And she looked at him. She really looked at him for the first time since… Ever.
Forget the body he, null doubt, worked hard to build, Atticus lived as one of those people that nature spoiled, having every feature and trait on his face well proportionate and precisely shaped as though sculpted by the most talented of hands.
Even the shades of hair, eyes and skin he inherited fit a little too perfectly with each other.
However, Arabella was still in complete darkness as to what he meant. To look at him the same way she did the nut? What way was that?
The twisting in her stomach never ceased. On the contrary, it doubled in intensity as every second of hesitation counted as defiance… Or so the prince had called it.
But the knots that twined her vocal cords won, leaving her mouth agape and wide eyed as the little night skull still lay in her open hand.
