MARRIED TO MY ENEMY’S SON
Gbohunmibride to be, not mefleeing the gilded cage don't want to be the billionaire's wifeforced to marry mr. billionairemy wife married me just to break my heart
“Everything else comes from the paint.”
“Agreed,” Diana said. They had been agreeing with each other, I had noticed, with increasing frequency. Not about everything they were both too particular for that but about the things that mattered. The structural things. The things that were right.
“What colour?” I asked.
They looked at each other. A brief, efficient exchange. The particular communication of two women who had reached the same conclusion by different routes and were confirming that the routes had converged.
“Warm white,” Diana said. “Not cold white. Not cream. Warm white the kind that holds colour well.”