Renee, the flight attendant, met us at the door with two flutes of champagne. She passed me one. “Happy birthday, Ms. Holland.”
It wasn’t until tomorrow, but rather than correct her, I smiled and took the champagne. “Thank you.”
The privacy curtain that led from the galley to the seating area was closed. She pushed it open so I could enter and…
“Surprise!”
My eyes widened. “Oh my God, Miles! What are you doing here?”
He wrapped his arms around my waist, lifted, and swung me around. “You didn’t think I’d miss your birthday eve, did you?”
My best friend set me down and Rodrigo, his boyfriend of almost a year, hugged me. “Happy birthday, Sutton.”
I turned to the man behind me. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this.”
“I knew you felt bad you wouldn’t be with your best friend for your usual birthday-eve celebration.”
Ihadfelt bad, though I hadn’t said anything. That was one of the things I loved most about Jagger—he knew me. He paid attention to the small stuff—the way my hands fidgeted when I was nervous, the way sometimes my silence said more than my words. Even when he had a million things going on in his chaotic life, he always knew what I needed.
Jagger kissed my cheek. “Don’t get too excited. They’re only coming for two nights. I’m not willing to share you more than that.”
I smiled and whispered, “Thank you. This was so thoughtful.”
After we took off and leveled out at cruising altitude, Jagger went in the back to use the bathroom. As soon as he was gone, Miles slipped into his seat. He weaved his fingers with mine.
“I could get used to flying private.”
“You might need to fly this way soon so your boyfriend doesn’t get flanked by teenyboppers. I noticed yesterday that his Instagram had over a million followers already.”
“I know. And the movie hasn’t even come out yet.”
Miles’s love had landed the lead role in a movie adaptation of some big romantasy book series. Rodrigo was twenty-six, but he had a boyish charm and could passfor nineteen. He’d become a celebrity almost overnight. The teenage girls went gaga for him.
“Can’t say I blame them,” Miles continued. “I mean, look how adorable the man is. He has dimples when he’s sleeping, for God’s sake.”
We looked over at Rodrigo. He had a cheetah-print travel pillow hooked around his neck and was currently dozing with a slight smile on his face. And he did, in fact, still have dimples. I smiled. “I’m happy for you.”
“I’m happy for both of us,” Miles said. “What a difference a year makes.”
I tried not to think back to anything related to a year ago, anything related to Silas Clive. But I hadn’t been able to help it lately since my birthday was approaching. One year ago tomorrow, the card had arrived, setting off the chain of events that had finally allowed me to put the nightmare I’d been stuck in since my first year of college behind me.
Jagger had gotten lucky, and the police had ultimately decided not to charge him with assault. But Silas? Not so much. Two days after the police took him out of his Brooklyn apartment in handcuffs, he was charged with two counts of rape. But that was only the beginning of his troubles. Once his face had been flashed all over the news, three other women came forward who had never reported being assaulted. Two months later, he took a plea deal of sixty years in prison, rather than facing twenty-five years for each victim. He deserved life, but I was relieved not to have to testify.
Jagger came back from the bathroom and thumbed to the empty chair across the aisle that Miles had been seated in. “Beat it.”
I frowned. “Jagger…”
Undeterred, Miles stood with a grin. “It’s okay. With that face, he can get away with almost anything. Especially when he’s being possessive about my girl.”
Jagger settled back into his seat. “When do you have to be back at the office?”
“Monday, a week from tomorrow. Why?”
“Because I want to make a stop on the way home next Sunday.”
“Where?”
He passed me his cell phone. There was a text from Bridget Nelson, the wife of Jagger’s marine buddy.
