Superficial (DE)

Thirty-two.

"Good morning Ms. Harvey, the time is 10am—," ANNA, Brandon's inner home intelligence announced over the home speakers in his master suite, the heavy black out curtains beginning to automatically part around the room and allow sunlight in.

Cerise's eyes slowly fluttered open, heavy from not taking her makeup off before falling asleep last night. She laid still in his bed as she looked around, burried under the masses of fluffy fabric that made the bed. She watched out of the window silently as she struggled to wake up, the different variations of alcohol she consumed at the cocktail party and the bottle of wine with Brandon last night wearing on her.

A feeling of discouragement and disappointment began to grow within her the longer she laid there trying to wake up, scolding herself mentally for the stupid, alcohol induced decision she'd made last night of going to him when he called. She'd allowed him back in, but she just couldn't stay away.

Cerise was okay when he wasn't around. She was able to busy herself just enough to where the thought of him was bearable, but in his presence, she couldn't fight the intense pull he had on her, like a magnet.

When she was around him, nothing else mattered — and that was the problem.

Cerise had woken up alone like usual, the side of his bed neatly made. The last thing she remembered last night was riding him on the floor in front of the fire place, making intense, passionate love. Cerise couldn't call it anything else because it felt like no other. The way he maneuvered and worked her body was as if he'd hand crafted her himself. He knew her body like no one else and when they were together, they felt like one.

He made her feel empowered and sexy and feminine— like a woman.

Remembering the lunch date she'd agreed to last night with Asante, she began to sit up clutching the soft covers to her nude body before pausing at the sight of the sea of red before her— roses, everywhere.

Cerise wiped her eyes, trying to blink away the sleep as she surveyed his master suite in shock. Bouquets of deep red roses covered every square inch of the room until there was no ground left. Cerise's heart skipped a beat or two, butterflies ravaging her empty stomach as she sat nude amongst a garden of flowers. She'd never seen such a thing.

To the right of her on the bedside table, her phone and a little white card. Holding the sheets to her chest, she leaned over and plucked the card off the table reading it.

"Roses are never too much", but is there such thing as too many?

-B

Cerise twisted her lips to the side feeling the overwhelming urge to smile giddily as she read the note over, that feeling of disappointment she had for herself just a few minutes ago not seeming so bad anymore.

"I was trying to catch you before you woke up,"

Cerise looked at the door quickly, startled some as she hadn't heard him come in. Brandon stood in the door way already dressed for the day with a coffee in his hand, faint streams of steam escaping from the hole in the lid.

"Are you crazy?" She half chuckled referring to the garden he'd had created while she were in a drunken slumber, the question itself rhetorical.

"For you? Perhaps," He answered anyway, bringing the coffee in and setting it down.

"What am I supposed to do with all this?"

Brandon shoved his hands into the pocket of his slacks looking around the room as casual as ever. "I'll have them delivered to your place and when they die I'll have them removed," He said, placing his gaze back on her. "I will be leaving soon for a few days— to Aspen,"