Ella didn’t fall asleep until nearly dawn. She woke late, feeling lethargic and hollow and angry at Pryor for ruining everything. She knew the anger was unfair. It wasn’t his fault he’d fallen in love, but she wished with all of herself that he hadn’t.
Listlessly, she climbed out of bed and washed her face. Listlessly, she allowed Hedgepeth to dress her. Listlessly, she stared at herself in the mirror. The gown she wore was the warm, rich color of saffron, but inside she was brown and gray. The brown of sodden leaves in a gutter, the gray of low, heavy rainclouds.
Ella gave herself an angry shake. She was the blue of spring skies, the green of new grass, the yellow of buttercups, because she was independent and free. She was living the life she had chosen, the life she’d been lucky enoug
