As she moved, the diamonds at her throat caught the light, flashing like strobe lights. She wasn't chasing a feeling she used to have; she was living the one she had earned.
“Thank you, Julian. And please, tell the band that if they play ‘Autumn Leaves’ one more time, I shall have to stage a polite coup,” she teased, her voice a rich contralto that carried over the soft clink of crystal.
“We were just debating the merits of the Amalfi coast versus a private villa in Kyoto for the solstice,” Marcus said, kissing Elena’s hand.