I am one of the people in the cave, only knowing shadows, andwhen presented with reality and a chance to explore the unknown, I would rather stay in the dark, watching the shadows, than face it.
“Okay,” I say simply and silently as I take my eyes off the painting. “One day.”
Her mouth becomes a warm, radiant smile, making her infinitely attractive.
“Then come,” she says, holding out her hand.
And I take it.
Outside.
Before I can blink, she opens the door to a black Range Rover for me, and I find myself being placed on the white leather passenger seat. I feel horrified by my own decision.
“Do not even think about it,” she says warningly. “Sit down and put the seatbelt on. I’ll be right back.”
While she walks back inside, I look at the car. It’s an Autobiography, something I only know because Bella’s father drives the very same car, just with horrible brown leather inside that makes my eyes hurt. Although the white isn’t any better. I generally have no clue about cars, nor do I care.
Victoria returns five minutes later with a mid-sized bag. I don’t even want to know at this point. This day feels so out of touch already; whatever is about to happen, I don’t care. So, I don’t ask.
I look at her when she settles down in the driver's seat, and it’s like the car was made for her. Everything about it, about her, the car, just fit.
“When was the last time you saw something other than London?” she asks me.
“Um—“ I say and rub my hands over my thighs. “Never.”
Because the truth is, I have always been here, in my cave.
“Uh-hu,” she hums knowingly.
We don’t speak much during the ride. I watch her navigate London traffic, something I could never do, even if I had a driving license. And somehow a feeling crawls up on me that I wish to deny, because something about this feels so normal. So ordinary. Our ordinary.
At some point, she pulls over into a driveway and parks the car in front of a lot of red. I crane my neck to see where we are.
Edmiston London Heliport,I read in my mind, and goosebumpsspread over my arms. Not of the good kind. Because I have never been in a plane, let alone a helicopter, and I am scared of heights. Very scared.
“No way,” I’m telling her. “I can’t?—“
“You will,” she says and gets out. She walks around to open my door, and I feel like a toddler.
“One day,” she says to remind me. “Henry will take care of everything here in the meantime; your cats will be the most spoiled cats on the planet.”
I groan and curse to myself.
She gets out of the car and is joined by a man in a suit, who takes the car keys and the bag and guides us to a terminal at the heliport.
We are directed onto the field, and a heavy rock drags my stomach to the ground as I see the helicopter with what is supposedly a pilot waiting for us.
“Victoria,” says the man, holding out his hand, “How wonderful to see you.”
So, they know each other.
“Likewise,” she says and takes his hands. “I hope the kids are alright?”
“They are,” he says, while I just stand there, staring at the black helicopter like an idiot.
“Did you and Miss Phillips have a pleasant arrival?” he asks.
“As always,” Victoria says.
