His Beauty Her Beast
he deadpans, lips twitching.
I laugh, shaking my head as he takes my hand. “Close your eyes,” he murmurs.
“Fine,” I sigh dramatically, obeying. I feel him guiding me carefully, one hand at my back, the other wrapped around my fingers. The soft crunch of grass beneath our feet fills the silence until he finally stops.
“Okay,” he says, voice softer now. “Open them.”
I blink my eyes open—and my breath catches.
In front of me is a wooden swing, hand-carved and tied beneath a blooming tree. White flowers hang around it, their petals fluttering in the breeze. A little gold plate on the top bar reads Bella’s Place.
Bab Populer