
“Why?” She asked with a frown, eyes on him with slight grumpiness. She didn’t want to wear a floofy, gaudy dress. She thought it was horrific. “I’m nearly 30, William. I’ll wear what I please.” She said, brows raised as she gave him a slight smile. “My mother will accept it. And get over it.”
“Yes you are nearly thirty.” He answered knowing it was the truthful; he knew that most certainly she she was now twenty eight. When he had met her she was twenty-seven, but she was still beautiful, becoming more and more beautiful by the day. He also knew that if she wore this dress, men would be all over her; “Wear it then. I’m sure it will be of no consequence.” He would say assuringly, his eyes staring at the dress for a moment before focusing on her face; “It suits you.”
“Yes you are nearly thirty.” He answered knowing it was the truthful; he knew that most certainly she she was now twenty...