“It’s okay, Raine. I shouldn’t have. Forgive me.” He bows his head to me.
“Uh, there’s nothing to forgive.”
He leans back in the leather town car seat. “I feel the same way. You are beautiful and smart, Raine. But I shouldn’t have kissed you. My apologies.”
“Because Evander kissed me?”
“No, this has nothing to do with my—with Evander.”
Then it has something to do with Kieren? But I’m not going to say it. I touch my swollen lips and turn back to the passing scenery. We’re definitely entering the city proper. “Are we almost there?”
“Yes,” Roark says. The car turns into a parking lot. The street is mostly businesses and restaurants. “We’re here.” He jumps out and opens the door for me, taking my hand. I bring my bag with my papers but leave my folders behind.
“Thank you, Percy,” I say to the darkened front window.
“This way.” Roark takes off with his long strides. Leo gave me the address. I check it on my phone, confirming we’re at the right place.
“This looks like a restaurant.” I slow my focus, going from him to the number on the building.
“It is. Leopold made an arrangement to talk to the agent here instead of having to go into the government building.”
“Okay,” I say slowly.
A maître d’ stands at the front. “Ah, Mr. Lang,” he sayswith a French accent. “Your party is waiting for you. Follow me.”
The rest of the restaurant is empty, even though it’s lunchtime. He leads us into a private dining room to the side. The place smells wonderful.
A middle-aged woman in a beige suit sits at a table in the middle of the room. She has a glass of water, bread crumbs on the table tell me she has already eaten. She stands when she sees us approach. “Mr. Lang. Nice to see you again.”
“Same. This is Raine Fischer. Raine, this is Berit Hoff-Larsen.”
“Yes, thank you for coming all the way to Zurich with your paperwork.” Her red bob falls to the sides of her cheeks. She’s got a government ID attached to her suit collar. I’m not an expert on Swiss IDs—or any IDs, for that matter—but it looks real.
“Of course. I apologize. I really thought I had filled everything out fully. I’ve been taught to pay attention to details. I’m really shocked that I messed something up.” I leave off the my-father’s-a-lawyer portion of the story. That tends to come off as a threat, when I don’t mean it to at all.
“Oh, your paperwork was done very well. Better than most. You were selected for a random interview. It’s a way of double-checking both you and our system. I’m sure this will go smoothly.”
“Okay.” It’s like a weight lifts off my shoulders. I was never in trouble in school—well, not until my parents pulled funding during the fall semester of my senior year—but I can imagine it would’ve felt like that.
The next twenty minutes fly by.
“I think that’s all I need,” Berit says, giving Roark an oddlook. One I can’t figure out. It makes me oddly jealous, though.
“Really, that wasn’t too bad.”
“Exactly. If you want to extend your stay, make sure you follow protocols.” Berit tucks her computer into her bag and shakes my hand and then Roark’s. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“How is Arthur?”
“He’s good.”
“And the kids?”
“Growing like weeds. My oldest is a good foot taller than I am now. Thank you for asking.” She heads for the door and waves when she makes her way out.
“She was nice,” I say. “I couldn’t place her accent, though. It didn’t sound French, German, or Swiss.”
“Norwegian. She’s lived here for thirty years or so, though.”
