Albert rolled up his shirt sleeves and, with a slight leap, plucked down the cluster of locust flowers she wanted. Cynthia stared at him in disbelief.
The striking shade of violet on him dazzled her eyes. She once thought that only Vincent could truly carry this color, but seeing it on the man in front of her was an entirely different experience.
If Vincent wore this color with a gentle, jade-like grace, then Albert gave it a completely different meaning—rebellious and unruly like a devilish Satan, yet calm and elegant, with the composed air of a nobleman.
He held the bunch of locust flowers, leaning slightly toward her until the tip of his nose was almost touching hers, his warm breath surrounding her.
"My little princess, are you satisfied?"
She stood there, holding his jacket in her arms, as meek and reserved as a bashful young bride. Bending down, he whispered softly into her ear, his voice low enough for only the two of them to hear,
