Page 99 of Vacation with the Ice Queen

"Just a little." Lila smiled through the emotion tightening her throat. "Happy tears."

Relief softened Serena's expression. "For a second, I thought I'd finally overshot the mark."

"Never."

They settled on cushions by the western-facing windows, where the sun had begun its final descent into the ocean. Serena poured wine into waiting glasses, her movements precise yet relaxed in a way they hadn't been when she first arrived on the island.

"To the third sunset of our four days," she said quietly, raising her glass.

The subtle acknowledgment of their dwindling time together hung between them—not as a shadow, but as a reminder to savor every moment.

"May it be the most beautiful yet," Lila replied, clinking her glass against Serena's.

As if responding to their toast, the sky began to transform, clouds catching fire in brilliant oranges and pinks that reflected across the water's surface. They watched in comfortable silence, shoulders touching, wine forgotten as nature staged its nightly spectacle.

"I never watched sunsets in New York," Serena said eventually, her voice soft in the dimming light. "I might see the sky changing color through my office window, but I'd never just... stop and look."

Lila turned to study her profile, memorizing how the fading light gilded her silver-streaked hair and softened the angles of her face. "And now?"

"Now I'm not sure I'll ever see another sunset without thinking of this island. Of you." Serena met her gaze,vulnerability clear in her eyes. "You've changed how I see everything, Lila."

The simple truth between them needed no embellishment. Lila leaned forward, pressing her lips to Serena's in a kiss that tasted of wine and salt air and bittersweetness.

When they separated, the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving a watercolor wash of purples and deep blues in its wake. Outside the observatory's windows, the first stars had begun to appear, pinpricks of light against the darkening canvas of night.

"Ready to see them up close?" Serena asked, nodding toward the telescope.

As darkness wrapped around the island, they took turns peering into the cosmos, the observatory's powerful telescope revealing wonders invisible to the naked eye. Lila gasped when Saturn's rings came into perfect focus, and again when a spiral galaxy materialized like a ghostly pinwheel in the eyepiece.

"It's incredible," she whispered, straightening from the telescope to find Serena watching her rather than the heavens. "What?"

"Just capturing mental photographs," Serena said, echoing Lila's words from earlier. "Moments I want to remember exactly as they are."

The night deepened around the observatory, stars multiplying across the velvet sky as they shared the dinner Serena had arranged. The meal was simple by luxury resort standards—local seafood, fresh vegetables, and flavors that complemented rather than overwhelmed—but somehow perfect for the intimate setting.

"Tell me something about yourself that isn't in your professional bio," Lila said, curling into the cushions with her wine glass balanced on her knee. "Something most people don't know."

Serena considered the question, her expression thoughtful in the dim lighting. "I collect music boxes."

"Music boxes?" Lila hadn't expected this revelation. "Like the little ballerina kind?"

"Some, yes. But mostly antique ones with complicated mechanisms." Serena's fingers traced the rim of her glass, her eyes distant. "I have seventeen, each from a different country. They're the only objects in my apartment that serve no practical purpose."

Lila tried to imagine Serena's Manhattan penthouse—all clean lines and perfect efficiency—with these small, whimsical contraptions scattered throughout.

"Why music boxes?" she asked.

"My grandmother had one," Serena replied, a softness entering her voice that Lila rarely heard. "When I visited as a child, she'd let me wind it before bed. It played Debussy's 'Clair de Lune.'" She smiled faintly. "My parents' house was always silent unless someone was speaking. But at Grandma Rose's, there was music."

The glimpse into Serena's childhood touched Lila deeply, this small explanation for why a woman defined by practicality would collect something whose only purpose was beauty.

"Do you play them?" she asked.

"Every Sunday morning," Serena admitted. "I wind one and listen to the entire melody while drinking tea. Seven minutes of completely unscheduled time."

"Seven whole minutes?" Lila teased gently. "You rebel."

Serena laughed, the sound echoing in the domed space. "Baby steps."

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