What do you have?”
“Wine. Weak cider. Water. Whiskey.”
“A veritable plethora of ‘W’ drinks.”
“If I ever have walrus piss, I will offer it as well.
But it had always been that smile. Not her position
as Henry Wilcox’s possible wife nor the possibility
that he could take his enemies down by manipulating
her family. Those hadn’t been the things that had
driven him when it came to his feelings for her.
It had been that smile. Through the shadows of the
theater that first night. When their eyes had met. She
had smiled. Simply. Warmly. Looking directly at him,
unaware that she should be afraid.
She gifted him with that soft smile. And it did that
strange thing to his insides. He would probably lead
a revolt against the king if she asked him to do it
while wearing that smile.
His quick eyes seemed to miss nothing, and she couldn’t hide the
motion of her fingers squeezing the fabric of her skirts. His gaze rose back to her face, lingering on her
lips, then meeting her eyes. Even giving away her nerves with the telltale sign of her pinched fingers, she
refused to look away.
“Andreas, I think I’ve fallen in love.”
“Roman.” There was a wealth of unspoken meaning in that one word, so darkly uttered. But Roman’s
too-beautiful mouth crooked, head cocked, eyes watching.
Good morning.” His lips quirked. “I nearly expired from old age, waiting to see if you would actually
knock on the damn thing. My heart couldn’t take it any longer.”
She lifted her chin and stepped inside, brushing past him as she did so. “So you are saying that if only I
had had a few beats more, I would finally have been rid of you?”
She caught his lazy grin as she passed. “I plan to haunt you even in the afterlife,” he whispered, the air of
his words brushing her ear, the door engaging behind her.
Emotions are lovely. Even if they fall to the negative for a time. The sun will rise again another day. The sadness perhaps never forgotten, but a new day enjoyed in another way. A way that could not have been but for the sadness’s existence.
Anne MalloryTrant's deep need to climb ever upward, crushing anyone in his path, the qualities, while making Trant an interesting associate at times, at others made him decidedly predictable and boring. After all, a ladder contained a single directional path. Someone like Trant rarely tried the twisting vines, tree branches, and handholds to the side.
Anne MalloryNow,' [her father] barked.
She stiffly followed, still fully dressed in the elaborate navy-and-white gown she had worn all evening. It was hard not to feel as if the bare walls and surfaces she passed had been bled, leeched, into the cloth encasing her. Stripped paint and sacrificed heirlooms clinging to her, demanding she make everything right once more.
Will you oblige me then?' His voice was low and smooth, nearly whispered ...
Everything froze for a moment. Even the flickering lamps seemed to pause, flames surging upward and waiting ...
'No.
I understand what it is like to rely on beauty and know the shallowness of it ... Yet, it is impossible to say if you would have caught my attention the first time had you been plain and wrapped in brown. Thus remains the endless dilemma of beauty's impressionable curse.
Anne Mallory« prima precedente
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