"The whole world's got cheese," was her indignant response, though it was marred by the smile he'd coaxed out of her. Visions of vacation filled her thoughts -- running barely clad over the grass in the rain, sprawling in the sun with a floppy hat and the ocean nipping at her ankles, gorging on exotic cheeses and beers and breads, fucking in the pink glow of a bright summer sunset. He'd get no complaints from her at the visual buffet, but she knew, when she ventured back into the realm of reality, that the chances of a vacation for more than a day or two were impossible. They were needed. Especially as perpetual grind of resentment sped up, as the nation felt pressure from within and without. They'd be lucky to make it a weekend without returning to a spray of blood and dissidence, neither of which seemed unusual, or even irrational, these days.
"You can come away with me," she murmured, instinctively flipping the power balance, though she was here, separated from the floor only by his arms. "I'll buy the floppiest hat the continent's ever seen. Let's go to Madagascar."