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Later that night, as the city lights stretched like golden veins beneath the velvet sky, Adelaide stood still for a moment in front of the private terminal at Teterboro Airport.
It hadn't clicked until now.
"You booked us a jet," she whispered, eyes darting between the discreet De Haan security detail and the matte black Gulfstream G700 behind them, its stairs lit up like the entrance to a dream.
Monet, in a black trench coat and gold-rimmed sunglasses (even at night), arched a brow. "What, you thought we were flying commercial?"
Adelaide blinked. "I thought we were flying... nowhere."
Monet gave a soft laugh and gently took her hand. "I told you I was serious about this break. No Gossip Girl, no school, no headlines. Just us."
Adelaide's fingers tightened around hers.
"I thought Tunisia might help clear your head," Monet continued. "And I booked out our first few days. A villa. Tour guides. A little private access to some museums, nothing crazy."
Adelaide turned to her slowly. "You remembered I said I wanted to visit the Arab Spring archives."
Monet gave her a knowing smile. "Of course I remembered. You only spent twenty minutes explaining how they cataloged revolutionary graffiti."
Adelaide flushed. "Okay, maybe I was a little excited."
"You were adorable." Monet stepped closer, tucking a strand of Adelaide's hair behind her ear. "I loved it."
Before Adelaide could respond, Monet squeezed her hand and tugged her toward the jet. "Come on, before I decide we should go to Rome instead."
They were the only passengers on board. The cabin was impossibly sleek—cream leather seats, mahogany paneling, warm lighting. Soft jazz played low in the background, and a tray of sparkling water and chocolate-covered strawberries awaited them at their seats.
Adelaide sank into her window seat, momentarily overwhelmed.
"Monet," she whispered again. "You didn't have to—"
"I wanted to." Monet sank into the seat beside her, unlacing her boots and tossing off her coat. "This isn't just about spoiling you. It's about taking a breath. Together."
Adelaide leaned her head on Monet's shoulder. "Then breathe with me."
The jet lifted smoothly, the city disappearing below them in a blur of neon and memory. By the time they hit cruising altitude, Monet had pulled a soft throw blanket over their legs, cued up Casablanca on the large screen, and ordered chamomile tea for Adelaide.
"Are you seriously watching a black-and-white film on a jet I booked for you?" Monet teased.
Adelaide smiled sleepily. "I figured if we're going to Tunisia, I might as well set the tone. Romance, rebellion, trench coats."
