And he knew that if her brother knew, all hell would break loose, and yet, he also knew that that wasn't why he did it. She really deserved to be appreciated more...
That voice again! Where had he heard it before? "Don't be, please," he insisted. When she took off her sunglasses, more images danced before his eyes.
There she was, again, and again, and again. Pouring. Dressed finely as one of beauty's bridal attendants. Preparing her mother's chariot. And then, she was gone. No more, replaced. His brow had been set slightly darker, eyes just barely narrower, fists clenched just a bit. No one would have noticed, unless they had been looking very closely, and knew him very well. But his displeasure was immense.
He ran a hand through his hair, his nervous habit. "It was in my apartment," he said, trying to explain it. "It's-- just a journal." But he knew that wasn't true, not entirely. "Since you mention it -- it's kind of a weird thing, actually. The journal, that is. Not the question." Damn it. She was making him trip on his words.