I’m sure I look like shit.
“Had trouble sleeping.”
She nods in acknowledgment and nothing more needs to be said. She hasn’t been with me for as long as Jenkins has, but in the time we’ve had together, she’s become good at reading my moods and tells—and I’m sure she’s filled in the blank as to why I had a shit night of sleep last night.
“I’ve just had a message come through,” Jenkins says, coming into the kitchen. “I missed the call, but I got a voicemail from Mr. Langford. He wants you at the memorial for his grandfather tomorrow.”
The fork freezes mid-air toward my mouth. “He does?”
“He said the press is hounding him about your absence, and his family thinks it will be in their best interest to have you there. Your absence will cause such a media circus they’re afraid it will distract from the event.”
“And after the memorial? Am I to come back here? Or will I stay in New York?”
“The message didn’t say anything about that. You’ll probably have to take that up with Mr. Langford after the event.”
Hope blooms inside me. No matter my confused feelings about Asher, one thing is undeniable, and that’s how much I miss him. I want to see him. And I want him to hold me and tell me everything is going to be okay.
After hours of restless thoughts last night, something inside me shifted. Even though I’m still hurt by the situation, I can’thelp but want Asher. And I want to know if the visions of our future that I pictured are still possible—because despite everything, I want them to be.
“The Langford jet isn’t able to come get us because it’s en route with Sterling from London,” Jenkins goes on, “but Mr. Langford sent another jet. I’ve done the calculations, and we need to leave within the next two hours to make it to the airport in time. The jet is set to take off in fifteen hours, since we have such a long travel time to get to the airport, which means, by the time we take off and fly to New York, we’ll be arriving just in time for the memorial. So, Ella, you’re going to need to pack whatever clothes and makeup and hair stuff you need to be photo ready the minute we land. We’ll go straight from the airport to the memorial.”
“Got it.”
I breathe a sigh of relief at the fact that the house came stocked with an entire wardrobe, not that I’ve worn a fraction of it. How, when, and why Asher had it filled with not only casual clothes (the only things I’ve worn since I’ve been here) but with work-appropriate attire and formal clothes including gowns and dresses, I don’t know—but right now I’m glad for the fact that he’s always thorough with details in everything he does. I think there’s a black dress that will work perfectly, and I cross my fingers that it fits.
“And, Ms. Hale, as we travel, we’re trusting that you don’t divulge where you’ve been to anyone.”
“How would I do that? I don’t even know where I’m at.”
“I’m sure you’ll pick up some clues along the way, even if you don’t know any definitive locations.”
I snort. “My sense of direction is as hopeless as my cooking. I’d get lost with GPSanda map; you don’t need to worry about me giving up your secrets.”
“Be that as it may, remember, the official story is that you’ve been on a much-needed vacation, and you can leave it at that.”
“Understood. I’ll go get ready and pack.”
The hope inside me grows until it’s a dizzying level of excitement. After six long, emotionally draining weeks, I finally get to be back with Asher. I ache to see him, to touch him. My world is just not right when he’s not in it, and the thought of this torture coming to an end is the sweetest kind of relief.
I just hope it’s the kind of relief that lasts.
42
ELLA
“We’re nearly there,” the driver says from the front of the car, and my anxiety is barely appeased. I’m exhausted from nearly twenty hours of travel. We’re running late with a small flight delay, traffic has been terrible, and the memorial is about to start.
Everything about our travel has been more difficult than usual. We had a different jet and flight crew, and we have a different driver with us today since all of Asher’s staff is at the memorial. It’s all been made worse by the fact that both Jenkins’s and Flores’s phones have had terrible, basically non-existent service, so we haven’t been able to get any updates or information about the memorial. All I know is that the memorial celebration is inside the venue, and then there’s an outside procession leading to a statue of Edward that will be revealed. At least that was the itinerary the last time I checked in on the plans for the event, which was over two months ago.
Needless to say, we’ve been scrambling since we got Asher’s orders, and we aren’t running like the well-oiled machine we usually are.
It’s stressing me the hell out.
I’m already in knots over seeing Asher. What will I say? What will he say? Will we be able to talk after the memorial and figure things out? All these thoughts are overwhelming enough, and running late is only making it worse.
Finally, we pull up to the venue and hurry out of the car. Jenkins and Flores stay practically pinned to my side as we walk inside. A sign in the entrance announces the tribute of Edward Alexander Xavier Langford and designates the way to the ballroom, but before we follow the directions, Flores breaks away.
“I’m going to see if I can find Waters and get a rundown of the plans for the procession,” she says. “I don’t like the idea of walking in that crowd without knowing what the plan is first.”
