The hum of the road was the only sound between them. Claire leaned back in the passenger seat, hair pulled loose, dress bunched awkwardly at her thighs. Lucas drove one-handed, wrist resting on the wheel, still in that sharp black suit from the shoot. His other hand tapped lightly against the console to a beat only he could hear.
They were both tired. Not the kind of tired that came from lack of sleep—this one came from holding too much in for too long.
The photoshoot had gone better than expected. Smiles, headlines, a whisper of good press on the way. They had played their parts perfectly. No blood. No threats. Just a shiny, happy lie wrapped in silk.
Claire glanced at him. "You know, I still think you should've smiled more."
Lucas smirked, eyes on the road. "What? I did."
"That wasn't a smile. That was the face of a man wondering how fast he can kill someone without staining the rug."
"That's still my smile."
She laughed, real and unfiltered.
