He had imagined it came easily to her, being one of society’s darlings. She was sweet; she was pretty, and pristine, and popular; her family were not at the summit of society, but nor was there anything glaringly wrong with them.
But he supposed she wasn’t just that – that was only the surface of her, and all the people-pleasing in the world could not, and would not, make Poppy Dashwood perfectly content. She had her own desires. Tonight Kristoffer could almost see them flickering behind her expression, like the moonlight on the pond. Tonight, Kristoffer was almost scared of Poppy Dashwood and her desires.
She felt comfortable with him, somehow. That made her dangerous. That made this dangerous. If he wasn’t careful, he would let this friendship keep flourishing in spite of himself – and friendships like this had no real place in society’s circus.
She had just admitted as much, the real Poppy here. He could have said something back – I know the feeling; because he did, fervently – but her shoulder bumping gently against his struck him so hard he had to swallow at it. Best clear the tension, and scatter the seriousness here – he had already admitted too much. “So that means you like me, huh?” he drawled, teasing and mischievous, as if she hadn’t said far more, and more earnestly. “Well, relax away,” he conceded, because tonight he felt quite sure he didn’t have the heart to break this.
But he supposed she wasn’t just that – that was only the surface of her, and all the people-pleasing in the world could not, and would not, make Poppy Dashwood perfectly content. She had her own desires. Tonight Kristoffer could almost see them flickering behind her expression, like the moonlight on the pond. Tonight, Kristoffer was almost scared of Poppy Dashwood and her desires.
She felt comfortable with him, somehow. That made her dangerous. That made this dangerous. If he wasn’t careful, he would let this friendship keep flourishing in spite of himself – and friendships like this had no real place in society’s circus.
She had just admitted as much, the real Poppy here. He could have said something back – I know the feeling; because he did, fervently – but her shoulder bumping gently against his struck him so hard he had to swallow at it. Best clear the tension, and scatter the seriousness here – he had already admitted too much. “So that means you like me, huh?” he drawled, teasing and mischievous, as if she hadn’t said far more, and more earnestly. “Well, relax away,” he conceded, because tonight he felt quite sure he didn’t have the heart to break this.
