Oh.
Well then.
This wasn’t a play.
He wanted me alone so he could say that to me.
I pulled my shoulders forward. “Not a big thing. We had a blast.”
“It was a big thing, and you three having a blast was the biggest of the lot.”
“I really like your sisters,” I said quietly.
“I can tell,” he replied.
“And Glastonbury,” I added.
“I could tell that too.”
“Though, I vow right on this spot never to sell a love potion to Chelsea.”
For a moment, he just stood there, looking amazing.
Then he burst out laughing.
And let me tell you, that made him exponentially more amazing.
Good God.
I’d never seen him laugh.
I’d never even heard him laugh.
I didn’t even think I’d heard him chuckle.
It was incredible.
It looked it and it sounded it.
There was a purr to it, naturally, but mostly it was deep, rich, luxurious humor.
I fell in love with it instantly.
When he stopped laughing, his brown eyes were so warm and gentle, I wondered how I ever thought them condescending and haughty.
But he said, “With that, I’ll leave you to your sleep.”
And now I was instantly bummed.
But I said, “Okay.”
He walked to the door, but turned at it and shared, “Along with your highly accessible narrative of the tangled mess that led to Elizabeth signing Mary’s death warrant, my favorite parts of that book were your descriptions of Christopher fucking Bess stupid.”
My lips parted.
“Very imaginative,” he murmured appreciatively. Then, “Goodnight, Vivi.”
“’Night,” I choked out.
