A VEIL WHICH OBSCURES THE WONDERS OF ITS FLESH
by Tari Gwaemir
"I won't be cut and polished."
He likes to clothe her in satins and rich brocades, accented with stiff antique lace and jeweled buttons. No soft, yielding silks for this Caroline, with her flashes of defiance and magnificence. Beneath her uncertainties and her bursts of emotion, she is a diamond, hard and sharp enough to draw blood.
"I won't cut and polish you though," he tells her as he drapes white mink against her shoulder.
"I won't be cut and polished," she snaps back, her voice taut with frustration. She bites her lower lip immediately, as if she regrets what she said.
He takes her by the hand and kisses the inside of her wrist, soft and delicate, unlike the fingernails that dig into the back of his hand.
"Don't, if it doesn't mean anything," she says, her shoulders stiff and tense.
"Very well." He draws back, and she looks up at him through her eyelashes, a vulnerable, open glance. "Don't look at me like that."
"Very well," she echoes and pushes him away.