Luna stared at Rachel.
Luna stared hard.
Not politely. Not casually. Not the kind of glance you brush off with a smile and a blush.
No—he stared.
Rachel tilted her head, caught mid-sip of peach tea, her brows knitting ever so slightly above her silk mask. "What?"
Luna didn't answer. His eyes were too wide. Too searching.
Rachel blinked once, then again—then slowly, a sly grin began to tug at the corners of her mouth.
"Oh," she said, the sound blooming into a laugh. "Ohhh."
She leaned back in her chair, one arm thrown over the seat like a queen settling into her throne. "I do a very good impression of my cousin, don't I?"
Luna opened his mouth. Then closed it.
Rachel hummed, lips twitching. "Too good?"
"You sound like him," Luna whispered.
Rachel's brow arched. "I was doing a voice, darling. I'm a woman of many talents, remember?"
"You're really good at that voice."
Rachel sipped her tea, calm as ever. "I've had a lifetime to perfect my cousin's drawl. It's practically muscle memory at this point."
But Luna wasn't letting it go. He leaned forward now, elbows on the table, curiosity glowing like a match tip.
"Do you two… look alike?"
Rachel hesitated.
Just for a beat.
A beat too long.
She smiled again, but her fingers tapped once on the table—a tell, if Luna had been watching closely enough.
He was.
"I mean," she said with a breezy laugh, "Ryan and I are related. You know how those Lovewin genes are. Tall. Dangerous. Ridiculously symmetrical."
"Maybe," Luna said slyly, "I should do a little photo comparison."
Rachel rolled her eyes. "You'll find out sooner or later anyway."
"So you do look alike?"
She held his gaze. "Fine. Yes. Ryan and I look... quite similar. Especially around the eyes. And the mouth. And—well, you'll see."
Luna hummed. "That explains a few things."
Rachel narrowed her eyes. "Such as?"
"Even with the mask on I can tell…Well… you're both hot."
Rachel preened. "Obviously."
"But you're also both kind of…" Luna paused. "Intense."
Rachel leaned in across the table, resting her chin on her gloved hands, her gaze gleaming like sunlight off a dagger. "It's not a secret, really. Anyone who's seen us side-by-side notices it. I just usually don't announce it to people who are sleeping with him."
Luna blushed scarlet.
"I didn't— I wasn't trying—"
She laughed again, not cruelly, just… amused. Delighted, even.
Luna cleared his throat. "Okay, then… is the person you're into shorter than you?"
Rachel raised a brow.
"Maybe a little less… dominant?"
A pause.
Then, slow and sultry, she leaned forward on her elbows, propping her chin on her hands. Her eyes sparkled behind the veil of her lashes.
"Sweetheart," she murmured, voice purring low and dangerous, "no matter who I'm with… I'm always the Domme."
Luna swallowed hard.
His mind went blank. His knees might've knocked together beneath the table. He nodded meekly, eyes darting to the napkins and utensils before him on the table.
The timing was divine: the waiter arrived just then with a tray full of grace and grilled vegetables, setting the plates down with a flourish before fading into the garden haze.
They ate in a rhythm of practiced ease. Conversation flowed to safer shores: the upcoming joint art exhibition, canvas sizes, title debates, what snacks would be allowed at the gallery. Rachel described a baroque-inspired dress she planned to wear, and Luna offered to paint miniature versions of the show posters.
But now and then, when Rachel glanced up—
Luna was staring again.
He would glance away immediately, but Rachel could feel him staring. The minute she looked away, Luna's eyes drifted back to her face.
To her hands, the way they moved with quiet command.
To the way her laugh echoed just like his.
And he couldn't quite tell—
Not anymore—
Who he was looking at.
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