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It could almost be considered Machiavellian, if one were to ascribe such a term to drinking wine in one's own apartment in the middle of the afternoon instead of working. Aria certainly liked to.
Certainly, how she managed to pay her bills was something of an enigma. On one hand she hardly worked, but on the other, she was still here - pouring herself a second glass because, hell, it was Tuesday. Tuesdays were always difficult.
There was a reason why. She was fairly certain she wrote piece about it that outlined the reasoning perfectly. She wanted to say it had been published in an issue of Vanity Fair, but she didn't know for certain. She didn't subscribe to Vanity Fair.
As she took a long gulp of Pinot Grigio, she thought about what she would do with the rest of her day. She had already gone to the zoo and then ate lunch at a vegan bakery, even though they did not want you to actually stay and eat the food you bought there. It was nonsense as far as Aria was concerned. But, after all, it was Tuesday, so it was to be expected.
I haven't been to a museum recently, she thought to herself, downing the rest of the glass. I should really check in, see how my pieces are doing.
Standing up, slipped on her bright yellow wedges and picked a bag from the closet in the entryway. She checked her watch and nodded to herself. "I have enough time before the dinner, I don't have to rush," She murmured to herself, pulling a compact out of her purse and checking her lipstick.
A few moments later, she strutted out of her apartment with a confidence that her younger self would have been unable to conceive. For someone who's gone through as much trauma as she has, it's almost unimaginable that she'd be able to walk around without constantly looking over their shoulder.
But this was her reward. She had arrived, and soon the whole world would know the name Aria Marie Montgomery.
She'd make damn sure of that.