When his siblings dispersed and he was left on his lonesome, the redhead was ample to fester boredom of the merriment. Rows of food and alcohol and prepared streamers for the clock to chime for the first of the new year, not to mention their anniversary, could not captivate the man’s attention for long. Transitory glances framed the apple of his eye, the ebullient blonde who had been strutting her rounds through the guests and making their acquaintance, as he waited with a humbling forbearance that few would bear in the presence of a fair maiden the likes of she — an enigma of mink-lined white to contrast velveteen red and juxtapose the neutral colors that he was sporting that evening. The feline and the wolf, an idiosyncratic combination to beholden the versatility in their character — duplicitous mischief that served to roil beneath angelic smiles. It was a calligraphy of serendipity that neither had simply chosen to abandon their cohorts in entirety to placate themselves with one another, detained to a universe of their own creation and without another soul to breathe within it whenever they were in proximity. The insidious inanity of small talk was far too tedious for Atticus to continue without appearing agitated around the rest of the townfolk, and it was to Micah that his eyes did indeed fixate this time as she sat primly at the centerfold — a queen exalted in her refinery by the handpicked paintings and novellas that adorned the winery’s main hall for idling clientele on an average day. In her dress and platform stilettos, he could reminisce a time that she would not have dreamed of flaunting a full body of ink, nor the milky spatters of skin, to the degree that she did now.
“If your eyes are sore, perhaps we should retire to somewhere more quiet — where you don’t have to be accosted by all these… others.” His stride was a saunter for the purpose of prolonging their coalescing, until she arose and her steps closed the distance that was ever shorter betwixt the long-time sweethearts. Without second thought, a hand interlaced through hers and tugged the blonde closer to him, listening to her coquettish string of queries that dogged the temptation to lean in and steal a kiss. There was plenty on their docket for the remainder of the evening — nevertheless, the redhead was avaricious to steal her away for a solitary moment that they could knit together newfound memories for the next anniversary that they were to stamp into their pages. A passport of destinations, conquests, and swooning fools in the presence of one another. Rather than kissing her, his palm caressed the ovular line of her jaw and traced over it, a hint of adoration that others had tried and failed to chastely bestow upon her in droplets. To whom she might deceive, there was one standing before her now who had watched her transmute into a winged insect patterned in pulchritude. “Are you asking because you have been watching me from across the room for the paste five minutes, amor? Ennuyé et à la recherche de quelque chose de plus intéressant?” The curl of the francophile’s mouth accentuated his own playful undertone, and he tilted his head, nodding in the direction of the staircase that led to the heiress’ office at the winery. “I think you and I could talk business upstairs, no? I’d love to share a bottle of the finest wine with a lady of such… charm.”
With a gentle tug of her hand, he strolled alongside Micah in the direction of the staircase, a thumb rubbing circles across the back of her knuckles. “May I say, I have not seen even one with eyes as striking as yours behind the mask — Will I be the first to remove it this evening?”
“You seem to have read my mind, darling.”
As Atticus led her up the grand staircase, Micah’s heart fluttered with a crescendo of emotions. Soft-tuned strings flapping about in waves, an ocean of amor without an edge nor an end. The blonde was as much of a feline as the visage she donned — purring for a ceaseless benign touch. She couldn’t help but feel a sense of euphoria at the thought of escaping the clamorous crowd for a more sequestered and intimate ambiance. She had been observing him furtively throughout the evening, her gaze drawn to him like an irrefutable force, and the prospect of being alone with him was almost too much to bear. She had always been beguiled by him, by the workings of his mind, the profundity of his emotions and the enigmatic aura that seemed to encompass him. But as soon as she laid eyes on him tonight, it was as if the stars had aligned and everything suddenly became perspicuous to her. The things that she had once regarded as abstract concepts were now solidified into a tangible reality, palpable enough that they actually made a difference in her day to day life. He was all those things: tall, strong, and handsome. Attractive. She found her face reddening in anticipation of what was to come, and she wondered why she felt so giddy.
As she entertained the notion of engaging in amorous activities in a dimly-lit chamber with the object of her affection, a surge of exhilaration coursed through her being, regardless of her reservations. Her love for him was unshakeable, impervious to the opinions of any naysayers. It was an inescapable truth, evidenced by the way he gazed upon her with a look that seemed to penetrate her very soul, and the palpable tension that crackled between them. His kisses left her gasping for air, the sensation of his touch sparking a flame deep within her that refused to be extinguished. There was an aura of magnetism that clung to him, suffusing the air around them with an energy that transcended explanation. In him lay a certain je ne sais quoi that imbued individuals with an ineffable sense of vitality. The ineffable essence of his being defied any attempt at articulation, rendering him a mystery that only further fueled her ardor. “I have been silently ravaging you, indeed, if that is what you are asking.” Perhaps in when the curtains were open, there were considerations to quell the display for the sake of appearances, but in whispers and sensuous nooks, she could give it all. “Non, you have always been irresitible, but tonight especially — I find myself athirst. Perhaps we are at least blessed they have many vacant rooms.”
His verbiage was an enigmatic force that catalyzed an attraction which burgeoned exponentially with each fleeting moment. Her emotions for him were so potent that she was utterly incapable to resist their pull. Notwithstanding the inborn jeopardy that arises from succumbing so deeply to another, and the grave hazards that come with the potential of heartbreak, she was powerless to resist the siren call of her infatuation. Without the unerring guidance of Atticus, she shuddered to contemplate what might have befallen her. Nevertheless, she was willing to brave the perilous journey of her olden emotions. Atticus had given her the fortitude and the inclination to attempt, and every engagement with him brought her ever closer to shattering the barriers that had previously impeded her from feeling truly alive. It was not solely the corporeal appeal that magnetized her to him. Rather, it was the way in which he was always a constant presence in her life, in a manner that was unique to him alone. His steadfastness was a source of immeasurable comfort, and without him, she might have been bereft of any prospect of experiencing such felicity once again. He was the effulgent beam that illuminated her days, and every moment spent in his company was enriched with the most engrossing conversation, spanning from the most mundane trivialities of daily life to their grandest dreams for the future.
“The mask is not the only thing that you will be removing for sure,” with that, dainty palms landed on his chest, pushing him to the nearest empty space—unlocked, as far as she can tell, and her lips roamed to meet his. “I shall not torment myself no more. I want you now.”
