The moon had no business being here; it had already done its work tonight spilling its silver over tangled sheets in another penthouse across the island tracing the trembling curve of Melissa's spine and watched shadows soften, pride surrender, and two wounded hearts speak in the only language too honest for polite society:
And attended the first act with that pale, ancient indifference celestial bodies loved to pretend was dignity but while the moon had observed; it never judged nothing aloud, and by any reasonable schedule, should have moved on to illuminate some quieter corner of the night.
And yet it followed them here:
Its light threaded through the golden blaze of Downtown Paradise, slipping between towers and glass like a patient ghost, until it reached Roxanne's chevron windows and entered the penthouse.
