishing her assessment, the Queen reached out her hand to me.

“At last, you’ve returned to my side, Cecilia. These seven days without you felt like seven years.”

As I met Ricardo’s pleading gaze, I hesitated for a brief moment—torn between the loyalty of a lover and the duty of my profession.

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