Rose Yates had a very sweet mouth, that one soft, syrupy "big brother" she called out was adorable.
She tilted her head, fluffy curls spilling over her shoulders, a pink bow headband tied in her hair. Her lips were pink and pouty, her cheeks just as pink and pouty, and the way she tilted her head to look at Maxwell Saxon was simply too cute.
Maxwell glanced at her, then at Scarlett Yates. In front of Rose, he swiftly slipped back into that polished, gentlemanly, fake-virtuous persona. His thin lips curved, his smile as warm and gentle as the sunshine overhead: "You must be Mr. Yates's youngest daughter? He talks about you all the time."
Rose lit up the moment she heard that, her eyes brightening: "Daddy talks about me to you a lot?"
Maxwell nodded: "He says you're smart and sensible, a very well-behaved girl."
