*Rhys*
I walk into the drawing room that evening to find that I am the first to appear, which is precisely what I intended. Lùmien tends to cast a nasty eye at my brandy-drinking, and since I don’t care to come to fisticuffs with him, I prefer to drink before my cousin shows up.
Like a drunk, now that I think about it.
I put my glass of brandy on the sideboard. Trulliad opens the door and says, “Miss Mirabelle,” then closes it behind her.
My fiancée enters, looking, if possible, more radiant than she did this morning.
She is damned beautiful. Really. My father has outdone himself. First he produced Trulliad, and now her. Mirabelle looks like a fairytale princess, all curves and sweetness and creamy skin. Definitely more beautiful than the sun and the moon.
And she has a hell of a bos
