Now I laugh too—it’s tiny and half-hearted. But it’s there.
Then the quiet settles around us again.
“He lost the woman he loved,” I say softly. “Lost Chloe’s mom.”
“Yes, he did,” Jean-Michel says, no judgment in his tone.
Only truth.
Which is probably why my next words come out so easily. “So, I’m notallhe’s lost.”
“But you’re what he’s lostnow, sweetheart.”
My breath catches. “That doesn’t mean he’ll fight for me. For us.”
Jean-Michel is quiet for a long moment.
Then he leans forward, his forearms on his knees. “Maybe he won’t fight the way you want. And maybe he won’t realize his mistake in time to fix it.” His gaze holds mine as though he can see every thought crossing through my mind. “But make no mistake, Finn—now he understandsexactlyhow precious you are.”
My throat goes tight; tears burn the backs of my eyes for the hundredth time in the last few days. I look out the window, blink rapidly. “Maybe,” I whisper.
“Just so you know,” he says even more softly, “men are idiots when they’re scared.”
I laugh wetly. “That feels very sexist.”
He smiles. “It is.” Then he adds dryly, “Damn patriarchy.”
I wipe at one eye and hate myself a little for how much I want Rhodes to be brave.
To show up.
To pick me.
To say he was wrong.
But wanting something doesn’t make it reality.
I know that.
I’ve known that all my life.
So when Jean-Michel squeezes my shoulder then stands and tells me to relax and enjoy myself, I do.
I take a glass of champagne from the flight attendant.
I doublecheck that my passport is safely tucked in the side pocket of my purse.
I pull out my book, plug in my charger, make sure my downloaded shows are ready to be consumed in bulk.
But all the while, somewhere deep inside me, a tiny ridiculous hope refuses to die.
By the time I’m waiting for the flight attendants to close the plane’s door it’s become unbearable.
Every footstep makes my pulse jump.
Every voice echoing through the cabin feels like a countdown.
I check my phone too many times. Maybe he’ll text?
