Page 32 of The Lost Guardian

“My mother didn’t take his passing well,” he admitted to her. “She was always so strong, but she and my dad had a special sort of bond. ‘True love,’ they used to say,” he added with a small smile. Ali returned it. “They were a team, a unit. It was hard for her. She sort of…shut down for a while.”

“How old were you?” Ali asked softly.

“Not that young,” he responded. “It was a couple of years ago.”

“That’s pretty young,” she answered.

Santiago shrugged. “I skipped some grades in school, went to college early. I don’t know, I guess I always felt older than my years…but younger than my peers.” He wasn’t sure why he was admitting all this to her.

Ali hmmed thoughtfully.

“Anyway, it didn’t feel right leaving my mom after that, so I spent my break packing up my father’s stuff instead of searching for lost Incan ruins.”

“Ah,” Ali said, her voice understanding. “I see.”

The plane gave a sudden lurch, and Santiago’s entire body tensed. His hands slammed down over the armrests once more, his heart pounding loudly, and he felt it in his temples, behind his collarbone, even in his teeth.

Then there was a cool, soft pressure over his wrist. He looked down between himself and Ali and saw her brown hand lying gently over his white-knuckled grip. He forced his fingers to relax, and she squeezed.

“It’s nothing to worry about.” Her voice was soft.

Santiago looked at her, so close he could make out the caramel swirls in her otherwise midnight eyes. They reminded him of the Milky Way. He couldn’t separate his gaze from hers.

Ali’s fingertips glided over his skin, and he turned his hand.

Without warning, the lights in the cabin dimmed, startling him. He pulled back.

“You should get some sleep,” Ali said, arranging the travel pillow behind her neck before reclining her chair.

Santiago imitated her, shaking out the complimentary blanket and covering himself as well. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep,” he confessed.

But soon, the hum of the engines and the gentle motion of the plane were too alluring, and he found reality giving way to slumber.

10

Before he knew it, cabin lights glared in Santiago’s face and he sat upright, rubbing sleep from his eyes. When he turned his gaze, he caught a glimpse of Ali.

At some point during the red-eye, she’d changed from her lounge set into another pair of black jeans and a denim jacket. Her top was different but still purple. She looked as alert and refreshed as if she’d spent the last hours luxuriating in a spa, not strapped to a death rocket thirty thousand feet above land.

“Buenos días,” she told him. “We’ve got about an hour before landing.”

“Good morning.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat self-consciously, squirming in his seat. “Do you mind, uh…”

How could he ask this delicately?

“Can I…” He motioned toward the lavatories. “I need to…”

Ali unbuckled and got up to stand in the aisle. How did she make scooting out of an airplane seat look graceful?

“Of course,” she answered.

Santiago rushed to the first-class bathroom, which was impressive. When he turned to wash his hands, however, a groan escaped him.

His hair—which had always been thick and wavy like his mother’s—stood straight up, pointing in all directions.

“I look like an anime character,” he muttered, cupping cold water in his hands and trying to plaster it down. It was like he’d dunked his head in a pond. With a sigh, Santi used both hands to tousle his hair into damp waves. Not terrible. At least he no longer resembled the bride of Frankenstein.

When he returned to his seat, Ali’s eyebrows raised in a quick look of surprise before she schooled her features. He couldn’t help but feel pleased. Maybe Brooke was right about him having “superhot hair.”