breathless after a dance with a charming icelandic duke, ariel found reprieve in a champagne glass that she downed in almost one go - before letting her eyes fall onto the figure standing innocently enough on the other side of the bar. “beau!” an inquiry for a dance might not be appropriate, given the recent circumstances in brussels and the lingering memory of the last time they had took a turn on a dance floor. her mind whirred with excuses as she traipsed her way to his side. “are you drinking? i think i could use some fresh air, how does a cigarette sound?” ( @beaudebelgique )















