Helen woke up with a start. The light of the late afternoon filtered through the curtains, painting the room in a deep, burning orange. As she sat up, she noticed she was still fully dressed and that a soft wool blanket had been carefully draped over her. She instinctively checked herself, running her hands over her body, but everything was in its place.
Etienne hadn't touched her.
A confusing mix of emotions struck her. On one hand, she felt an immense relief; he was the gentleman he appeared to be, a man of honor who respected her pain. But on the other hand, a sting of insecurity pricked her chest. "Am I really that unattractive?" she wondered, looking at her tired reflection in the vanity mirror. "You're old enough to be his mother, Helen, stop thinking such nonsense," she scolded herself, shaking her head to drive away those unnecessary thoughts.
