“I think they’re airline tickets.” My heart’s beating fast when I look up at her. “Aunt Aisha, he’s flying me and Prescott out to see him.”
“Give me those. Let me see.” She grabs them and looks them over. “What airline is this?”
“It’s, um, probably private, and those tickets are more like a message.”
She puts on her reading glasses and examines the tickets. “We’re talkin’ about that billionaire from Paris, right?”
“Mmhm.”
“Six-five. Blue eyes. Dark hair?” She purses her lips.
“Mmhm.”
My aunt looks me dead in the eye. “Start packing.”
I can’t contain my excitement and jump up and down. “He wants to see me again!”
“Well, he wouldn’t be a real man if he didn’t want to see you with his baby.”
“He doesn’t know about the baby.”
My aunt gasps. “Lake Marie Wilder, you’ll be on your own in another country when you tell a man he’s going to be a father.”
“This is a reunion. Alessio wants me back in his life, and I want to be in his life. It’s about us. What we made and will make together will flow from us. Besides, I won’t be on my own. Alessio will be there.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. It’s the holiday season. He wants us there because we’re family.”
My aunt turns over the tickets and shows me what’s written on the back. In bold red marker, it reads:
ONE-WAY
FIFTY-THREE
THE HOLIDAY SEASON
Lake
Prescott’s out of school during winter break between Christmas and New Year’s, so the timing of our trip is perfect. The entire long flight over, he hung out in the bedroom where Leo would normally be during the flight, while I tried to distract myself with reading.
The flight attendant, who I recognized from our trip to Paris, covers me with the same gray blanket and feeds me delicious manicotti. I snack on “good enough” caviar-covered hors d'oeuvres. I thought they were excellent.
The plane taxis to a stop, and after a few minutes, the exit door pops open, letting in the fresh Mediterranean air. It’s cool, but not as cold as it is in Kentucky.
Behind me, Prescott taps his foot. “Hurry up, Lake. I want to see the ocean.”
“It’s the sea.”
“Can we see it from here?”
I step outside and blissfully sigh. The sun’s just setting. It’s beautiful, perfect even. “Yes, we can.”
“Oh, wow. This is so pretty.” Prescott squeezes past me and rushes down the stairs.
“Watch your step, please.” I descend the awkward airline steps, taking care I don’t slip or trip, and once my feet hit the ground, I look for Alessio.
At the entry to the main airport, a short distance away, I spot two people. One is a tall man wearing a long black coat and a scarf that the subtle wind tosses about. He holds the hand of a boy who wears a matching outfit and carries a massive bouquet of dark red roses.
