[So he was. So he had seen the beauty of Rome, of Florence, of Venice. Had seen and owned paintings by artist that were now so famous they were known by name alone. Had slept with women who were considered the most beautiful of their time.
All of it was true.
But none of them held a candle to her. Not when she was standing there before him, bathed in soft life, wearing the dress that he had bought her in his colors. Not when her hair cascaded down over her shoulders and her eyes were bare, free of the glasses she normally wore. There was something softer about her, something ethereal and beautiful beyond all else.
How much he loved her likely blinded him, at least a little, but he honestly didn't care.
Reaching for her hand, he lifts it slowly, pressing his lips to the back before intertwining their fingers.]
no subject
All of it was true.
But none of them held a candle to her. Not when she was standing there before him, bathed in soft life, wearing the dress that he had bought her in his colors. Not when her hair cascaded down over her shoulders and her eyes were bare, free of the glasses she normally wore. There was something softer about her, something ethereal and beautiful beyond all else.
How much he loved her likely blinded him, at least a little, but he honestly didn't care.
Reaching for her hand, he lifts it slowly, pressing his lips to the back before intertwining their fingers.]
Are you ready, my love?