The black limousine glided smoothly through the evening streets of Paris, its engine purring softly beneath the soothing strains of jazz. The city lights flickered across the tinted windows, casting fleeting golden reflections inside the car.
Anaïs had a deep love for jazz—she always claimed it was music for the body, while classical music was for the soul. And as she aged, she often said, it was the body that needed nourishment the most.
Anna didn't mind the music at all. In fact, after nearly a year in Madame Garrel's company, she had grown so accustomed to it that she could hardly go a day without hearing at least a few melodies to lift her spirits.
Tonight, the velvety notes of the saxophone drifting through the cabin were the only thing keeping her nerves in check.
