WHO: Dietre solo (open to an optional reaction from Francis.) WHAT: An impulse. WHERE: Drake residence. WHEN: Backdated to Valentine's day. After Francis left for Christine's and before Glory's visit.
He was home alone. Francis had left with a bottle of vodka, Dietre didn't expect to see him back until very late. Gloriana would be coming soon, though, to show him her dress and dance to his piano. But then she'd leave him too. She'd leave with Gio, the boy she liked better than him.
He had bought her a dozen pink roses. Red had not seemed right, red was the color of passion. The pink was surely a better choice, they were the color of her lips when she smiled, and her cheeks at their deepest blush. Lovely.
He let his gaze roam over the bunch while he sat in the dining room, appreciating their beauty and the delicate sprigs of baby's breath tucked between them. That was when he noticed, deep in the bouquet, a rose that stood out. It was too dark, almost red, and when he reached in to examine it, a sharp pain in his finger tip told him it also had thorns. The others didn't, he had asked for de-thorned roses specifically, always protective when it came to Gloriana. It must have been included accidentally during the Valentine's day rush.
He plucked the misplaced rose from the bouquet, turning it slowly before him, his thoughts muddled. Acting on impulse, he laid it down at Francis' place at the table, then left the room before he could change his mind.