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Known as the queen’s right hand, wherever the queen was, so was she. Dressed in thin, cream-colored, embroidered robes with hands tucked within the oversized sleeves, she waited, her sandy hair bobbed and green eyes looking at him with clear disdain and an unmistakable desire to turn up her nose, as though he’d brought a stench to her presence. Women. Untamed sluts, all of them. His gaze hardened, his dark eyes attempting to bore through hers to show her he would never be intimidated by the likes of her. Only her sense of propriety kept her from laughing in his face over the ridiculous male puffing. It was rumored that she herself was a member of the White Guard, but no one had had cause to test that theory. Her hands came into view briefly as they reached behind her to turn the gold handles of the doors. Once open, she extended her arms to either side, propping them open as she stepped back, not taking her eyes from him. She moved to the right as he strode in, stopping before the. In those halcyon days, I’d thought men in suits were the capitalist devil.He’s carrying a white paper bag that smells of things I’ve nearly forgotten. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear it was a to go bag from Café du Monde.He’s darkly handsome, with chiseled bones sharp enough to cut. Lines frame deeply set dark eyes, and his nose is aquiline, long and narrow. Dark strands of hair threaded with a few hints of silver are cut precisely to fall just so above his collar. His face is slightly vulpine, the grin predatory as he looks me up and down.And he smells like a summer storm; that heady combination of seawater and freshness mixed with something spicy that makes me want to lean closer to better catch his warm scent.I feel underdressed. Or maybe undressed. I feel like he can see through me, not just my clothes, but into my being to the places no one should see. “Can I help you?” I ask, thankful my voice doesn’t waver.“Good morning, Natalie,” he says, holding out a perfect hand. His.
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