An accidental one.
Half of one.
But it was…a love match.
Just…Gregory did not loveher.
The column of her throat moved; her eyes and hand went as one to Sardinian blue sapphires shaped in the delicate form ofwings about her neck. At the center where the wings touched a black onyx.
His Sardinian blue
Her black.
She’d believed after their emotion-laden discussion, one where she’d bared her soul and he’d bared his, that he’d pull away; retreat from her.
But he hadn’t.
In the week since, he’d threaded every moment of his days with hers. Even though the hours he kept on the club’s floor tore him away from Daria at the latest of night, she opened her eyes to find him lying next to her.
Rolled up onto an elbow the way he did, studying her intently—as if he sought the answers there as to why he couldn’t love her. And after, he kissed every corner of her until her body was fully awakened for him, Gregory made love to her. Repeatedly. Wildly. Frenziedly; as if driving himself inside her, he could force the feelings Daria yearned for that he couldn’t give.
Because he did not feel them.
And this closeness was worse than had he drawn away.
Daria’s gaze fixed sightlessly in the mirror; her gaze caught at the place of a desperate—and erroneous—prophecy.
Madame Pomfre’s original prophecy had was always been thus.
Daria and Gregory had been destined for one another.
Her marriage would break her heart—and her.
She’d eventually die—and there’d be the one woman he’d been destined for who broke down the last of his walls.
And maybe that is my purpose here.
She squeezed her eyes tight.
Why she and Gregory were fated to be together.
He’d needed her.
To show him.
To free him from his past…
So he could have a future…
They were friends.
They were lovers.
But she wanted more.
So much more.
Moisture squeezed from the corners of her eyes. Those drops left a damp, solitary paths along her cheeks; marking the same one Daria was destined to follow.
