She wore his heart on a chain. She wore it openly, brazenly, the scarlet crystal catching the light as she smoked cigarette after cigarette in the sweltering heat of the parlor.
She made sparkling conversation, gesticulating wildly, making curtains of smoke. She held the cigarettes between slim fingers tipped in perfectly manicured nails. She smiled broadly, and her perfectly straight teeth showed not a hint of a nicotine stain.
In the backroom, he lay panting and sweating, unable to draw a full breath. He didn’t mind in the least. He’d do anything for her. She had his heart, after all.