challenge my report of her birthing. Even I had to
admit I was impressed with how radiant she looked. I
knew Carmelita hadn't been up here after breakfast, so
it was clear Belinda had straightened up her room and
opened the curtains wide to permit the soft, bright
sunshine to come pouring through, making everything
look clean and fresh.
Belinda was wearing one of her sheerest
nighties, the neckline of which dipped into her
cleavage, revealing breasts well matured. With the
blanket lowered, the contour of her breasts was all but
fully revealed. She wore her well-brushed hair down
to her shoulders. The strands turned up softly at the
ends. Belinda always had richer looking hair than I,
but she fussed with it far more than I bothered with
my own. If she had her way, she would turn the walls
of her room into mirrors. She never seemed to tire of
looking at her own image.
"Pull up your blanket or put on your robe," I ordered. She blushed and pulled the blanket against
her chest quickly.
"Now, who's come to see me?" she declared
like some Southern belle.
The three boys moved timidly into her room. "They claim they called you, so I don't know
how you could wonder who it was, Belinda," I
remarked. She ignored me and concentrated on them. "I brought you these," Arnold said quickly and
thrust the bouquet of red roses toward her.
"Oh, they're just beautiful, aren't they, Olivia?
Can we find a vase for them?"
"We?" I asked.
She tilted her head with that childish grin. "Well, I don't think it would be proper for me to