Without speaking another word, he slips into the driver’s seat, fires up the ignition, then commences our solemn trek to a private airstrip in the middle of nowhere.
It’s a somber, unsatisfying twenty minutes filled with tension and unvoiced questions. I can feel the tension radiating out of Rocco, smell the unease slicking his skin, but he remains quiet. That is as foreign as Dimitri not responding to my attempt to goad him and proves what should have dawned on me three days ago. My relationship with Dimitri was nothing but an arrangement to improve the odds of him getting his daughter back.
For some stupid reason, I’m okay with that. I never wanted to steal him from Fien, and I most certainly have no intention to do that now. I just wish I could be a part of their unit. I’ve always felt a little lost. I didn’t experience that once while in Dimitri’s realm. Even when he threatened to kill me or hurt those I love, I still felt wanted.
My watering eyes stray from the scenery whizzing by the window when Rocco shifts down the gears in the Range Rover. As stated, a gleaming state-of-the-art private jet sits halfway out of an airport hangar in a town bordering India’s suburban mansion. It’s fueled up and ready to go, meaning I only need to farewell Rocco with a kiss, and I’ll be done with this life.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Rocco asks before my lips have even left his cheek. “I’m not a fan of flying, but if it saves me facing Dimitri’s wrath for a couple of hours, I’m all for it.”
I’d laugh at his mumbled comment if I believed it held an ounce of truth to it. Dimitri would have to be jealous to respond to our horrible scam to make him jealous, and we both know that shipped sailed the instant our ruse was implemented with only the slightest hiccup.
No one was prepared for me to be actually pregnant—not even me.
With my shoulders hanging as low as my mood, I reply, “I’m only going to sleep the entire flight, so why bother?”
Stealing Rocco’s chance to reply to my lie, I press a second peck to his cheek, snatch my clutch purse from the floor, then exit his stationary vehicle.
I don’t look back while climbing the stairs of the private jet. I’m not a movie starlet, and this isn’t a fairy tale.
When I break into the cabin that smells of wine and freshly baked cookies, a friendly voice greets me. “Good evening, Ms. Grace. We’re pleased to have you aboard this evening.”
“Thank you,” I reply to the air stewardess, truly grateful for the sincerity in her tone. It is the nicest one I’ve had all week.
After removing my denim jacket, she folds it over her arm. “Can I get you something to drink? Perhaps a snack?”
“Umm…” I take a moment to consider the demands of my aching stomach before shaking my head. “I should probably take care of my sweaty body and face before eating. Is there a restroom I can freshen up in?”
Gratitude for perks I have no need to become accustomed to smack into me when the pretty brunette dips her chin. “I turned down the bedding in your suite earlier today. It’s ready as requested.” She steps closer to me, her eyes genuinely friendly. “While you freshen up, I’ll instruct the pilot to finalize last checks. We should be in the air within the hour.”
“Thank you,” I reply through a yawn.
Once I have my purse dumped onto one of the dozen or more plush leather chairs lining the aisle, I head for the highly varnished door the stewardess pointed to when she mentioned my ‘suite.’ My steps are sluggish and slow, weighed down by exhaustion no amount of rest will cure. I honestly feel ill, like more than heartbreak is responsible for the shards of pain sluicing my veins.
The room at the back of the jet is small but fancy with silk sheets and hundreds of scatter cushions. I’m tempted to crawl into the middle of the mattress, roll into a ball, and pretend the world doesn’t exist, but I need to use the facilities first. My face is covered with gunk I haven’t worn since I thought black mascara and white powder would stop the uncomfortable gawks of my high school professor. It worked for almost a month, my ruse only ruined when he stumbled upon one of my erotic drawings in my school notepad.
I usually reserved my sketching for home, but Professor Lewis’s constant after-school detentions saw me switching things up. I don’t know what happened to him. He was constantly there, then he reported my artwork to my grandmother, and he disappeared not long after that. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now it seems a little odd.
Too curious to discount, I do a final wipe over my face before entering the main part of the cabin. “Smith…” I wait a few seconds, aware he’s always listening, but also know I’m not the only person he keeps tabs on—ifhe’s still keeping tabs on me. “Smith—”
“Is handling other matters right now.”
With my heart beeping in my neck, I shift on my feet to face the voice that froze my heart. Since his Italian accent was heavier than I’ve heard it before, I assumed it belonged to Dimitri’s father. If the dangerous pump of Dimitri’s nostrils is anything to go by, I’m kind of wishing it was still him. Dimitri is bristling with anger, and once again, all his focus is on me.
I hate myself for running. I pledged on the way here that the rod in my back won’t bend for anyone. But that doesn’t count when the man you love is looking at you like he wants to kill you.
Besides, I’m not running from him. I am running away from what he represents. More than once he hurt me, yet all I want to do is smooth the groove between his brows with my lips.
That makes me as unhinged as Dimitri’s growl when he slams the door shut before I get close to darting through it, then crowds me against it. I’m scared shitless, but for some stupid reason, I relish his big brooding frame looming over me. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t be here. If he were done with me, he wouldn’t have needed to check that Rocco drove away after dropping me off.
As I consider the possibilities of what his arrival means, my heart picks up speed. Will he beg me to stay? Will he tell me he’s sorry? Will he introduce me to his daughter instead of pretending he hasn’t noticed me watching their connection from afar?
The possibilities are endless, I just never considered this one.
With his big hand cupping the little pouch in the lower half of my stomach from eating too many carbs the past week, and his lips squashed against my ear, he whispers five words more important than any, “I cared. I still do.”
35
Dimitri
