Her snort says I’m still an amateur compared to her. “Is this about Bobbi Bright?”
I consider denying it for a second. I’m good at lying, having inherited the ability from my mother. Polygraphs and barbiturates are powerless against her—or me. Torture is basically futile since we both have incredibly high pain thresholds. Not only that, when our bodies have had enough, they start to register pain as some kind of weird high. Mom says it’s convenient, but I think it’s unnatural. Still, it’s preferable to screaming and writhing like most people.
But if she suspects I’m lying, she’s going to poke her nose into my business until she’s satisfied, a.k.a. until she’s proven correct.
“When the plane was going down and I was facing possible death, I didn’t really feel anything. I vaguely thought I’d miss my brothers—but I was confident you’d come up with a good reason for why I wasn’t around anymore. You always have a good cover story.”
She sips her chardonnay, her unblinking eyes on mine.
“My mind emptied, and I couldn’t decide if I should care whether I lived or died. Then I thought about a birthday cake Bobbi made for me.” I give Mom a small, empty smile. The cake wasn’t the only thing on my mind. I also remembered Bobbi’s sweet smile. As I gazed at her beautiful face, for the first time in my life I was glad to have been born, and I told her so. The rose that spread across her cheeks was mesmerizing, and my heart thudded as though it yearned to leave the confines of my chest and run to its true master.
And my heart pumping hard on that plane with black smoke billowing out of its engines was just like that time, but it was more of a mourning that she wasn’t going to smile at me like that anymore. She might not even miss me. Hell, she might go out dancing when she heard I was dead.
The possibility was soul-crushing, even though I definitely gave her just cause.
I was exasperated with myself as the plane dipped lower. If I missed her so much that she was the only one on my mind when my plane was nosediving, why was I staying away?
If I survived this, I’d go see her, I vowed. I didn’t know what I’d do next, but I’d go say hello. If she felt nothing for me…
Well, I’d deserve that. But one step at a time, and first things first.
I survived the spectacular crash that wasn’t covered in the media. And returned to the States in one piece.
“I just wanted to have her cake again.” A lie, but one with enough truth to sound plausible. Plus, Mom is aware of my carb addiction.
“You’re eating bread from her bakery. I special ordered it from Bobbi’s Sweet Things.”
I pause for a moment, wondering if Mom has some ulterior motive. But her face betrays nothing. I take another bite, savor it. It’s amazing bread, with thick crust and perfectly soft inside. It tastes even better knowing it’s Bobbi’s. “Thank you. But bread isn’t cake,” I say between bites.
“You didn’t want it before.”
“I was on a diet.”
She narrows her eyes. “Mike Swain and his fiancée had nothing to do with it?”
My gut does that tight and uncomfortable twist it did when I first heard of their deaths. Fear runs its fingers up my spine. It’s all I can do to not shudder. I bite into the bread to buy some time.
I meant it when I told Bobbi I’d come by for the bakery opening, but then Mom called at the last minute to have me dispatch some terrorist trying to get his hands on a dirty nuke. I told her to have another asset handle it, but she said that wasn’t possible. Something ugly had happened to Mike Swain, the one who was supposed to do the job. His face was removed, and his fiancée raped and shot—collateral damage. Their deaths hit close to home.
The fiancée had tried to flee. She was just a civilian, but the assholes didn’t care. An image of Bobbi’s honey-gold hair spread around in a pool of blood with her dark eyes staring blankly haunted me as I read the report.
I felt secretly relieved and ironically unwanted that Bobbi didn’t text or call to ream me out for breaking my word. It’s like my absence didn’t bother her. But I didn’t dare contact her because I had no clue what to tell her.
Hey, sorry, someone got killed along with his fiancée, and it sort of messed me up. Oh, how’d that happened? It was a hit. But you know… Things like that happen all the time, they don’t even report it on the news, ha ha ha…
Yeah, try to explain why a carefree billionaire wildlife photographer thinks the possibility of getting gunned down with his significant other is a thing. Not even I can come up with a good story for that. The only sensible solution was to stay away—or so I thought.
But my biggest regret when that plane was plunging was breaking so many promises to Bobbi. And I would’ve given anything to be able to see her again.
“Things have changed. I think of cake, I have to have it. You’ll understand, if you’re about to die and your favorite food pops into your head. We give prisoners whatever they want before they’re executed.”
“So? You weren’t being executed, and Bobbi is a civilian.”
Guess she didn’t buy my bullshit about wanting cake.
“You’ll get restless,” she adds. “You always do.”
“Then I’ll be back. But until then, let me have my cake.”
