CHAPTER 78: CHAPTER 78- BE MY GUEST

Catherine stood there, unsure whether she should leave or stay.

If she insisted on eating out, it would seem like she was rejecting his cooking.

But if she stayed, the atmosphere between them would be unbearably awkward.

While she was still tangled in indecision, Bert stepped out of the kitchen again, this time holding two more dishes. Plus the earlier ones, that made four—for just the two of them, far too extravagant for a simple lunch.

Catherine had no idea when he had started preparing all this. All she knew in this moment was that she wanted to escape.

So when Bert turned and went back into the kitchen, she quietly pivoted toward the door.

She hadn’t taken more than a few steps when Bert’s cold voice came from behind her.

"This is a suburban villa district. Hardly anyone stays here on weekdays—most only come during holidays. So there’s no fast-food place within several kilometers."

Catherine froze.

He continued,

"If you’re willing to walk thirty minutes, maybe even an hour, just to get lunch and then spend the same amount of time walking back, be my guest."

"And another friendly reminder—security hasn’t been great lately. Especially for young women. I’m sure you’ve heard the news about girls being attacked."

Catherine turned around angrily, biting her lip as she glared at him.

He was doing it on purpose—painting the surroundings as some terrifying danger zone, just to keep her from going out to eat alone.

But Bert paid her no mind. He calmly washed his hands and sat down at the dining table, perfectly composed as he prepared to eat.

Catherine felt like he was going to drive her insane.

He had scared her out of leaving.

And she really was afraid—no one understood better than she did how much she cherished her life and her health now. After Renata’s serious illness, Catherine didn’t even dare catch a cold. She needed to stay healthy to take care of the still-recovering Renata.

His impatient voice came again.

"Standing there all day isn’t going to solve your lunch problem."

Catherine looked straight at him, her heart a knot of frustration and grievance.

She was angry because she would have to give in—she would have to sit down and eat the meal he cooked.

She felt wronged because he kept pushing the boundaries after she had already said they should remain nothing more than employer and employee.

If this wasn’t bullying her, what was it?

He could have anything he wanted in life—why did he have to make things difficult for someone like her, who only wanted to live quietly?

Her wounded emotions must have been obvious, because Bert’s gaze deepened as he looked at her.

"You had no problem eating my food before I confessed to you, didn’t you?"

"That’s different..."

Catherine muttered softly.

It was different.

Before his confession, she had never imagined he harbored romantic feelings for her. She saw him as a normal acquaintance.

After his confession, she simply couldn’t behave as though nothing had happened. How could she still treat him like just another male friend?

Bert let out a short laugh—equal parts frustration and disbelief. Folding his arms, he leaned back in his chair and asked,

"So in your world, if two people can’t become lovers, they can’t even be ordinary friends?"

Catherine didn’t answer, but her silence spoke for her.

In her view, if they couldn’t be lovers, then even friendship was no longer possible. She didn’t know how to pretend—couldn’t act like he had never said those words to her.

For the first time, Bert truly experienced her brand of stubbornness—and it was maddening.

So he switched topics, his tone softening almost reflexively.

"Come eat. After lunch, we need to get back to the draft. We have to finalize the design before sunset."

Bert knew she wasn’t someone who neglected her responsibilities. Sure enough, at the mention of work, her expression shifted into seriousness.

He sighed inwardly. In her heart, work ranked far above him.

Catherine eventually sat across from him at the dining table. She whispered a polite "thank you" before beginning her meal.

Bert really was an exceptional cook—Catherine had to admit that.

Whoever became his girlfriend in the future would be lucky indeed, able to enjoy such delicious food every day.

It was also clear that he put great thought into the menu: balanced nutrition, proper mix of meat and vegetables... everything was perfect.

Originally, Catherine had only intended to take a few bites to stave off hunger, yet somehow, by the end of the meal, she found herself uncomfortably full...

Once lunch was over, she immediately turned to Bert.

"My design drafts are finished. You should take a look."

But Bert lazily stood up and said,

"I’m a bit sleepy. I think I’ll take a nap."

Catherine: "..."

He had to be doing this on purpose. Just before lunch, he had said they needed to finish the drafts immediately afterward. Now he suddenly wanted a nap.

He kindly suggested,

"You could take a rest too. There’s the guest room—"

"No!"

Catherine immediately refused. She couldn’t possibly nap or rest in a man’s house. Her rejection was emphatic. Bert just glanced at her and threw a casual remark,

"Then suit yourself."

And with that, he walked upstairs to his nap with all the elegance of someone who was both the boss and the master of the house. Catherine could do nothing about it.

Back in the studio, with nothing pressing to do, Catherine wandered over to the bookshelf to pass the time. She had to admit, his collection was truly extensive. She remembered seeing the bookshelves in his apartment at Burg Eltz in the city—she had been impressed then, but these were just as staggering. Seeing all these books, many of which she loved, made her feel almost ravenous with desire.

The autumn midday sun was warm. Catherine gathered several books and curled up on the sofa, completely absorbed in reading. Perhaps it was the sunlight flooding the room that made her drowsy, but halfway through the first book, fatigue overwhelmed her, and she drifted off to sleep without even realizing it.

Bert was accustomed to a daily nap. He lived with strict routines. Because he disliked smoking, drinking, and similar indulgences, he rarely attended social events. His evenings at home were simple: reading, listening to music, exercising. By ten or eleven at night, he went to sleep, and in the mornings, he rose early for a run.

Every day, he took a set hour for his afternoon rest. No matter what happened, even if the sky were falling, he would still take that break. On days when urgent matters interfered, he might rest only briefly—even during a commute—but any short nap restored his energy for the afternoon.

It had nothing to do with age, only with personal lifestyle choices.

Some people, even in their forties or fifties, still indulged in decadent, chaotic nightlife—drinking, singing, women—without any concern.

Bert’s life had never included such excesses. Most of the time, he lived with reason and restraint. Over the years, this had become ingrained, a habit as natural as breathing.

Today, he had deliberately mentioned taking a nap in front of Catherine, hoping to ease her tension a little—so that while he rested, she might also take a brief break.

Bert’s own design drafts were already finished; he was simply waiting to review hers so they could discuss any revisions together.

Normally, he could fall asleep quickly during his afternoon rest. But today, with that one little girl in the house who made him simultaneously frustrated and fond, he found himself tossing and turning in the bedroom, unable to sleep. Eventually, he got up and went to the studio—and there he saw her curled up on the sofa, fast asleep.