The garish brown fabric mocked Amelia as she stared at the mirror. It had a hideous floral pattern with mixtures of red, pink, purple, and yellow. If she ever met Ora, she would choke her with it.
After she showed him where the soaps and towels were in her ensuite bathroom, he retreated to the bedroom and said, “You bathe first. I am unsure how long hot water lasts here.”
i am, once again, kicking my feet over a fictional man
“I would never hurt you.” “On purpose,” she countered. “Ever.” He bent down next to her. “Anyone who says they’re scared of hurting you on purpose is warning you.”
“I can walk,” she protested for the hundredth time. He leaned over and pecked the frown marring her pretty face. “You fainted. I might never let you walk again.”