“You won’t let anything happen to him,” she says. “Because you’re his father.”
I bring her wrist to my lips and press a kiss to the pulse point, feeling her heartbeat against my mouth.
"Okay," I say. "We bring him too."
Alessandro is sleeping quietlyin the bedroom at the rear of the plane while Bella and I sit together in front. Her shoulder is pressed against mine, but she keeps turning to look out the window even though the only thing we see outside is the endless blue expanse of the sky.
"What are you thinking about?" I ask.
She doesn't look at me. "Anthony."
Yes, I suppose she would be thinking of him. She's been away from him. She's worried about him. She almost died after leaving him the other day, and she hasn’t had a chance to see him.
I drape my arm over her shoulder and bring her closer to me. "You'll see him soon enough."
"I know." She leans her head against my shoulder, and for a moment she comes back to the moment with me. "I'm just ready to be back."
I press a kiss to her hair.
"Take tomorrow off," I say. "Spend it with Anthony. I can survive without you for a day."
"And what will you be doing?"
"Preparing."
"For what?"
"For our date."
“Really?” She goes still.
The truth is, I've been thinking about this since the hunting lodge. The idea has been turning in my mind, and I’ve examined it from every angle like it's a problem I need to solve.
Except it’s not a problem. It never was.
“Yes, really,” I tell her. “I want to take you on a proper date. I want to sit with you and talk about everything and nothing. Just for a night.”
"Slava—"
"Say yes, Ms. Farnassi, and I’ll pick you up tomorrow night at seven."
The seconds stretch into hours, and I know there’s something on the tip of her tongue. But whatever it is she’s about to say, she keeps it to herself. Then, she leans over, and puts the tiniest of kisses on my mouth, like a preview of what’s to come.
"Okay," she says finally. "Tomorrow night at seven."
"Good."
She continues to look at me, and I can feel her pulling away already even if she’s still physically here in my arms.
Something flickers in her eyes briefly, there and gone too fast to catch, and she looks back outside the window.
"I need to text Lydia," she says. "Is there a way to do that from here?"
"There’s a satellite signal. No password. You can call her too, if you need to."
"Okay." She squeezes my hand once, like she's making herself let go, and stands. "I'll be right back."
I watch her walk toward the rear of the plane, her small frame silhouetted against the dim cabin lights.
