She settles back down. “Oh, good. Because my opinion is that if someone’s not happy in their relationship, they should either commit to working on it or end it before starting a new one.”
I nod in agreement with her response. This bodes well for her not being privy to her boyfriend’s wife.
“Are you unhappy?” she asks.
“What?” I shake my head again. “Angel, I’m not talking about me.”
“Then who?” She tilts her head. It gradually straightens, and her pupils dilate. “Me?”
I scrunch my face. “Would you want to know?”
She looks away and rubs her lips together before meeting my gaze. “John and I aren’t committed to each other. We’re just having fun.”
I lie there with my legs on her lap, awaiting her decision. I do want to protect her from harm, but sometimes people prefer harm in the future over hurt in the moment. Even if I told her the truth, she might not want to hear it.
Her chest rises and falls. She peeks at me again. “Did you see him flirting with another flight attendant?”
I shake my head.
Her eyes pool, and she leans her head back. “Okay, tell me while I’m looking up so I don’t ruin my mascara.”
I reach for her hand. “I sat next to his wife on the flight to San Francisco.”
Her head jerks to face me. Tears draw wet black lines down her cheeks. “No. He said they’d divorced a while ago.”
I shrug because I can’t make her believe it. If I were in her shoes, I wouldn’t want to believe it either. “She was traveling with him to take their homeschooled kids to Alcatraz.”
Angel releases my hand to clench at her heart. “They have kids together?”
“Yes.” My own heart twists with her pain. This is why Wyatt told me not to get involved. To protect me. When you tell the truth in love, it hurts you too.
“Did you tell her about me?”
My breath hitches at the devastation that would have come from dropping such a bomb. I’d wanted to warn my friend, not ruin a marriage. “I didn’t think that was my place.”
Angel pushes to her feet, knocking mine off the couch. I wince at the throb in my big toe, but I understand her reaction.
“I’m calling him right now.” Wild eyes. “No, I’m callingher.”
“Wait.” I reach for her arm to halt her hysterics but grab only air.
“I thought we were both consenting adults, but this is not something I consented to.” Her palms press against her cheeks. “He told me I was the first woman he’s been attracted to since his divorce. But if he’s not even divorced, then that’s probably not true either.”
Vivienne saunters in and points a wooden spoon at Angel. “Of course it’s not. I warned you about dating pilots.” Her wooden spoon motions toward me. “How do you feel about quiche Lorraine?”
“Love it. The only eggs I’ve had this month are the powdered ones served in hotels.”
She waves her spoon like a magic wand and disappears back into the kitchen.
“Angel.” I push to a seated position to give her my undivided attention. I’m helpless to stop this plane crash, but what do we do when preparing for an emergency landing? “Take a moment to breathe. To think.”
“I think he needs to be punched in the face.”
“Agreed, but you don’t want to do the punching.” This is a personal philosophy of mine. Perhaps because I never want to be the bad guy. But from my experience in dance, whenever someone is acting like a primadonna, they’ll eventually run into a bigger prima donna who will put them in their place. “You could break your fingers when punching him, and trust me, it hurts to break a bone.” I motion toward my foot.
A squeal echoes from the kitchen. Then a shout of joy. The rest of my roommates must be excited about quiche too.
Angel grimaces. “Well, his wife needs to be warned.”
