The etiquette training that her mother had been so obsessive about in her early years was definitely working overtime as she managed to clamp down on her instinctive urge to shout something particularly rude as she surreptitiously sneakedbehind the ornate fluttering curtains in the back and deliberately swore after making sure that no one was within earshot. “Bloody Mr. Perfect!” Anger and frustration weaved inside her grating at her nerves and making her feel suffocated at the familiar cream walls and arched hallways that were now adorned with yellow curtains and vivid flower ensembles. It was just like a fairy tale palace. Yet every time she heard someone gushing over it, there was this vehement urge to push them off the second-floor balcony. It was all yellow and it caused her a headache. They were the Perfect Pair, people called them. From the local gossip to the social gatherings; all…