kitchen to the back door. It creaked loudly as he opened it, the sound the only noise in the house. Outside the moon shone brightly, high in the sky, and he walked out into the middle of the garden.
The roses in the garden had lost their color in the light of the moon, and all looked like different shades of blue. The white roses took on a tint of the moonlight, but the red roses looked nearly black under the night sky. He touched one of the red roses and pulled off one of the petals, rubbing it absentmindedly between his fingers. The air was only slightly chilly here at night.
He thought about Budapest, and why he was staying. He was here for Brynn, to offer her the opportunity to study at the Academy for her final year. She could very well finish without him there, he knew. It would only be a school year, and he would feel horrible asking her to leave Hungary and come with him. Yet he would feel horrible without her.
It wasn't just Brynn, though. He needed to finish this proof, to prove to himself that he hadn't lost all of his mathematical ability. When Brynn had come here with him, he found a new drive inside of himself that he thought he had lost. But drive wasn't enough—he needed more than that. The spark of genius that had burned brightly through his youthful days as a mathematician now had died to a low ember, and he longed to stoke the fires again, to do the work that he'd once done so easily.
He had money. It wasn't that. It was the math.
The problem had taken hold of his mind. Every day now, he found it easier to retreat into the algebra instead of talking to Brynn. She let him immerse himself in work, but it seemed that the more he surrounded himself with the math, the harder the proof became. The numbers tangled up in his head when before they had marched easily into whatever structure he was looking for. He redoubled his efforts but the problem, too, grew twice as thorny, seemed to fight even harder against his attempts to understand. The first results had come in a burst of light and inspiration, and he'd thought that the rest would slide into place easily. Not so. Brynn supported him, worked alongside him, and he tried to draw her closer while still giving her room to heal.
Last night he had put his arm around her and it had been wonderful. He wanted her so badly, but he'd taken pains to hide his desire. After all that had happened, he couldn't rush her into anything. Oh, but the touch of her skin under his fingers!
The sound of the kitchen door made him spin around.
"You left." Brynn closed the door behind her and pulled her robe tightly around her deliciously curvy body. In the moonlight, her red hair looked dark. He wanted to run his hands through it, pull her hot mouth to his...
"I needed to think," he said.
"I saw you out here," she said, coming closer to him. "But I can go back if you want to be alone."
"No, no," he said quickly. "We can go inside if you'd like."
"I like it here." She looked out toward the woods. "At night, anyway. They wouldn't come around to take pictures at night, would they?" Her eyebrows knitted together.
"It's too dark," Eliot said. Her shoulders relaxed slightly and she breathed out. So beautiful. He remembered her body, naked and pale. His hands caressing her skin.
"So what are you thinking about?" she asked, looking up at the stars.
"The story I told you about before," he said. He did not want to talk with her about his misgivings. She was already under enough pressure; she didn't need to deal with his insecurities. "The Little Prince."
"I'd like to read it," she said. "Maybe we can read it together. I want to know if the prince gets back to his rose."
Eliot bent and picked a rose from the bush, breaking the stalk with his fingers. The bud had just started to blossom, its petals slightly revealed at the sides. The center still hidden in the middle, dark silk readying itself for the outside world.
"He finds another rose bush," Eliot said. He held out the rose
The roses in the garden had lost their color in the light of the moon, and all looked like different shades of blue. The white roses took on a tint of the moonlight, but the red roses looked nearly black under the night sky. He touched one of the red roses and pulled off one of the petals, rubbing it absentmindedly between his fingers. The air was only slightly chilly here at night.
He thought about Budapest, and why he was staying. He was here for Brynn, to offer her the opportunity to study at the Academy for her final year. She could very well finish without him there, he knew. It would only be a school year, and he would feel horrible asking her to leave Hungary and come with him. Yet he would feel horrible without her.
It wasn't just Brynn, though. He needed to finish this proof, to prove to himself that he hadn't lost all of his mathematical ability. When Brynn had come here with him, he found a new drive inside of himself that he thought he had lost. But drive wasn't enough—he needed more than that. The spark of genius that had burned brightly through his youthful days as a mathematician now had died to a low ember, and he longed to stoke the fires again, to do the work that he'd once done so easily.
He had money. It wasn't that. It was the math.
The problem had taken hold of his mind. Every day now, he found it easier to retreat into the algebra instead of talking to Brynn. She let him immerse himself in work, but it seemed that the more he surrounded himself with the math, the harder the proof became. The numbers tangled up in his head when before they had marched easily into whatever structure he was looking for. He redoubled his efforts but the problem, too, grew twice as thorny, seemed to fight even harder against his attempts to understand. The first results had come in a burst of light and inspiration, and he'd thought that the rest would slide into place easily. Not so. Brynn supported him, worked alongside him, and he tried to draw her closer while still giving her room to heal.
Last night he had put his arm around her and it had been wonderful. He wanted her so badly, but he'd taken pains to hide his desire. After all that had happened, he couldn't rush her into anything. Oh, but the touch of her skin under his fingers!
The sound of the kitchen door made him spin around.
"You left." Brynn closed the door behind her and pulled her robe tightly around her deliciously curvy body. In the moonlight, her red hair looked dark. He wanted to run his hands through it, pull her hot mouth to his...
"I needed to think," he said.
"I saw you out here," she said, coming closer to him. "But I can go back if you want to be alone."
"No, no," he said quickly. "We can go inside if you'd like."
"I like it here." She looked out toward the woods. "At night, anyway. They wouldn't come around to take pictures at night, would they?" Her eyebrows knitted together.
"It's too dark," Eliot said. Her shoulders relaxed slightly and she breathed out. So beautiful. He remembered her body, naked and pale. His hands caressing her skin.
"So what are you thinking about?" she asked, looking up at the stars.
"The story I told you about before," he said. He did not want to talk with her about his misgivings. She was already under enough pressure; she didn't need to deal with his insecurities. "The Little Prince."
"I'd like to read it," she said. "Maybe we can read it together. I want to know if the prince gets back to his rose."
Eliot bent and picked a rose from the bush, breaking the stalk with his fingers. The bud had just started to blossom, its petals slightly revealed at the sides. The center still hidden in the middle, dark silk readying itself for the outside world.
"He finds another rose bush," Eliot said. He held out the rose
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