𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺.
The woman of impeccable beauty was the infinite definition of her name. Calm and poise.
Born into a violent life of guns and knives, you would assume a Mafia Princess like her would be training and preparing to be the next heir...
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The piercing colour of his eyes reminded me of glaciers, exactly like the colour of ice.
My breath was taken, his beauty was so much more beautiful up close and it captivated me.
I felt my heart begin to race, being in the mere presence of this guy was making me nervous and all jittery. Why? I don't know.
He broke our gaze by lifting his cigarette away from his lips, slowly looking down my body and up again—making my cheeks heat instantly.
I looked down at him too. His attire consisted of black slacks tightened with a black leather belt. Glossy black dress shoes below him, and above him was my favourite piece of all, the restricted white dress shirt that was lazily half untucked into his pants, and the first few buttons of it undone.
He looked like an art piece, one made purely and profoundly for the gods.
The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing the tattoo sleeves lining up his arms—adorning the veins that pulsated up his muscley biceps too.
Our eyes met again, I shifted awkwardly on my feet and changed my stance, which seemed to only lead me closer to him.
The familiar feeling that I had only experienced moments ago occurred again. The feeling that articulated why I thought I'd seen these eyes before, why these features were so recognisable to the point where he gave me a sense of nostalgia.
He turned from me completely now. Choosing to ignore me as he continued to smoke and watch the dead of the night.
I look away from him too. Instead, I dig my hand down into my purse and clutch onto the rectangular, cardboard box of death.
Smoking wasn't an occurring thing for me. I'd only smoke when I was stressed. As of right now, I became agitated as to why I couldn't pinpoint a remembrance of this boy. And it was stressing me out to the max.
Revealing a single cigarette, my hand goes to reach for my lighter with the pretty daisies painted onto it—which I had done myself—only soon to realise I hadn't brought it with me.
Who packs cigarettes and not a lighter?
Me apparently.
Mentally, I slap my forehead. With a frustrated sigh, I slump down onto the single sofa chair placed behind me.
This dress was slowly killing me, as were the heels on my feet. Yes, the dress was gorgeous on me and not on me, but fuck, my back practically begged to arch until I was comfortable, only if I did that it would completely rip the dress into shreds.
I was so tempted to strip out of it and just remain in my bra and panties.
My gaze travels toward the male again, who remained standing silently.
