“I want to get back to normal,” I mutter, “Back to my life before you.”
“Fine,” he says on a sigh. “If that’s what you want. Get on the plane with me, and I will have you dropped wherever you like once we land.”
I side-eye him. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t even want you to look in my direction.”
He nods. “I won’t even try.”
I give a stiff nod, open up the app on my phone, and press the cancel button. I smirk, “That just cost you ninety euro’s.”
“What’s ninety euros when I get the pleasure of your cold shoulder?”
Warren keeps his word. We sit in silence at the airport. The private lounge is filled with business types all chatting into phones or tapping away on laptops.
I stare out of the window, watching as planes take off and land.
Then we board a small private plane, and I march to the back, taking my seat and glaring out of the window as Warren and Anthony sit up front, discussing business in hushed tones.
Once we take off, I feel myself drifting off to sleep, and I don’t bother to fight it.
I don’t wake again until the plane hits the runway. Warren is already packing his things away and slipping on his jacket. And once we stop, he’s out of his seat and waiting for the door to open.
Anthony follows, carrying their hand luggage. I grab my own bag and reluctantly go after them.
The car is already on the runway. Anthony is waiting patiently by the passenger door, and as I slide in, I notice Warren is in the front passenger seat, his laptop open again, and his attention fixed to it.
Anthony gets in the driver's side. “Where to?” he asks me, twisting in his seat.
I swallow the lump in my throat. I know I wanted this, but it feels way too hard. “My place,” I mutter.
Warren’s head snaps up. “The apartment?”
“I have to go back sometime, right?”
“Wouldn’t you be better with your mum and brother?”
“Not speaking, remember?”
Warren exchanges a wary look with Anthony, then gives a nod, as if my decision depended on his approval.Another red flag.
Anthony pulls into the basement carpark, and we all get out of the car. I head straight for the elevator, ignoring the line-up of impressive cars. Warren is close behind, leaving Anthony to do whatever he does when he isn’t up Warren’s backside.
We step into the elevator together, and he swipes his card. I press for my floor, and he stands beside me, waiting for the doors to close.
“I’m sorry,” he eventually mutters. I remain quiet. “What happened in Italy was unexpected.”
I ignore him. The elevator shakes to a stop, and the doors slide open. I step out, pausing. “Goodbye, Warren.”
“You make it sound final,” he mutters, inserting his keycard for the penthouse. “It isn’t.” And then the doors slide closed again.
I release a long breath, then turn to my door and stare at the small piece of police tape that still remains after their cordon. I pull it off as I insert my key and go inside.
The smell hits me first, like chemicals mixed with damp. I go straight to the window and push it open. My eyes fall to the spot where I found Isaac, and my heart stutters.
And then I call Courtney, because if anyone can make me feel better, it’s her.
