Page 31 of Ruling Scar
“I love you!” Her tight dress rises when she kneels to hug him. Where in the fuck did she go wearing that?
It brings me back to another important point.
“What did you do with your hair?”
Leonora frowns, but doesn’t look away from Albert. The dog leans his face into her chest, asking for more pets. She happily obliges.
“He’ll slobber all over you.”
She doesn’t care. “I love her.”
“Him.”
“Oh, sorry. I love him.” She scratches his neck. “What’s his name?”
“Albert.”
“Alby,” she coos.
“Albert,” I correct. When she won’t leave the damn dog alone, I grab her elbow and force her upright.
She stares at my hand before looking up at me.
“You never wear your hair up.”
Now it’s in some elaborate bun, her cheekbones on full display.
Her scar is on full display.
She remembers it, her hand reaching for her cheek before she forces herself to drop it. “It’s called a chignon.”
“A what?”
“A chignon,” she repeats.
“I’m sorry, a what?”
“A chi—” She closes her mouth, shooting me a dirty look.
“And the dress?” I openly appraise her, soaking in every inch of her as I scan her from head to foot.
She crosses an arm in front of her, locking her wrists together. There’s no hair hanging in front of her face to help block the blush creeping along her cheeks.
“Why are you at my doorstep, Leonora?” I shove my hands into my pockets, the picture of nonchalance.
Inside, I’m desperate to know why the mouse showed up at my home. Why and how did this happen?
For years I’ve toyed with her. Tried to push her in my direction.
Little did I know she’d end up here on her own.
And to think everyone accuses me of elaborate plots all the time. But really, every now and again, I get lucky.
She swallows, her neck delicately moving.
I cock my head to the side. “You’re wearing makeup.”
She blushes further.
