Damien had whisked Aria away from the television studio to a French bistro tucked away in the Upper East Side for a quiet, intimate breakfast. After she had inhaled a plate of truffle-infused eggs and a desperately needed double espresso, Damien had taken her by surprise.
He had suddenly asked if she wanted to go for a walk.
Now, Aria was strolling through the winding, cobblestone paths of the Botanical Gardens across the street, the morning sun beating down warmly on her shoulders. The sky above was a brilliant shade of blue, and a cool, crisp autumn breeze ruffled the edges of her rose-gold hair.
It was perfect. It was a sensory masterpiece of blooming hydrangeas and sweet-smelling jasmine.
It was also very... empty.
Aria stopped in the middle of a sprawling stone walkway, looking around the lush green park. There wasn't a single tourist. No joggers, or rogue pigeons, or a nanny pushing a stroller. There was no one.
