He was young, perhaps even as young as her. She thanked the gods her father had waited until just after her eighteenth birthday to die. She had not fa...cied the idea of her Aunt Muriella controlling her fortune for her. He stood nervously in the doorway, uncertain of himself, with the awkward stance of a youth not quite at ease in his own body. Perhaps, she thought, he had only recently become so handsome. Because handsome he was, with his dark hair tied back and his white shirt straining over. It was his turn to go to bed frustrated. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Peter was naturally in a bad mood the next morning and barely spoke as he ate his breakfast. Emma longed to sit down and have a talk with him, a real talk, about them. She really felt it was time. As he left, Peter grunted something about possibly having to work late. She didn’t even get his usual peck on the cheek. After that, she went out for a very long run, trying to work out her frustration with some punishment to her body. If. More

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