Thread: Southern Girl [ Ariamella & Reydan ]

RE Southern Girl Ariamella Reydan The next few weeks were torture for Virgil Abernathy. A long, drawn out, pain. There had been no apology. No...He wasn't sure what he had hoped for that night, in the guest bedroom, but what had transpired, the soft words and stinging eyes of his former love, were not what he had expected. He sighed, siting behind his desk, watching the winter sun hang lazily overhead. Only a day or so until their party. He frowned, signing yet another piece of unimportant factory paperwork laid before him on the desk. Yet another bill or something. His eyes, ringed with dark circles, had hardly been able to take in more than the essential details. Camilla had, over the past two weeks, returned to his bed. She always left in the morning, eager to have her own space again, but she seemed to be warming again to his company. Virgil could hardly jump for joy, however, given the content of their nocturnal encounters. Camilla didn't want to sleep with him, despite his half-hearted urging, but instead wanted to discuss the party. Or more specifically the guest list. She seemed to be dragging half of her blasted family to the thing. His frown deepened. What a nightmare. Camilla's relatives were ever so earnest, ever so keen on very little besides the bible, each other, and being right. He briefly wondered why his wife was dragging so many of her Boston cohort down, but gave up, staring instead out of the window. She came into his room uninvited and unannounced. And with that cheeky little tone that had always tugged at his heart strings. At first Virgil, turning to smile at her, lost track of where he was. He was in his family library again, with his brothers, playing some game or reading together when a small head, with tumbling hair, poked around the door and demanded his attention. Demanded his love. And he had always given in. Always given her what she wanted. He smiled, ear to ear, flashing Virginia warmth at his fiancee... Then his eyes went wide and, blushing, he looked down at his hands. She wasn't his fiancee. They....and like that the intervening years came rushing back. Virgil could have wept, although he didn't know why. Yet he felt oddly compelled to please her. Besides, he had promised her. Very well, he said, smiling, taking his coat from the stand by the desk. But I hope you have your coat, Mistress Rayne, as the New York climate his harsher than you might imagine. Soon they were moving through the suburbs and into the city proper, sitting facing each other in the enclosed space of his carriage. Virgil watched as his knees jolted, lightly, against hers. For some reason the sensation sent a flutter through his system. He brushed the thought away. So Mistress Rayne he teased, falling unwittingly but ever so easily back into their familiar Virginia back-and-forth, Where can this poor servant take you today to keep you amused? He had a few ideas, sights of New York that, he suddenly realised, he had always wanted her to see. He frowned again. Just how much of his life was still touched by Lucille Rayne? It was a thought that would linger. Yet he wanted to hear her thoughts, her ideas, whether she knew anything about this great city.