The rooftop buzzes—laughter, crystal clinks, a DJ spinning slow enough for conversation, fast enough for glances. She holds her White 10 like it’s part of the outfit: citrus-bright, peachy and perfumed with grapefruit.
“THIS PARTY NEEDED ME,”she says, half-joking but entirely true.

He offers her a bite of lobster, eyes on the way she licks lemon meringue from her finger. The wine lifts everything—bitterness softened, sweetness sharpened—a glow that clings to her like an afterthought of summer.

She leans closer, voice low and lazy.
“WE SHOULD NEVER DRINK CHEAP THINGS AGAIN.”And in that moment, there is no guilt in grandeur—only elegance, effortlessly devoured.