He watches her in positive awe sometimes, letting his eyes soak up every detail—her long skirts, swirling when she so gracefully turns on her heel, hair following in an identical motion that catches the sunlight like a geode and reflects its rays of paradise everywhere for a fleeting second.

He knows he oughtn't stare—goodness gracious, his mother taught him better—but it's so hard not to, when she glitters everywhere she goes.

She's hardly Lulu—not a showgirl by any means. No, she's much more… genteel. And that's the way he likes them.

It's too bad she's married.