As apology for ditching the conference—and that teasing tickle ambush—Hellen whisked Emily to La Lune d'Or, the city's whisper-only restaurant famed for velvet ropes and impossible reservations; Hellen had locked theirs three weeks prior, pulling strings from supplier dinners and old favours.
Evening draped the sleek black SUV in twilight indigo as they cruised coastal highway, moon swelling fat and silver above crashing waves, city lights twinkling distant like scattered pearls.
"You've removed your bandages," Emily noted from passenger seat, floral maxi pooling elegant over her knees, emerald eyes flicking to Hellen's hands on the wheel—faint pink scars tracing forearms like faded lightning.
"Yes. They were really troubling me." Hellen flexed her fingers subtle on leather grip, drawing a deep steadying breath, calming the storm still simmering from office heat.
"You lied to me then?"
"What lie did I tell you?"
