Betrothed to My Sister's Ex

This is a pure side story that breaks the flow and timeline of the main story.

Lord Cyrus’s day off.

There’s plenty of time for just the two of us to talk… but there’s nothing particular to do, and no pressing matters to discuss. Simply put, we have no topics.

In the vast, spacious dining hall, we sit side by side for dinner.

“...It’s delicious, Lord Cyrus.”

“Yes. Very delicious.”

“..........”

“...Marie, it’s a bit chilly today.”

“Yes, it is...”

Even such trivial conversation eventually comes to a halt.

After finishing dinner, we move on to a post-meal break. Thoughtful Toppo places the Childan Look tea on the table. We can’t leave our seats until the strong tea is ready... so naturally, we try to enjoy that time.

“...Marie... Which do you like best: sunny days, cloudy days, or rainy days?”

“Uh... probably sunny with occasional clouds.”

“I see. Same here.”

“...I-is that so? We’re... on the same wavelength.”

“That’s good.”

...The conversation ends. I inwardly hold my head. Ah, why am I so bad at small talk?

Glancing sideways, I can tell Lord Cyrus is trying to think of topics to make conversation. That won’t do—I should be the one entertaining him. Okay, what topic would Lord Cyrus enjoy? Something fun, something fun—

I dig through my memories for moments when we laughed heartily. I recall from three years ago when my father hiccupped nonstop for seven days; five years ago, when the chickens we raised hatched, and my father happened to pass by, so the six chicks started following him around, thinking he was their parent; eight years ago, when my father said he wanted to change his hairstyle, and I relayed the royal capital’s fashion trends to the maid, but somewhere in the game of telephone errors, his hair was cut so short the scalp showed, and at the New Year’s social gathering he was teased with “congratulations on balding” jokes, returning half-crying—ah no, all of these are insults aimed at my father. It’s not right to make family members the butt of jokes in casual conversation with others. But the only times I’ve laughed holding my stomach in the Shadelan Family are those embarrassing moments of my father that really shouldn’t be laughed at...

—Marie, Marie. You mustn’t laugh—

I suddenly snap out of it and look up.

“Lord Cyrus! Let’s play staring contest!”

“...Staring contest? That’s the game children play where you make strange faces at each other and the one who laughs first loses, right?”

Ahhhh—I collapsed onto the table.

But Lord Cyrus is kind. Just like last time, he never mocked me for being childish and eagerly agreed.

—At night, inside Granado Castle’s vast dining hall, just the two of us. The engaged couple—duke’s son and baron’s daughter—sit facing each other and take a deep breath... and then.

“Let’s play staring contest!”

“Ah-ppu-ppu!!”

We shout simultaneously. I pinch my cheeks with both hands, squishing them tightly. Lord Cyrus does the opposite, pulling his cheeks sideways with all his might.

“Ugh!! ...!”

I groan involuntarily. If I hadn’t been squeezing my cheeks, I probably would have burst out laughing. I barely hold it back. No, I can’t laugh so quickly.

Because Lord Cyrus… his noble, handsome face was mercilessly stretched so wide it almost looked pitiful! But no, I’m not giving in. I gather all the flesh on my face, pushing and smooshing it together into what must be a wholehearted goofy face that I kind of regret making myself!

As proof, Lord Cyrus’s eyes are squinted. Well, they were already so stretched sideways that barely any eyeball was visible, but the little glimpse of his green eyes sparkled...

Lord Cyrus, still with that strange face, whispered, staring intently at me.

“...That face, where all the features gather in the center, is cute too, Marie.”

...W-wait a minute.

Isn’t that cheating?

“Ugh, guhh!”

My throat twitches. Panicked, I look straight up. But Lord Cyrus Granado, Count Granado, is tall. When I, short in seated height, look up, I end up facing his incredibly handsome gaze—even though I’m making a weird face—