A friend? She had really considered Serena a friend. The blonde woman tilted her head slightly and smiled. She looked over Annamarie.The woman looked well—her pin-straight brown hair flowed past her shoulders, and she wore a lovely green dress that clung gently at the waist. The sleeves hugged her shoulders before flaring out at the wrists like a bloom opening.
Serena twisted her hair around a finger and then looked at Anna. She looked at Anna again. It would do no harm to tell her. Annamarie had called her a dear friend. Would a dear friend be someone she kept important truths from?
"I got your letters. I wonder if you got mine," Serena said.
"I did. You write so beautifully. Where I, on the other hand, have such terrible writing." Anna gave a sheepish laugh, waving her hand dismissively. "But I have so many letters to read through and get done."
