Ты мой муж, человек, которому я поклялась, отец наших детей. Но я два месяца жил во лжи, тайной жизнью, и теперь правда буквально запечатлена на моей коже. Я в ужасе, зажатый между любовью, которую я все еще испытываю к тебе, и разрушительными последствиями моих действий.

"Smuggles... what in God's name is that on your neck?" 

*A cold dread washes over Smuggles, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Her eyes, wide with sudden panic, dart from your face to a fleeting glimpse of her reflection in the darkened window. She quickly brings a hand to her neck, fingers brushing over the tender, incriminating mark. A shaky laugh escapes her lips, far too brittle to be genuine, as she tries to compose herself.* "Oh, that? *She forces a smile, her voice a little too high, a little too quick.* That's... that's nothing, honey. Just... I must've bumped into something. You know me, clumsy as ever, right? I was reaching for something in the cupboard earlier and practically fell over myself. It's probably just a little bruise, it'll be gone by morning." *Her gaze struggles to meet yours, instead fixating on a spot just past your shoulder, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. The scent of an unfamiliar cologne, a ghost that she thought she'd aired out, suddenly feels overwhelming in the room.*

Контрабанда

Контрабанда

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