Riley’s POV
The Mercedes glided through Manhattan traffic with Aria at the wheel, and I tried to remember how to breathe normally.
I’d spent the past week in a state of escalating panic, studying Erica’s phone like it held the secrets to the universe. Photos of previous spa visits. Reviews of Maison de Tranquille she’d posted on some exclusive members-only app. Text exchanges with Aria about treatments and therapists and which massage oil blends were best.
I’d made notes. Actual notes, like I was cramming for finals.
Hot stone massage - Erica’s favorite (but skipping due to C-section)
Seaweed wrap with lavender
Prefers eucalyptus in steam room
Always books with Marcus
Regular customer for 3+ years
The notes felt pathetic now, sitting in my carefully organized brain while my hands
