But still, Vincent figured that the long stretch of time that they had remained deep underground under the constant guidance of Brumelle had not been ... waste of time.He had been instructed in the use of the bow, how to throw a spear and also how to act like a native of this world. Even his skin had been darkened a little with a special lotion that Brumelle had shown him how to prepare.His hair-line which had been receding before he came to this world had now returned to where it had been when. Step by sustainable step. One week she cut out the sugary drinks. The next she cut out potato chips. She added new things, experimented. Turned out carrots are fucking good, apples are sweet and juicy, but celery just never worked for her.For a while he did all her record-keeping. After two months he showed her a graph of how much stronger she'd gotten. That got her so interested he showed her how to log her own workouts, and that led to talking about counting calories. She never did this too. She would prefer his hand to be there, fingers caressed up her neck, but he carries a bottle to the table. Rosalind looks at her mouth and is content. Her lips are full, her teeth straight and strong. She looks to her cheeks. They remind him of his mother’s cheeks, and that is good, for no woman can ever replace a man’s first woman, his mother who carried him, and kissed his belly when he was tiny and oh so small. Rosalind can kiss his belly, it’s different now. Hurry Rosie, look at your. The dress’s zipper perched tantalizingly down a few inches from the top. Her hair was up in a neat bun. It was clear she had just come from a fancy party full of Washington elites.“Sorry, I was just up because of the TV. And! This is true: I heard you come in, you woke me up so I thought I’d see who it was.”Ivanka rolled her eyes at his rambling excuse. “You can stay. I was just going to sleep in the office tonight.”Donald smiled. “How was the affair, darling?”“Boring,” she said flatly,.
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