Dorian
It was the droplets sliding down Clara’s neck that finally tore him away from her lips.
“Why is your hair wet?” he asked.
“I was enjoying a bath,” she replied with a teasing smile.
“I see you truly love the water.”
“Yes, it helps me relax.” But then, her expression shifted.
“What’s bothering you?” His tone turned serious. He worried it might be his presence itself. Strange, how only with her he felt powerful enough to take on the world—yet equally afraid of doing something that might cost him her trust forever.
To his relief, she began to speak. She’d argued with a friend who’d wanted an introduction to him, and Clara had refused.
“Is that me in the portrait by Magritte? Is this your way of hiding me from the world?” The question struck deep. He wanted to shout to everyone t
