Evelyn, her best friend and landlord, shifted beside her before waving a manicured hand at the clear night above them and asking, "Ever wonder what's out there?"
The dinner party Evelyn threw to celebrate Kiera's first commissioned piece of art had been a success, as was expected.
People don't know what they want, Evelyn, or life wouldn't suck.
"It doesn't really suck," Evelyn sang in such a happy voice that Kiera rolled her eyes.
Evelyn corrected with another giggle.
Evelyn didn't stop for a full minute.
"It's nicer than your nickname for him," Evelyn pointed out.
Evelyn tossed a hand toward the dark night sky again.
Evelyn sounded unusually pensive.
"Probably not," Evelyn replied.
Evelyn giggled, then said, "No."
"I don't know," Evelyn admitted.
"They don't have spiders," Evelyn said firmly.
"And the cat," Evelyn added.
Evelyn only cooked when he spent the night, which would also explain how she ended up in her bed.
She recalled falling asleep on the roof and knew Evelyn to be too tipsy to carry or drag her down to her room.
Evelyn sang, her voice muffled through the door.
Romas had no qualms about invading her bedroom to drag her out of bed if Evelyn directed him to.
The fact that he worshiped the ground Evelyn walked on and took care of her made Kiera jealous.
When she walked into the kitchen, Evelyn was gazing with adoration up at the huge man, leaning against him in a purely anti-feministic way.
Evelyn was six feet tall and Romas a full head taller than her.
Evelyn gave a brilliant smile, and Romas eyed her.
Evelyn brought the last of three trays to the table.
"Tell her what kind," Evelyn urged, squirming in her chair.
Evelyn followed leisurely, unconcerned with being lost on the massive ship.
According to Evelyn, "the wise Solomon prescribed ordinances for the very distances of trees; and the Roman prÃ¦tors have decided how often you may go into your neighbor's land to gather the acorns which fall on it without trespass, and what share belongs to that neighbor."
Though I gave them no manure, and did not hoe them all once, I hoed them unusually well as far as I went, and was paid for it in the end, "there being in truth," as Evelyn says, "no compost or laetation whatsoever comparable to this continual motion, repastination, and turning of the mould with the spade."