"I d—it's… lovely." Lovely was not the word, but as pale a substitute as she was willing to give. It was just to her taste, down to the shade of the pink. She found it hard to believe he had simply been lucky in picking it out. Mulling over this intended gesture of Gabriel's, she thought about the sort of person he must be to gift so lavishly. The sort of people they must have been together for him to choose this present for her. The sort of person he was for him to keep it hidden after.
By all accounts, on the surface, Rachel Corner seemed… happy. It must be some sort of testament to the discontent of her life, that Rachel treated this revelation with suspicion, rather than relief. She wanted to poke holes wherever she could, find out what the truth was in this story, the parts that couldn't be seen. The hidden parts. If she had been anyone else, even any other version of herself, she might have felt sad that her first reaction was distrust. But Rachel knew where she had come from.
I do not understand you, she wanted to say. I do not understand how we were together, but even if she had been the sort of person to ask these questions, they seemed to stick in her throat. Swallowing as if to dislodge the figurative lump, she smoothed her hands down the skirt of her robes and tried not to pay too much attention to the fact that he was sitting on the bed she'd taken great pains to ignore. It was peculiar, to say the least, to be in a bedroom with a man who knew one's self, all of one's self, while that one knew nothing, nothing at all, of the other.
Turning away from him and facing the dresser, she traced the rim of a vase, noting her finger came away clean. "You know, I can't even say if I had a gift for you."
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