““In the dying firelight, Benedict’s face was relaxed in sleep. He was so handsome, so perfect. She brushed a lock of hair from his forehead and he did not stir with the motion. She smiled, but the expression faded as a strong desire welled up in her. A desire to do something she had never done before. She touched him again, to be certain he was not awake. When he didn’t move or react, she leaned closer, her hands shaking. “I love you,””
