Inside the bakery, Eveline Whitehall sat perched on a stool, the picture of grace as she anticipated the arrival of her weekly indulgence — a slice of the bakery's signature cheesecake.
Julian, her assistant, stood by with an affectionate, wry smile. It was a well-known ritual in her otherwise tightly packed schedule; no matter how busy the week, Eveline made time for this simple pleasure.
There was something disarmingly genuine about watching the usually composed Eveline savor her cheesecake with an expression of pure bliss.
It was a sight that not only Julian but also every other staff member at the Whitehall estate found endearing.
For Julian, and indeed for all who served in the villa, the thought of any man standing worthy by Eveline's side was unimaginable.
She held herself in a manner that suggested completeness, a solitary grace that needed no complement.
At that moment, as Eveline enjoyed her dessert, the bakery's door swung open.
