Here is another installment of the story I began a few weeks ago. The following lines are directly after the last snippet, at least at the moment. I may draw out the suspense for the reader in the next version.
My math is 9 sentences for the month and day added together. This blog hop is hosted by Emily Wrayburn at Letting the Voices Out, and other snippets can be found here.
Although Valeriy managed to carry on a social conversation with Kiryl, his mind drifted to Anya. Her hand had been soft and pliant under his lips, with the scent of lavender water, which always made him think of her, even several years later. Suddenly, he remembered her hand on his face, caressing his cheek. Why had she denied knowing him? They knew each other, he thought wryly, not merely from musical evenings, nor from one or two dances together at a ball, but quite well, he thought with a pang of remorse.
As Valeriy turned to Kiryl, the curve of his cheek drew Anya’s eye. She remembered the glint of his unshaven beard in the morning light, the rough feel of the overnight growth against her palm. She closed her eyes, thinking of the last time she watched him shave. She jumped to feel Madame de Stael’s hand on her arm. “Are you all right, dear Anya? You looked to be in pain.“