"Do you need someone to eat with you? You could ask Charles Mcintosh to come over." She awkwardly shifted her body, trying to free herself from his grasp.
"Yes, I can't eat without someone accompanying me."
Sylvan Cheney grasped her hand and treated her burn.
Fortunately, it wasn't too serious.
His brows were furrowed, and a faint scent of medicinal solution and tobacco lingered on him.
"Let go of me." Jasmine Yale was not used to such touch. What were they, anyway?
Sylvan didn't let go and, when he got closer to her, he smelled the long-missed fragrance on her.
He lifted his head and looked at their reflection in the mirror.
It had been a year.
Indeed, a year had passed.
"The dress is very pretty," he said, embracing her from behind, "but you are too thin."
Jasmine was taken aback, she lifted her head and looked at the spotless mirror in front of her.
In the mirror, their heads were together, and he rested his chin on her shoulder.
