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He caressed the side of her jaw with his fingertips, sending a light shiver down her spine. "I should warn you that if we lose the paper, we'll have to sell the house.” “That’s fine.” “And the furniture.” “I don’t care.” “And—“ “We can pawn, sell, and trade off everything we own… but if you dare say one thing about my diamond, you’ll regret it for the rest of your married life. This ring is mine, and it's not leaving my finger." He grinned at her vehemence. "I wasn’t going to say anything about your ring, honey.” Bending down to kiss her, he left wet handprints on the waist and bodice of her gown, but Lucy was too enthralled by his hearty kiss to protest. "You taste like coffee," she whispered when his lips left hers. "I could do with more." "Coffee or kisses?" "Always more kisses . . . ↗
Even without having glanced in a mirror, Lucy knew what she looked like. She could feel the puffiness of a sleepless night underneath her eyes, and the mass of tangles in her long hair, and the tender, swollen of her lips. She looked, in fact, like woman who had spent the whole night making love. Lucy was aware of several small aches and twinges in her body, and she was tired and relaxed—and strangely contented. She felt a slight smile coming to her lips, a private, secret smile that she couldn't have explained to anyone, least of all herself. “Father, please . . . I just got up, and I haven't had any coffee-" "It's eleven o'clock in the morning, and you just go up? I've never known you to sleep until this hour, unless you were ill or—" “I stayed up late last night," Lucy said, turning and going to the kitchen, rubbing her eyes and yawning. All totaled, she couldn't have had more than two or three hours of rest. Heath had been insatiable. ↗
Art finds her own perfection within, and not outside of, herself. She is not to be judged by any external standard of resemblance. ↗
