I would watch as she put on the foundation, and eye shadows and liner (getting aroused knowing I would soon be doing the same thing). Then her mascara... rouge and finish off with her lipstick which was always perfectly matched to her outfits. Then she would slip into a slinky dress and put on her high heels. A final check in the mirror and a spritz of perfume and she would come to the living room for a drink with me. We would sit together and share a drink and talk of things from the week. Again. “Little difference.” He had picked a white rose from the garden and offered it to her. “Thank you.” She gritted her teeth and accepted it as he deliberately used the opportunity to touch her fingers. “Your welcome.” “Have you come to apologize for your behavior earlier today? I accept.” She told him tartly lifting her chin up. His loud laugh boomed across the quiet gardens. “What does the little spitfire see in my mousy young brother?” He asked her quietly. “You do wrong to put him down.” She. More

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