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For someone to imagine Simon in love was simply beyond reason; however, Lady Whistledown and her marvelous pen could not prevent the circulation of such fact. A capital R, Rake, in love. Not only was Simon Hastings so obviously begrudgingly in disbelief of this fact, but he was inclined to believe it a mistake. There was no world in which Simon could see himself in love. Not with how his father betrayed his mother and undoubtedly him. He could not, would not, ever throw that word around with meaning other than simple likeminded teasing of his lingering single chaps. Though, perhaps there were some benefits to it. He was well and truly tired of the ton's incessant mama's after him, but with word of love thrown around, the delicate debutante's had left him alone. Now, all he was left with was you. The bane of his existence but very reason for living. You, and your love of art and literature. You, and your kind smiles and ample generosity. He had to be kidding. How could he deny the feelings you provided him? Watching you was like studying a famous painting, full of beauty, honesty, emotion, perfections, and imperfections. Despite all the things that prevented him in the past, they all washed away when it came to you.
•••
"Your Grace, are you paying attention?"
[A/N]
Let me know if the stupid gif is working. Stupid wattpad.
