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The bedroom overlooked the Aegean Sea.
Somewhere far from New York, far from Constance, far from camera flashes and press briefings, Monet and Adelaide watched the waves break in silence. The villa they'd chosen—secluded and sun-soaked—smelled like lavender and warm stone. There were no stylists, no interviews, no whispers.
Just the air, the sky, and them.
For now.
Adelaide sat curled in a linen robe on the terrace, legs tucked beneath her, a paperback of Baldwin open but unread in her lap. Her eyes had been on the water for twenty minutes. She hadn't spoken since breakfast.
Monet gave her space.
She always did now.
Therapy had taught her that love wasn't always about closeness. Sometimes it was about giving someone enough room to exhale.
"Can I sit?" Monet asked softly.
Adelaide nodded without turning. "It's your terrace too."
She said it without venom. Just matter-of-fact.
Still, it stung.
Monet lowered herself into the cushioned chair across from her, watching her with quiet intent. The wind tousled Adelaide's hair. She didn't bother taming it.
"This view's insane," Monet offered gently. "Makes the Hamptons look like Staten Island."
A faint twitch of the lips. Almost a smile.
Almost.
Adelaide turned a page, not reading. "You sound like Luna."
Monet grinned, grateful for any crack in the ice. "High praise."
They fell into another stretch of silence, but this time, it wasn't sharp. It was soft. Companionable.
"You're different," Adelaide murmured finally.
Monet tilted her head. "Since...?"
"Since everything."
Monet considered that. "Yeah. I think I had to be."
They'd started therapy three weeks before the trip. Twice a week. Once solo, once together. Camille De Haan paid for it in full—"Reputation insurance," she'd said dryly—and Adelaide's mother, for once, hadn't protested.
"I still have nightmares sometimes," Adelaide confessed, fingers tightening around the book. "About the gala. Diana's hands on me. How my legs wouldn't work. How no one could hear me."
Monet's heart broke, as it always did.
"I hear you now," she said softly. "Every time. Every word."
Adelaide finally looked at her. Her eyes were rimmed in pink, lashes damp from whatever tears had already come and gone.
