The other was closer to her age, perhaps he was thirty too. Creepy and too eager, she thought. She ordered another drink and was considering making it...her last. She remembered why she hated bars. “You don’t want the martinis here. They taste like paint-stripper,” a voice from next to her said. She shifted her body towards the deep voice and found herself looking at a young man. Nineteen, maybe twenty. But not a boy, that was certain. His eyes were clear, bright, intelligent. A beautiful suit,. He remembered well. Rommel had watched her grow up, fall down, lose teeth and at last begin to bloom. Now he watched as young men slithered around her at gatherings and it began to drive him crazy. He watched Giselle laugh at the young gentlemen and flirt; she had no idea the depth to her appeal. How could she be aware of how sexy her her neck looked when her hair was up, or how edible her breast looked when pushed almost over the top of her gown. Rommel walked over to Giselle and. More

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