seen from France
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Proposition | Breathan
Brea was hardly in a good mood and less-than-willing to play games with a certain arrogant man. Even when her heart clutched at the sight of him, as she lurked, partially hidden in the shadows, she waited for him to notice her. Hiked up a brow, nodded to a booth and just barely inched a file from her bag, and moved to sit down.
She was limping again and, despite the hot weather, wore a leather jacket to be paired with her sundress.
Busy Day | Breathan
Slowly, but surely, paperwork was going to drive Brea insane. Figures were beginning to cross her eyes, creating a tension in her temples. It did not help that the man fluttering about the hotel suite was about to get a stiletto to his heart if he did not shut up.
"Out," she ordered at last, at her wits end. Glared into the wide, watery eyes of the portly young man. She shoved a list at him, two pages long. "I don't care how long it takes or what you have to do to accomplish all of this, but do not speak to me until it is complete. Understand."
When, at last, her hotel suite was quiet, she sighed and leaned back in the cushions. Fingers absently tapped over her healed hip, a reminder that physical therapy was still needed given in the absent ache, before straightening and slipping files into their folders and they tucked into a locked briefcase. Body melting into the cushions, she closed her eyes and stretched her torso, getting herself comfortable.
She really hated busy days like today.
A Walk in the Park | Breathan
New York City. It was beauty and chaos, damaged and perfectly imperfect. If Breanna Devereaux was in the mood for dramatics, for arrogance she would have happily claimed this city as her spirit. But she was not in any mood for such frivolities. Final exams were nearly here and such foolishness was not necessary. There were things to focus on, to plan, and allowing herself to relax, to breathe in any capacity other than what was necessary simply would not do.
Yet she was in Central Park, dark blue overcoat made less plain with the checkered scarf wrapped around her neck. Determined, cool stare watching those who passed by as though such an action could give her the answers she needed. Not wanted, not wished for. Needed. She was running out of options and that was simply unacceptable. Running out of reasons as to why she remained in this life, this world born into.
Of all the times, of all the moments when she could have thought of something more productive, though, it was now with finals and family pressure looming over, that Brea began to think of him. A plague upon her mind, a scar rough and calloused on her heart. Ethan. The man she had lied to, left behind, letting him fall in love with her and wishing with all of her might that she hadn't begun to do so. Yet he had fallen in love with a lie. A cover to protect her. Now she was here in the city, alone though she knew her father's men kept careful tabs, and stood from the bench. Promptly bumped into a passerby and paled as she saw his face.
"Ethan?"
