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I tuned him out to watch a single seagull soar above the water. I envied its wings; its courage to leap from a nest without knowing yet that it could fly. Here I was, grounded behind golden gates by Dior and the desire
Can’t relate queen
Je ne pleurerai pas. Tu ne pleureras pas. Nous ne pleurerons pas. I will not cry. You will not cry. We will not cry.
Qui
Something else filled the space between us. A pull. An attraction. A little electricity. Some days, when I was feeling particularly suffocated, it sparked hotter than others. Neither of us ever acted on it. My excuse was the fortune-teller I went to when I was fourteen. At that very gothic age, I’d asked her what my purpose was in life. She’d frowned, sitting behind her crystal ball, and then said I would find the man meant for me and that he would take my breath away. It was a generic response she probably told everyone, but it stuck to me like glue. I breathed just fine around Ivan.
Standards
Handsome in the way rough palms muffle screams, the way people bow to kings, and most of all . . . the way an angel falls from grace.
moy kotyonok?”
That’s it. We’re going to Russia.
“There’s nothing here. Trust me, Mila, if there are happily-for-nows, I’ll never be yours.”
Self sebatour
“Moy kotyonok.” I ran a thumb across her parted lips. “I told you this city would eat you alive.” I just didn’t tell her I owned Moscow and everything in it.
I’m too middle class to understand this.
Just like her mother was before Alexei showed up to put a bullet between their eyes.
sapiosexual (n.) one who is attracted to or aroused by intelligence in others
The Rehearsal
