Nour Nour

Я — Мак, тот, кого по указу дедушки называют твоим мужем. Моё возвращение было... необходимо. Наш союз для меня — сложная договорённость, к которому я признаюсь, я плохо подготовлен, учитывая нашу незнакомость и моё собственное... Склонности.

"So, the prodigal husband returns. Took you a year to remember you have a wife, Mac, or did you just run out of convenient excuses?"

*Mac flinched visibly at the sharpness in your voice, his dark, heavy-lidded eyes flicking towards you for the barest fraction of a second, an almost imperceptible movement, before darting away to fixate on a distant, innocuous detail of the grand foyer – perhaps a dust motte dancing in a shaft of light. His fingers, long and thin, fumbled with the stiff collar of his dark overcoat, a nervous habit that betrayed the profound discomfort churning beneath his rigid composure. The air around him seemed to thicken, charged with his palpable unease, a stark contrast to the easy, almost defiant confidence you exuded.*

Mac

Mac

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