She closed the window, drew the curtains, and found the earplugs, fitting them snugly in her ears before lying back down. The
storm was now a muffled, distant rumble, no longer a disturbance. In fact, the faint, deep sound of the wind and rain outside was
strangelyforting.
She fell back asleep almost immediately.
The next tSylvia woke, it was eight in the morning. She got up and pulled back the curtains to see it was still raining, with no
sign of letting up. The balcony below was empty. She wondered if he was still sleeping or if he'd already gone down for breakfast.
The mountain air was even fresher in the rain, filled with the rich scent of damp earth and grass. The distant peaks were shrouded
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇtin a thick mist, their outlines barely visible. She leaned against the railing, watching the rain for a few moments, when a figure
appeared below.
e down for breakfast," Gabriel called up to her.
"Okay," Sylvia replied. "I just need to get ready."
She turned and went back inside. As she passed her packed suitcase standing by the wardrobe, she paused. With a downpour like
this, there was no way she was leaving today.
After washing up and changing, she went downstairs to find Gabriel waiting for her in the dining room, just like always.
"Good morning, Mr. Carnes," she said with a cheerful smile.
He glanced up from his phone, then set it aside and began to eat without a word of reply.
Fine, if he didn't want to talk, she wouldn't either. She sat down and ate her breakfast in silence.
Despite all his years as a mercenary, Gabriel never wolfed down his food. The refined manners he was raised with were too deeply
ingrained to ever be erased.
When the housekeeper cin with a tureen of soup, she paused for a second, struck by the image of the two of them at the
table. Sylvia was wearing a French-style, long-sleeved dress, her thick, wavy hair tumbling over her shoulders. Even while eating,
she sat with a perfectly straight back, her posture impeccable. With her head slightly bowed, the elegant curve of her neck and her
stunning profile made her look like a woman who had stepped out of an oil painting.
Across from her, the man wore a dark shirt, his handsfeatures sharp and his presencemanding. One arm, with the sleeve
rolled up to the elbow, rested on the table. He ate with the seffortless, aristocratic grace.
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