DAMIEN
.
.
The suite was silent when I entered.
Dark.
Just a few lamps on, casting pools of soft light, I knew she was here and my heart leaped, a flicker of desperate hope. She hadn't left London.
She was here.
I found her in the main living area.
The lights were off except for the soft glow from the city outside the windows, she was sitting on the sofa, curled up, her perfect emerald green dress gone, replaced by a silk robe and a glass of red wine in her hand.
Her hair was packed up, tied back in a loose knot at the nape of her neck, exposing the elegant line of her throat.
She looked fragile. Beautifully broken.
Her body language radiating sadness and withdrawal.
She looked up as I entered the room, her eyes, dark in the dim light, fixing on mine. No smile.
Just a
