Superbia
Mirror out on the table opposite him, she's reapplying her make-up, brushing more colour onto her cheekbones. The hues make him hurt, the pounding hangover just behind his eyes forcing them shut as his stomach threatens to heave.
She stands and straightens her outfit – he can hear the skirts rustling. He peeks at her through his lashes, not wanting to move any more than necessary. She's twirling, preening, practising her smile for the sponsors. He ignores the tantalisingly close curve of hip laced tight in red satin.
"You look like a fool, woman."
She glares down at him, smoothing the fabric of her dress. "No, actually I look fantastic, you slob."