Emilia Knight always chose elegance as her armor.
The café she'd picked was no exception—Velisse, nestled in the heart of the city's glass-and-marble financial district. Ornate brass chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings. A harpist played in the corner beneath a wall of flowering vines. Waitstaff glided silently across marble floors, carrying trays with lavender pastries and gold-leaf espresso.
Emilia sat in a private alcove, legs crossed, eyes concealed behind rose-tinted sunglasses. Her blazer was cream silk, matching her lipstick. She didn't look like someone plotting a scandal. She looked like she'd already won.
Ian Ford arrived late, sullen in a dark coat, eyes darting. His steps faltered when he saw her smile.
"You look nervous," she said, stirring her tea with deliberate grace. "Is your conscience acting up?"
"No," Ian said sharply, sliding into the seat opposite her. "Just don't like public places."
