We drink. The fire pops. Outside, the lights are still dancing, visible through our glass ceiling like a private show.
The door opens, and Rayana sweeps in with cold air and champagne-bright energy, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glittering.
“Girls’ night continues!” she announces, producing yet another bottle from somewhere. “I brought reinforcements.”
“Where were you?” The question comes out sharper than I intended.
Rayana’s smile doesn’t waver. “Discussing logistics with Knox. Boring stuff. Nothing to worry about.”
“What kind of logistics?”
“The boring kind.” She settles into an armchair and kicks off her boots. “Switzerland. My mother’s grave. When we might be able to fit it into his schedule. He’s resistant, predictably, but I’m persistent. It’ll work out.”
I should let it go.
