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“Totally,” Enrico parrots back with a decisive nod and a laugh. “I’m sure of it. Prolly a nine-pack as well.”
“Like Lego Batman,” I say, remembering Enrico’s earlier reference to loving movies.
“Bet he’s got his own lair like Lego Batman too.”
“Mmm… hmm…” I nod in agreement.
We watch as Damian—phone still glued to his ear—makes his way down the tarmac to the wide set of stairs that have been lowered just for him.
A flight attendant as beautiful and poised as Miss America stands at the bottom of the steps, her tanned legs stretching for miles, a silver tray of white cloths in her hand. I can only imagine that the cloths are warm, damp, and scented with something lovely. He declines politely, his eyes only glancing over her momentarily.
While here I am, ogling the girl.
Hmm… manners.
I like that. If I had my notebook, I’d be jotting down questions to answer later.
Is it a Bachman thing, or is he just a gentleman? Being this close, making it this far, an air of bravery inflates my lungs.
It’s time for me to find out for myself.
eight
Damian
“I’ll be there soon,” I tell Sasha. “I’ve boarded the jet.”
“Alright. That’s good. See you soon, babe.” She gives a heavy sigh. “I’ll hold him together till you get here. But the morning after you arrive, I have to leave. I’ll take the jet.”
Sasha was my mom’s best friend. She had difficulty getting pregnant and when she finally did, she named her daughter Clara Adrianna. My mother’s name… was Adrianna. That’s how close they were.
There’s some relief knowing Sasha will be by Dad’s side until I’m in Greece.
“I understand,” I say. “I just appreciate you being there now.”
“I’m so sorry about the timing. I wish I could stay longer but Clara’s already been texting me, wanting to know when I’ll arrive back home,” she says.
“It’s not a problem, really,” I assure her.
“I have to get to Connecticut, to the Hamlet.” Sasha continues to apologize. “Paige would never forgive me if I’m not there to help plan her only daughter’s twenty-first.”
“Paige will need all the help she can get,” I say.
Paisley is Bronson and Paige’s daughter. They’re the couple that run the Hamlet, our self-sufficient town in Connecticut, the closest thing we Bachmans have to suburban life. She’s basically the king and queen’s little mafia princess. Her party will be the biggest event of the year.
It’s not just that Paisley is the princess, it’s her twenty-first birthday, a huge milestone for the women born into this family. It’s when they’re introduced to adult society, officially old enough to attend all our events.
Or to have their marriage arranged.
Paisley’s mother, Paige, is known for liking nice things. I can’t imagine how over-the-top Paisley’s inevitable wedding will be one day. I swallow back my dread, clearing my throat. “Thanks.”
“Oh, and Damian?” she says.
“Yeah?”
“Heads up.” She laughs. “The cats are back.”
“Great.” I groan. Just what I need. “Bye, Aunt Sasha.”
