“Yes. Under ‘Aster.’”
She checks her tablet. “Right this way.”
I follow her through the dining room to a private corner booth. The table is set for two. White linens, crystal glasses, and in the center, a single white orchid in a silver vase.
“Your guest hasn’t arrived yet,” the hostess says. “Can I get you something to drink while you wait?”
“Water, please.”
She nods and disappears.
I slide into the booth and set my purse beside me. I pull my phone out and see a text from Stefan.How’s the wedding planner meeting going?
My stomach twists. I type back with shaking thumbs,Just got here. I’ll let you know how it goes.
Take your time. No rush.
I pocket my phone and stare at the orchid. My breathing still sounds too loud even to my own ears. It’s the deafeningba-boomof my own pulse and theclick-clackof my clattering jewelry.
This is insane. Every single bit of this entire fiasco is insane.
But what choice do I have? If I don’t try, if I don’t at least attempt to broker peace between them, this war will never end. More people will get hurt. More blood will be spilled.
And our daughter will be born into a world where her father and grandmother are mortal enemies.
I can’t let that happen.
The hostess returns with my water. I thank her and take a sip. It’s ice-cold and does precisely nothing to settle my nerves. I check my phone again. 1:28 P.M. Two more minutes.
I count them in heartbeats.
At exactly one-thirty, Natalia appears.
Like the first time we met, back when I thought she was simplyGen,she’s beautiful and angelic. White suit and a perfect chignon, diamonds studs glittering in her ears, an aura of invincibility surrounding her like a cloak. When she reaches the table, she smiles. “Olivia. You came.”
She pulls me into a hug before I can stop her. It’s warm and maternal and completely disarming. I stiffen but don’t pull away.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “From the bottom of my heart, thank you for giving me a chance.”
She releases me and we both sit. The hostess appears again, takes Natalia’s drink order—sparkling water with lemon—and vanishes.
Natalia looks at me from across the table. “You look tired. How is Elena?”
“She’s recovering. The doctors say she can come home in a few days.”
“That’s wonderful news. I’m so glad she’s alright.”
I want to snap at her. Elena wouldn’t have been shot in the first place if it weren’t for her. But I bite my tongue.
“I didn’t want anyone to get hurt,” Natalia says quietly, as if reading my mind. “That was never the plan.”
“Then what was the plan?”
“To get Mikayla out. I needed to bring her somewhere safe.”
“Safe from Stefan.”
“Yes.”
