Bel looked at her reflection one more time, then did a little spin. Satisfied with her appearance, she stepped away from the mirror. She was alone in her bedroom; Giselle had gone to get her breakfast. She frowned and glanced at the door, knowing that any moment now, a certain unwanted guest would stroll in.
Bel tore her gaze away from the door. She hated this—this expectancy. She hated that she was thinking about when he would walk through that door. Somehow, it was easier to deal with his presence than with his uncertain absence. She didn't like that she was being pulled by his rhythm. She had gotten what she wanted—a room of her own—but she didn't feel like she was ahead. Instead, it felt like she was dancing to his tune.