Aria tapped the card against her palm like a poker chip.
"Thomas, question."
"Yes, Miss Smith?"
"If we're going into the city, can we pick which car we want?" She tilted her head, eyes full of faux innocence. "Something that matches our aesthetic and current mood."
Thomas's gaze shifted between us, the faintest glimmer of resignation passing through his otherwise polished expression. "Very well. I will have the garage opened. However—" his eyes landed on me, "—I would recommend something practical, considering the volume of purchases you are likely to make soon."
"Oh, we're going for drama, not practicality," Aria said before I could reply.
"Of course you are," Thomas murmured, so quietly I wasn't sure if it was for us or himself.
We followed him through another wing of the house, until the corridor spilled into a private elevator that descended directly into the garage. Even before the doors opened, the faint scent of motor oil and new leather filled the air.
