That alone was worth the exorbitant price tag because airports always left me with a migraine.
“Top up?” The brown-haired, very pretty airhostess smiled, holding up a bottle of expensive champagne.
Both Lucien and I had drunk a few glasses after we’d taken off and been treated to a six-course in-flight meal. The delicious array of decadent dishes had filled my empty belly and I’d happily accepted the bubbly alcohol, all while my mouth watered for those exotic fruity, blossomy wines from Cinderkeep.
I glanced at Lucien where he sat by the window beside me.
He hadn’t said a word ever since I’d escaped from the bulletproof vest and taken our seats. He shut me out as we hurtled down the runway and catapulted into the sky. He didn’t look at me while we ate. Acted as if he wanted nothing to do with me. And now that the cabin lights had been dimmed and Whisper had stuffed himself on numerous prime steaks—falling into a contented snooze on the couch behind us—he barely breathed.
His hands clutched the armrests, his knuckles white. His eyes tightly shut, forehead furrowed, and sweat beading on his temples.
I didn’t bother tapping him to see if he wanted any more.
If he got drunk onboard who the hell knew what would happen?
Turning back to the airhostess, I whispered, “No thanks. We’ve had enough.”
“Would you or Mr. Ashfall like anything else or shall I turn down the bed so you can rest?”
“Turn down the what?” Twisting in my luxurious leather recliner, I looked down the back of the cabin. “There’s a bed?”
“Of course.” She straightened and pointed at the door that I’d assumed led to a bathroom. “There’s a full suite at the back. You’re welcome to use it. Feel free to retire whenever you’d like.” Shifting the dew-covered bottle of champagne in her hands, she added, “We’ve been in the air for two hours with another nine to go. I’ll close the blinds so the sunrise in a few hours doesn’t disturb you.”
Turning on her heel, she returned to the front and set about shrouding the cabin in darkness for a peaceful rest.
Unfortunately, Lucien missed the memo about finding peace.
Glancing at my very old and very dead cellphone resting on the small table across the aisle, I wished I’d brought my charger so I could tell Dillon I was alright. That I knew what I was doingand I wasn’t worriedat allabout being flown across the world—with no documentation or destination—at the mercy of the man who’d decided I now belonged to him.
Sarcasm.
And that isn’t even the worst of your problems...
Snowflake.
Lucien’s reaction when I’d asked if he’d ever heard of Snowflake Corp replayed on a vicious loop—the way his brow had furrowed for half a second too long. The way his eyes had gone distant as if trying to recall something old and buried in his mind.
He’d almost recognised it.
Hadn’t he?
My stomach twisted as I glanced at him.
Was he ignoring me because he’d remembered something?
Was he plotting how to kill me even now?
As if sensing I was looking at him, his fingers curled tighter around the armrests. His head tipped back against the seat, throat bared, eyes tightly closed as if he was afraid of what might happen if he opened them.
The odd chill inside me chose that moment to swell.
While his body exuded heat, my body snuffed it out.
The longer I stared at him, the more the coolness spread, slow and deliberate, as if my bones wanted to hollow themselves out to make room for his excess heat.
Lucien suddenly exhaled, shuddering with relief. His shoulders dropped an inch, the edge of his tension smoothing out.
I stiffened as the cold kept blooming outward, webbing through my veins as if something that’d always lurked inside me had finally woken up andyawned—
