oh, they would be the talk of the ton if lady whistledown had known. and what a good thing it had been for them to have spent the off season in france – away from wandering eyes and loose lips privy to gossip. these months had been good to them. and while he knows it's only a matter of time before they should return, criston finds himself enjoying their days together to the fullest before their lives become more discreet. more separation between them, with it being frowned upon for an unwed pair to be sharing space unchaperoned as they've been living. even more frowned upon would be the fact he asked her to expose her back to him. he sat beside her in bed, hovering over her with a thin brush and palette in hand. and he began to write her a letter, from one shoulder to the next, make his way lower the more he wrote. parts were original, other parts were quotes of her favorite novels to help support his love letter to her.
❝ would you hold still? ❞ a breathy laughter slips as he watches her squirm for the umpteenth time. ❝ you're going to ruin remarkable penmanship, ❞ he teases, refraining from continuing until his canvas had gone still once more. a few more strokes and he finishes: yours, the man who wishes to call you wife someday soon. he admires his work for a moment before ultimately swiping his thumb across that last line. (in case she were to steal a peek within a mirror and her future desires didn't align with his.) ❝ there. that wasn't too terrible, was it? ❞
@francescca re: your wishlist.









