“I love you so much for this, because only at the Academy would murder be a sign of affection,” I say wryly. “But… you would all do the same thing. You would.”
“Well, I am,” Mariya says, “but Kon’s close to my age, insanely hot, and hasn’t killed any wives yet. See the difference?”
Hugging her hard, I whisper, “Some of us can’t be that lucky.”
They all insist on walking me to the twisted, battered front gates, and every step is precious, my last moments here with them.
“Don’t do this yet,” Willow whispers, linking her arm with mine. “Talk to Cormac. There’s a solution, I know there is.”
“No. There isn’t. I already told him goodbye. There’s nothing there, and there can’t be.”
Dean Christie is standing by the SUV, rather than my father.
“Malcolm is taking another business meeting,” she says, looking me over carefully. “He told your driver to get you settled on the jet and he’ll meet you there.”
“Thank you,” I nod. “I mean, thankyou,Dean. Thank you for everything. For believing in me. For trusting me.”
She pats my shoulder. “Miss Chandler, I never doubted you. Off you go now.”
With a final round of hugs, I get into the SUV. The iron gates of the Academy shut behind me and my brief, giddy moments of freedom are over.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
In which we learn the path to true love and happily ever after starts with a big-ass jet.
Mala…
When the driver pulls up to a private jet, I stare at it blankly. It isn’t my father’s. He must have bought a new one. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, I look up at the open door. I can’t see beyond the rigidly smiling flight attendant, which seems like a perfect metaphor for the rest of my life. I’ll never know what’s ahead of me until my cursed father decides it, and then my husband. Just thinking the wordhusbandmakes me ill and I sway a little.
“Miss Chandler?” The driver’s at my elbow. “We are on something of a schedule and I am instructed to get you aboard as quickly as possible.”
“Oh. Of course.” I force my feet to get moving.
The interior of the jet makes me certain it’s borrowed. As wealthy as my father is, this is beyond our means. The jet could easily carry fifty people, with huge, comfortable tan leather seats and gleaming walnut tables. There’s a long galley kitchen and afull bar with an honest-to-god chandelier over the main seating area. I can see a conference room just past this section and I suspect the doors at the very end of the jet lead to a bedroom.
This is Russian Oligarch-level wealth.
“Miss Chandler, I’m Ian. Let me make you more comfortable,” the flight attendant flutters around me. “May I take your coat?” I sit where he puts me and fold my hands in my lap. I can’t think. My body is numb, which is probably a good thing because I am nowhere near recovered from the night of the battle and everything hurts most of the time.
Poor Liam.
There’s a glass of sparkling water in front of me and I realize the flight attendant must have been back. I didn’t notice. I can feel the engines rumble to life under me, massive ones. Faintly, I hear the pilot speaking about securing the doors and I frown. Where’s my dad?
The jet taxis slowly down the runway and I’m half out of my seat. “Ian? Uh, where’s my-”
A very tall man walks into the main cabin, and it’s not my father.
“Cormac? What the hell are you doing here?”
“Shh, little fox. We’re about to take off.” He nods at the glowing seatbelt light as he seats himself across from me, pointedly clicking his seatbelt latch. He’s dressed in a dark blue suit that has to be bespoke to fit those wide shoulders of his.
“Don’t you shush me! Where’s my dad?”
He’s smiling at me pleasantly, man-spreading. I already know it’s huge, thank you very much, you Scottish asshole. Averting my gaze, I watch as the jet gracefully takes off, Inis Mor shrinking behind us.
“Is this a kidnapping?” I ask, “Are you kidnapping me right now? I’m not sure my dad’s willing to pay a really big ransom, just so you know.”
“You are worth everything a man has, and more,” he says inscrutably.
