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“You will pack your bags tonight. You are leaving for Eli, near the northern border. There you will remain,” Gaétan said.
Loisail was as important as the air that she breathed. It was her city. She was in the society pages every other week, a constant fixture at the most lavish parties. The boulevards might as well have been named after her.
He knew that in the years to come, even when they were old and gray and their spines were bent by the weight of time, he would remember her as she was in that moment, with a couple of stray yellow flowers in her hair, her lips parted. He stood still, holding the moment against his heart. Then she turned her head and smiled at him.
