“God. You look horrible in my clothes,” I break out with honesty.
She looks down at herself, and smiles with us.
“I know. Not really my size. I urgently need to go shopping,” she buries her fingers in her hair and pulls up her shoulders.
In her movement, in her whole appearance there is something light and elegant, regardless of what she is wearing. It’s confusing. She doesn’t know anybody in London, she has no luggage, all her stuff fits into a rucksack, but she speaks so sophisticatedly as an aristocrat. And she’s beautiful. My attention has to be attracted before I spontaneously c*m because of the sight, so I mention the food.
“We were just going to eat. I hope you’re hungry.”
I point to the sofa, and push a plate there. She carefully limps closer, but damn it, she does even this w
