So you want to play piano. But before you can even begin to consider notes and rhythm and squiggly lines that give you migraines, you must first find an instrument to play on.
Like all great stories, it begun at the party of a friend of a friend. Gabriel had been invited by James, a man of no substance, a man of complete surface. But oh, what surface he was made up of! The kind of man whose eyes you might spend an eternity gazing into, and yet become none the wiser. He was absurdly tall, and beautiful, because they always are, decked head to toe in originality. He was aware that his enemies thought him shallow. In fact, he rather agreed with them. To Gabriel, he was the very thing. The sort of man he might have been, if fortune had favoured the ugly. James had invited Gabriel to this party, and so Gabriel had no choice but to come.
My future husband stares at me from across the tube. Or maybe at the map behind me. Or at the legs of a woman. He has wispy black hair. I think. I’m not exactly sure what wispy black hair is, but if anyone were to have it, I’m sure it would be him. This wispy black hair frames his dark complexion and brooding eyes that would put Mr. Darcy to shame.