𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚎 - 𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚝 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚘𝚗

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗

The evening had snailed by agonisingly, Florence felt minutes pass her by but with further inspection mere seconds had aged her. Florence had been buzzing with anticipation since she had seen Benedict earlier and it hadn't stopped.

The morning had crept on her, she had been busying herself all night before finally resting for approximately three hours. She had dressed in urgency, brushed her fingertips across the deepened colour of her cheeks from her eyes, Florence sighed before fixing her fallen hair again.

It was early afternoon and she hadn't bothered to rise early, she had remained in the crumpled sheets and stared at the window as the sun invaded the cool room she had. She dressed herself in a variety of cool colours, she pulled her hair to the front that covered the thin fabric that was decorating over her shoulders. The dress fell past her ankles, the material obviously too long, it drug across the floor unless her fingers pinched together to hold it upwards.

Florence moved gracefully around the house, taking a stroll through the Aspley's portrait open room, admiring the painted faces of everyone, smiling in a state of mesmerization at the delicate details on each woman. She wondered if Benedict would ever paint her with such delicacy and detail.

She shared words with no one, walked around the house presenting herself to be busy before slipping out the door, walking alone, she had mesmerised the past studio, the two had met at before and headed towards that direction. Young debutantes eyed her suspiciously, some scowls were worn and she could hear their whispers discussing why she was alone from a great distance away.

She payed them no more attention than she needed to, spared a few profanities in Swedish about them but apart from that stayed strong in what she had set out to do.

The sky had turned a considerable light grey as she gently pushed upon the door to the studio, she was immediately met with Benedict's chest and mumbled out an apology. He smiled down at her, greeted her before whisking her away to an empty studio.

It is set up differently than the previous one was, a comfortable chair was provided, a lace covering draped over the back however, a small additional table stands next to it and has a vase of flowers of campanula rotundifolia or simply harebells, the purple glow of the floors match perfectly with her own cool colours of her dress, but they also only act as reminder to her being Swedish, maybe he had figured it out over that dinner, it wasn't exactly a secret of hers but it would be easier if it had been worked out by himself before hand.

She realizes that she has been too busy observing the room when she finally registers that he has been holding a one sided conversation.

"- I mean you don't have to sit on the chair, the carpet is much better than the last one, I know it was all scratchy and just horrible texture overall."

She nods in agreement before turning to face him, "It's perfect, I love the flowers too." He smiles at her, and brushes his fingertips against the flesh of her cheek before leaning in.

"They're the national flower of Sweden, always thought they were beautiful, just like you," He closes the gap between them, his lips brush against hers, his eyes closed as soon as their lips are connected, Florence makes a surprised sound, not even registering what he had said previously, his hand made its way up to the back of her head and her hands made their way up to hold and caress his cheeks, he deepened the kiss before pulling away. She smiles at him and he stares at her, he wants to smile but he doesn't. Her mind runs overtime in an attempt to figure why his face isn't being framed with his distracting but delicately beautiful smile, and then it hits her.