Paris had always held a certain magic at night, but tonight, Marisol wasn't paying attention to the twinkling city lights, the sound of distant music, or the laughter spilling from cafés.
Her focus was entirely on Clémence.
They sat at an intimate corner table in a rooftop restaurant overlooking the Seine. A soft golden glow bathed the space, flickering candlelight reflecting in their wine glasses. The crisp evening air carried the scent of fresh bread and lavender from the floral arrangements scattered across the terrace.
Clémence, elegantly dressed in a deep blue gown that contrasted beautifully with her warm skin, was looking at her with an expression both shy and amused. Marisol had seen Clémence handle intense negotiations with an iron will, had seen her command a room with nothing more than a look, and yet here she was, nervously twisting the stem of her wine glass between her fingers.
