Book #4 of the Fairytale series.
Can be read as a stand-alone.
What is time to a man who has loved her for five years.
Five long ones and yet making no move.
What is pain to the man who has watched her live her life whilst he waited in silence...
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*new header gifted to me by a reader and I love it🤭*
Chapter 13.
Seven days. One hundred and sixty eight hours later — she still wondered how could his curiosity not have gotten the best of him. Was it even humanly possible to have for so long let your thoughts and the dwellings of trust gain dust. In the speckle of lights that broke from the cracks, they threatened to touch her sore wounds and she knew sooner rather than later, she would have to speak. A characteristic. An understanding for her work ; highly despicable for her private life. Every breath was bartered for, with the after thought of his questions. The thin streak of 'does he not care enough' triggered.
Bleu affections that slipped under the carefully hidden wraps of her confidence threatened to seize. Sampling the odds and evens she straightened her mind, the shades of carmine in her necklace gripped the base of her throat with finesse. It was unlike her to sit and allow her breath to turn stale. To creep up the vines without a single creak — to hide behind ; Barekhna was more the type to come from the front. The air slid around her as she stirred up the fingers that typed away fates, and stripped of the diamonds — their cushion was gone. It was more than just her emotions. It was more than a nightmare. It was a case of trust, the lack of it.
The ear cuff of platinum — studded with the most sheltered rubies crept up the curves of her ears. Claret red the animosity of her soft lips, plump like the clouds on the sky, smacked together and tasted like nothingness on her tongue. Barekhna pinched her nose and shaded the side of it with her nail, nose ring? Perhaps. She debated it. Glitters on the sage tray smoked out on the top of her soft lids, the brush mixed the layers around until it was well enough. Put together with care, she had joined each disrupted piece of her peace. The tricks up her sleeve were plenty. Though not all were proper.
The complacent white that she wore, in tune with the skies, covered in an icy blanket of ivory, hugged her figure like a glove and fell above her knees. Collared with high stakes, the red embroidery snaked around the v. Vines and semi circles, swirled with threads of silver and maroon, lined with white too. Peach and maroon buttons with mirrors in the centre scrubbed over the piping and her fingers nudged them with a thoughtful smile almost. Her hair blow dried curved under her chin, the volume up top carried till the ends and she was glad the hair oils were paying of. Paneled, the shirt was somewhat of a masterpiece in itself.
The Swiss lawn material of it breezed against her cool skin, the perfect attire for the weather that was yet to to pick it's side. Raking her fingers, Barekhna perched the organza veil over one of her shoulders in a careless attempt to deal with it. Perfect — her mind praised as she moved around the dressing room on the tips of her toes. A soft pink the soles of her feet barely grazed the carpet or the hardwood floors, her fingers traipsed along the shelves choosing a perfect pair of shoes. Then her eyes struck with the red bottom heels — white Louboutin's, were just the perfect calling for the day. Mentally she ran through a checklist and felt her accented voice hum ; a visit to the court and a meeting with a client, followed shortly with lunch with her brother and husband.
