16.
8.1.11
German Chocolate Cake
LorcanDominiqueLysander
picturesque, dainty
Her hand, so dainty and fragile and tiny like a porcelain doll's, slapped his face with a force that pushed him back on his heels.
"You can't push this onto your brother, Ly!" she screamed, color rising in her neck, inflaming her cheeks. "You can't blame every little thing on him! I told you I don't love him anymore!"
And Lysander knew he should've been angry—his cheek was burning from the slap, his throat raw from all the yelling he had done—but all he felt was a black gloom, because Dominique was not like this. This raging, blue in the face person in front of him was not Dominique. Dominique was supposed to be a happy bride, picturesque perfection in a white dress beside Lorcan, grinning and beaming and happy while they smeared each other's faces with their German chocolate wedding cake. This was not how it was supposed to turn out—his love for Dominique was supposed to have outweighed his selfishness, he was supposed to have let Lorcan take her because he knew Lorcan could make her happy.
This was not Dominique.
This was what she had become with (and because of) Lysander.