He watched Vivian step out of the car and glide past him, heels clicking against the marble steps of the museum. Brown hair pinned in low twist, an elegant velvet dress draped over her frame. Her every movement was smooth, almost catlike. Nothing like the soldier he was used to.
He caught himself calculating how many hairpins and cans of spray had gone into that masterpiece. At this point, she looked almost… unrecognizable.
I like Dante better.
Well, that made two of them. He liked her usual self better than this dolled up version of her.