Today, she tried on a dress.
Extravagant by her standards.
It was a flowing collage of wispy amber and lucent Swarovski beads. The strapless garment absorbed her frame into an ebullient stitch prior to collapsing in adulation at her feet, into a pool of silk.
It was quintessential Givenchy.
She stood in the midst of the room, in accord with her reflection. They embraced each other in the currency of glances, one appraising the other. She turned to view her back and only then did her husband see what Michelangelo must have saw, prior to waving his hand in broad strokes across the Sistine Chapel.
“Have I told you how much I love you?”
Claire turned in start.
He smiled at the canary princess, to whom he professed his love with a gem of the same hue.
However, she seemed down trodden.
“I want to go home.” she said.
Maxwell set down his leather tote, while his stately wife consumed him in her glare.
“I miss Rome. I miss Wales. I miss the Côte d’Azur.”
Her heart began to race, while her breathing attempted to keep pace.
“I want to go home.”
New York City was home.
Her tears engaged her mascara in a permanency bid for the dress,
Like the ink on their passports.
How could he deny her?
Still, New York City was home.
Yet, they were citizens of the world,
And she longed for alternate scenery.
He stared at his wife, whose mouth had begun to tremble. He decided not to discuss the town that played host to both their dreams.
Though he did have a question.
Implode. Part XL – DK