"How would you like your hair, your grace?" Margaret asked as she softly ran the brush through Emelisse's long, dark hair.
She shrugged without any enthusiasm. She was so exhausted from the endless sleepless nights, overthinking Maxwell's behavior and hating him while trying to fight the aching emptiness and longing at the same time that, if she could help it, she would not step out of this room at all. But her mother had always taught her about the duties that come with being a wife and a woman in general not to forget the duties of holding the title of duchess. There was no other option but to put her feelings aside and be strong.
"Red suits you and so does open hair,"
"Leave them open," She mumbled, regardless.
Frankly, at this point, she does not care what he thinks or what he l
