The sun had long since set, painting the sky in deepening shades of purple and indigo as Maria's carriage rolled through Cassius's estate.
Diana had insisted on staying behind at the hospital—there were still patients to check on, charts to review, the endless responsibilities of running such a large medical facility.
So Maria had made the journey back alone, her thoughts wrapped in a warm, pleasant haze that she couldn't quite shake.
As the carriage passed through the iron gates, Maria absently raised a hand to her face.
Her fingers met the corners of her lips that were curved upward.
She was smiling.
Not just now, she realized—she had been smiling the entire journey back.
The whole way, from the hospital to the estate, her lips had been curled in an involuntary expression of pure, unguarded happiness.
Every time she thought about it—about the date—her mouth simply moved on its own.
