enamor:
/iˈnamər,eˈnamər/
to be filled with a feeling of love for.
"Dance for me" I whispered in her ear. She smiles. We were outside in a garden near a lake. It was beautiful. The sun was setting. She took off her shoes and stood up on the grass.
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Malena
I see the man I have been dreading leaning against the block with a cigarette in between his lips. My eyes falter as I take in his side profile. Beautifully masculine, a strong high bridge down to the slope of his pink lips and his defined jaw.
Those blue eyes hidden behind long dark lashes and strong brows. His hair is perfectly tousled and thick.
His strong and towering frame is shrouded in an expensive trench.
He almost seems to be in slow motion when he takes the cigarette out of his mouth and blows it into the air.
It's so beautiful it's almost scary. He does not mean to look beautiful, but everything he does is.
He turns to me when I take another step and tilts his head. Those sick, empty eyes shining with interest.
I had rushed behind stage to take all my makeup off. Men like him do not like waiting.
He takes the cigarette in between his thumb and pointer finger crushing the flame.
My eyes widen a bit at his carelessness for getting burned. He gestures for me to follow him as he throws the cigarette into the trash.
I follow him and he opens the passanger's seat to his Rolls Royce.
I get in and he closes it firmly, going around the front to the driver's seat.
He gets in and pulls a paper from the back seat.
He looks at my frame defeated and tired. My head is down and looking down at the hands in my lap.
"What have you decided Ms.Ruth?"
"I do not have the money, I have no choice."
"No choice?"He says with amusement.
I look at him in anger.
Those cold blue eyes swimming with humour.
This is fun for him. I am his plaything.
Rich men like him can do whatever they want.
"I'll marry you, but I want you to pay for my tuition at the Academy of Dance."
He laughs "No need, I donate to the institute, they will let my wife in for free."
I roll my eyes and his eyes clock it but choose to ignore it.
He hands me the paper with a clipboard.
"Sign here," he hands me a pen.
An expensive ballpoint pen weighs in my hand. Weighs the next few years of my life really.
