From the Window
They met in the Baron Hotel again, in the beautiful suite with the view of the castle. They lay entwined on ruffled sheets, the breeze from the window cooling their sweat-slicked bodies and carrying the sounds of the market below. He ran his fingers over her copper skin, never seen by another man let alone touched.
“Marry me,” he said.
“Come back to England with me and marry me.”
“Please stop. You know I can’t shame my family.”
He turned away, the illusion was broken. He felt her rise from the bed and begin to dress: to hide her beauty from the world.
“Will I see you next week?” she asked from the doorway.
“Yes, I’ll look for you from the window.”
Now he waits in the Baron Hotel, in the detestable suite with the view of the castle. Will she ever come out?