Celeste was a bit tipsy by the time she returned home. Rodger had sent another trusted car to take Amara home, while he brought her straight home.
The night air clung faintly to her dress,and the scent of wine was still lingering on her lips as she climbed the stairs, with her heels clicking lightly against the polished wood.
Her head swam faintly. It was not too much, but it was enough for the world to tilt whenever she turned too fast.
She smiled anyway, a loose, floating sort of smile that slipped onto her lips without reason, perhaps left behind from Amara's laughter, or perhaps from the quiet spark of the diamond still circling her finger.
She walked into her room, dropped her bag onto the lamp stand, and sank down onto the edge of the bed. Her fingers itched for her phone, and when she finally pulled it out, she paused.
Eight missed calls.
