Matthew
She doesn't know I'm watching.
At least, I don't think she does.
Sarah is standing in front of the mirror, pinning back the last few strands of hair. There's this crease of concentration between her brows, the kind that makes me want to walk over and smooth it out with my thumb.
But I don't.
Instead, I lean against the doorframe of her room, arms crossed, and watch. She hasn't put the dress on yet, the green one, but even in the robe she's wearing, she's already glowing. There's something about the way she moves when she thinks no one's looking. Softer. Freer.
She turns a little and sees me. Her lips curl into a small smile.
"How long have you been standing there?" she asks, voice light.
"Just got here," I lie.
She raises a brow. "Yeah, right." She bends down to pick something up from her dresser.
My eyes catch on the silver hairpin in her hand. The one I gave her on our honeymoon.
