In the silky peignoir with the linen-cotton nightdress underneath, she’d looked like a movie star of old. In fact, there was an old-world kind of charm to Sascha. It was in everything she did. Even when he saw her bending over to pick up dirty laundry—and he knew for a fact, her seams didn’t split because he’d watched—or covered in a light dusting of flour when she was baking, she did it with a kind of elegance he knew couldn’t be bought.
