Rosalind was standing on his left, dressed in a long white gown. When the sea breeze blew, the skirt fluttered lightly, and her long jet-black hair lifted gently with the wind.
The faint, pleasant mint scent of her shampoo drifted over with her hair, bringing a soft, fresh fragrance.
Lorelei was standing on his right, in a black fishtail dress, dignified and elegant, poised and generous. Even her smile seemed perfectly measured.
Rosalind said, "Lorelei, I really, really like Soren. Honestly, if you were even just a little bit less, I would have gone all out to chase him. But you are truly exceptional."
"You are worthy of being Soren's wife, worthy of being Madam Johnson. And if it were me, I might not do as well as you. So I choose to let go. Loving someone doesn't necessarily mean you have to possess them. As long as Soren is doing well, I'm content."
