—aka, bargains with devils have surprising interests,
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INT— A HOTEL ROOM.
VENICE, ITALY — MORNING, FORTY MINUTES AFTER DAWN.
SCENE II.
THE NEXT MORNING, I had woken up with one of the best sleeps I've had in years.
No painful crick in my neck, no ugly tossed bedhead, and no feeling of a lurking sniper.
I woke up glorious and humming.
At one point, I was sure the birds were humming with me.
I pulled open the doors to my chambers, finishing my hum as I reached the open veranda and smiled for all my wonderful sleep's worth at my adoring audience sporting various emotions.
A look of acknowledgement, an annoyed sigh, and a lopsided grin.
I'll let you guess who belonged to each.
"Good morning, moi tovarishchi." I plucked a piece of pomegranate, juice exploding once teeth met flesh, and lazily wiped at my mouth before I sat with them. Sticky red dried in my fingers as I used a napkin.
"You're all looking very fine this morning."
And they did.
Kristoff was in a more casual wear— and he did wear them, matter of fact. A cream coloured turtleneck and mahogany pinstripe pants. His hair was still coiffed and his face was as still as marble as always, with the damn newspaper and coffee he had for breakfast. Still in his routine, perfected every morning.
You would think after last's night affair of his routine biting him in the ass, he'd adjust a few things, but no.
Kristoff and routines were a married pair you couldn't destroy.
Kristoff acknowledged my staring with a brief look away from his paper. "Good morning, Miss La Verne."
I winked at him. "You look good in a creme sweater. Very tres chic."
"Thank you. It's one of the things you bought from one of your shopping sprees." Another newspaper flip.
I blinked, going back to my wonderful memories with his numerous black cards. I had bought so many things. . . At a few points, I had stopped at the men's section when something caught my eye. "Oh! I remember now."
