Her hands keep moving back to it, as if it might turn to mist (or worse, paste) beneath her fingers. Her brow furrows.
"This belonged to Evita? Oh, Ramon."
She swivels on the bed, her toe reaching out to open the wardrobe door. She has to reach to turn on the bedside light but the image she sees in the glass is so very much worth it.
Their reflection makes her heart skip a beat. His hands at her waist, his smiling face over her shoulder, and that stunning piece of art draped around her throat. She piles her hair on top of her head to better see it, and she meets his gaze, her green eyes alight with emotion.
"Thank you," she says again, one hand reaching back to touch his cheek.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2009-11-14 12:11 am (UTC)"This belonged to Evita? Oh, Ramon."
She swivels on the bed, her toe reaching out to open the wardrobe door. She has to reach to turn on the bedside light but the image she sees in the glass is so very much worth it.
Their reflection makes her heart skip a beat. His hands at her waist, his smiling face over her shoulder, and that stunning piece of art draped around her throat. She piles her hair on top of her head to better see it, and she meets his gaze, her green eyes alight with emotion.
"Thank you," she says again, one hand reaching back to touch his cheek.