*Gabriel*
Sabrina is impossible not to notice. Even in a city full of noise and color, that dark blue and scandalously well-fitted dress moves like water when she walks. She’s across the square now, weaving through the crowd. I shouldn’t be watching her. I’ve got plenty I should be handling by now–coin to collect, men to threaten, information to pry loose before it slips away–but here I stand, still as stone, while she glides through the midday sun with those long gold-brown curls catching the light and making it damned hard to think straight.
She’s curvier than most women, with fuller breasts, wider hips, and a backside so perfectly round, it’s killing me. That dress doesn’t just fit her. It worships her the way I should.
Stopping beside a stall, she pretends to study a length of ribb
