The woman looked like a goddess: that was the first thing that went through Peter’s mind as he stared at the figure currently standing in the entryway. He thought that every time he saw Charlotte. Her hair was jet-black and curly, her curves were divine, and her face was like something out of a painting. He watched her from the balcony, waiting for Joe to come back. He didn’t have long to wait: the door flew open and a short, loud, blur shot in.
“Charlotte!”
“Joe!”
“Charlotte!”
“Joe!”
The two women embraced like sisters, and Peter felt a tang of jealously. Charlotte and Joe and Tony and grown up together and were so close not even the Antarch’s coup and subsequent terror could tear them apart. He envied them.
Tony and Virgil came in.
“Lottie!” Tony yelled.
“Tony!”
Virgil’s expression mirrored Peter’s for a different reason: he hated Charlotte with a passion.
Peter was amused to see Charlotte reach a had up from the orgy of affection to flip the bird at her nemesis.
Everybody was together again.