Leah Moyes is from Arizona but experienced many parts of the world in thanks to a career in the airlines. Now most of her time, aside from writing, is spent with her family, reading Historical Fiction novels or studying ancient cultures as a student of Archaeology.
She always believed she was born in the wrong time period, but since she doesn’t have access to a time machine she must write and read intriguing stories of the past.
Second Survivor is told in the perspective of 4 different people- Isabel, Miguel, Thomas, and Francisco.
(Isabel)
That night, as I readied for bed and Ines brushed my long waves, it didn’t bring forth the comfort it had in the past. Irritation festered beneath my skin. My foot tapped tediously against the leg of my dressing table where a burgundy vase rattled a fresh bouquet of May Rose. Even the sweet scent of my favorite flower failed to soothe.
“Settle, dear.” Ines stopped brushing and placed one weathered hand on my shoulder. Her gentle touch had calmed me since birth. I leaned my cheek against her warm fingers. She was more of a mother to me than Maman had ever been, though her years would have qualified her to be my grandmother. For every fond memory that meant something to me, Ines was the only face that came to mind. Hers and the curled-up ball of fur on my lap. Rémy, my miniature Pekingese, licked my hand as if he knew my heart fell forlorn.
“My father is selling me to the highest bidder, Ines.”
“Hush love, your father would not give you to any man unworthy of your hand.”
“How could he possibly know anything about this man, Thomas? He lives so far away.”
“Your father is meticulous in his business. I’m sure he scrutinized this gentleman with a fine-toothed comb. I know your father loves you, Isabel.”
“He loves his money.” I scoffed.
Through the mirror, a crooked line formed between her brows. “I don’t hear any complaints about the beautiful gowns or the jeweled gifts he bestows upon you.”
I lowered my eyes. My long eyelashes fluttered back tears as I caressed the lace trimming of my silk négligé. As the only child of an accomplished l’homme d’affaires, Papa’s pecuniary associations afforded a luxurious indulgence, including endless social invitations and a steady entourage of handsome dance partners. Yet, as silly as it sounded, the only thing I truly longed for was to feel loved. Loved by my father, my mother, and was it too foolish to desire affection with my future husband as well?
“Don’t fret any more tonight, petite fille.” Ines led me to my bed. Her nickname “little girl” stayed long after I’d outgrown it. Hesitant, my hands brushed the edge of my Napoleon footboard and traced the delicate motifs of cherubs carved into the spiral bedpost as I contemplated the time before I would have to say goodbye. “Come, love.” She held open my plush duvet and tucked me inside. Leaning down, she kissed my forehead. “All will be well soon enough—you will see.”
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