Victoria,
If you’re reading this, it means I slipped it beneath your pillow while you weren’t looking.
Surprised? I know how to be subtle when it counts.
Despite my long and frequent absences I find my thoughts turn to you even at the most inopportune times.
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the wine.
A tall, slender bottle, its glass dark as mourning attire, filled a unmistakable dark red.
He sniffed it once. Rich wicked. Floral on the nose, like the breath of someone you should never kiss twice.
And then he turned.
Her seat had already been prepared.
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"Perhaps it's time for a bit of work."
So, I’ve decided the only suitable balm is your presence to take you up on your invitation to a evening of just the two of us over candlelight, wine, and whatever ambrosia tempts your wicked tongue.
Come to the palace at moonrise. My table will be set, the stars politely scattered above us, +