LOGINLayla, in a desperate attempt to cover up the embarrassing moment from her ex, grabs an arm of the stranger she sees and introduces him as her boyfriend to her ex. After the scenario, the stranger asks what that was all about and she tried to explain. After a while, they run into each other again and the guy proposes a fake relationship to help him avoid his mother’s matchmaking during his brother’s wedding and for her to make her ex feels she is happier without him.
View More吐く息が白い。比喩ではない。文字通り、白い霧がパソコンの液晶画面にかかって、打ち込んだばかりの文字を曇らせていく。
白河小夜子(しらかわ・さよこ)は画面の曇りを手で払って、かじかんで感覚のなくなった指先を口元に寄せた。「はぁーっ……」
温かい呼気を吹きかける。一瞬だけ指先に血が通う感覚が戻り、ジンとした痛みが走った。
(よし、まだ動く)
小夜子は着古したフリースの袖をまくり上げ、再びキーボードに向かった。現在時刻は午前4時。場所は、名門・白河家の広大な敷地の片隅にある「離れ」。
かつて物置として使われていた粗末な小屋が、小夜子の生活スペースだ。隙間風が容赦なく吹き込む室内は、外気と変わらない冷え込みようである。 暖房器具はあるにはあるが、義母によって電源コードを没収されていた。「電気代の無駄よ。どうせパソコンの熱で温まるんでしょう?」
そんな無茶苦茶な理屈を押し付けられて、早5年。
父である白河家当主の愛人の子として生まれ、母の死とともにこの家に引き取られて10年。 義母と義姉、父からの不当な扱いは年を追うごとに増すばかりだった。 中学までは義務教育だからと、かろうじて学校に通わせてもらえた。 けれど高校に行くのは許されなかった。 今は亡き恩人、この家の執事であった藤堂がこっそりと、私費を使って通信制の高校に入れてくれたため、高卒の資格だけは取ることができた。 親切にしてくれたのは藤堂だけだ。その彼が亡くなってしまった現在、この家に小夜子の味方は一人もいなかった。人間は環境に適応する生き物だと言うが、小夜子はひどく冷え込む空気の中で、驚くほどの速度でタイピングを続けていた。
というのも、手を止めたら凍えるからだ。画面に並ぶのは、難解なフランス語と専門用語。『ホスピタリティの根源における「主と客」の非対称性について』
これが、今回の論文のタイトルである。小夜子は机の脇に積み上げられた分厚い洋書――『欧州ホテル産業の歴史』――をめくり、該当箇所を翻訳しながら引用していく。
(19世紀のパリにおけるサービス規範……ここ、使えるわね)
ふと、暗い窓ガラスに自分の姿が映り込んだ。そこにいるのは、精彩を欠いた影のような女だった。
手入れを知らない黒髪は、艶こそ失われているものの、夜の闇を溶かしたように細くしなやかに背中へ流れている。 色素の薄い肌は、陶磁器のように白い。それは健康的な白さではなく、陽の光を浴びることを許されない、地下室の花のような青白さだ。 頬は痩せて丸みを失い、身体は一抱えできそうなほど薄い。粗末な服の袖から伸びる手首はあまりに華奢で、力を込めれば折れてしまいそうに見える。 だがその顔立ちは整っていた。長い睫毛(まつげ)が落とす影の下、切れ長の瞳だけが、暗がりの中で静かな光を宿している。Monday morning arrived too quickly.Layla sat at her desk in the small office she shared with three other interns, her laptop open but her focus elsewhere. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, unmoving. She had been staring at the same email draft for fifteen minutes, her thoughts spinning in circles.Every time she blinked, she saw Ethan’s face from Saturday night. The way he’d leaned in. The softness in his voice when he asked, “Did it feel fake to you?” The question haunted her.Her chest tightened. She couldn’t let it mean anything. If she let it mean something, then she was in trouble.Her phone buzzed on the desk. She glanced at it and saw his name.Ethan: Coffee break?She froze. He was here. Of course he was here, he always came by her office around this time, their little routine. But today it felt heavier, like the weight of Saturday’s kiss lingered in the air even through a text.Her fingers typed before her brain caught up.Layla: Sure.When she looked up, he was already
Layla almost talked herself out of going. She wasn’t in the mood for a party, not really. Not after last night, not after tossing and turning until dawn with thoughts of Ethan and that gym story. But her best friend Nora had texted her three times, insisting she show up to the party. Ethan had called too, saying he’d swing by her place so they could go together. And still, Layla sat at the edge of her bed, staring at the shoes in her hand, wondering if it was worth it.She preferred quiet nights, a blanket, a good book or a messy project to edit. But Ciara had begged, and Ethan… well, Ethan had said it would be “fun.”Fun. With him, that word carried danger. She sighed and slipped on the shoes, grabbing her bag before she could change her mind.When Ethan knocked, she opened the door and found him leaning in the frame like he always did...too casual, too confident. His hair was still damp from a shower, and his shirt fit just right across his shoulders.“Wow,” he said, giving her a sl
Layla was curled up in bed with her laptop still glowing on the blanket beside her. The apartment was quiet, except for the faint hum of her old fridge in the corner. It was late, too late really, but she could not sleep. She had finished editing photos earlier and had told herself she would go to bed early for once. Instead, she had fallen into the trap of endless scrolling.Her thumb flicked lazily across her phone screen, one post after another. Makeup tutorials. A recipe video. A meme that made her snort quietly into the dark. She kept scrolling, her mind half here and half on the ceiling.And then she saw it.Ethan’s story.Her stomach tightened without warning. She tapped it, not really sure why, maybe curiosity, maybe habit.The first clip was simple enough. He was at the gym, camera tilted upward, sweat dripping down his temple. His caption read “Late night grind”. He looked good. Too good. She hated that she noticed.The next clip made her freeze. Ethan wasn’t alone. He was s
Ethan wasn’t supposed to care this much.That’s what he kept telling himself the whole way home after leaving Layla’s apartment.She had looked at him with those wide eyes, asking why he cared. He’d nearly told her the truth right there, that she mattered more than he wanted to admit. But then he’d cracked a joke instead, because jokes were safe.Safe was easier.But the truth was, the second he’d seen her story yesterday, that blurry glass across the table, the ache in his chest had been real. Stupidly real.He hated Derek on principle. Hated the way the guy had hurt her before. Hated that Layla had agreed to see him again at all. But what burned the most was knowing Derek had still been sitting across from her, smiling at her, talking to her. And Ethan hadn’t.By evening, Ethan was pacing his living room, restless. He’d tried working out, but even the punching bag hadn’t helped.His phone buzzed on the counter. A message from Layla."Got the photos sent off. Deadline met. I’m offici






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