Phei's gaze lingered on the portraits for a long moment, as though measuring the distance between the versions of himself frozen on the walls and the man standing here now, breathing the same air as her at last.
Then, slowly, he turned fully toward Delilah.
The soft, rosy glow of the room wrapped around her like a secret kept too long, and for the first time, he truly looked—unhurried, reverent—at the face she had hidden behind polite smiles and careful distance for years.
Delilah's face was heart-shaped and delicately sculpted, the kind of beauty that felt both timeless and fragile, a soft rose that deepened now across the apples of her cheeks and down the slender column of her throat.
High, elegant cheekbones giving her an almost luminous quality, while a small, straight nose lent her features an aristocratic refinement that was unmistakably Maxton.
