It was sweeter than anything we’d said to each other so far.
Jonathan brushed a hand over my shoulder. “We’ll take you anywhere you want.”
Alex, still bandaged, still pale but undeniably alive, looked straight at me. “Wherever you want. So…Parisian bookstore it is.”
My heart felt like it might burst. For the first time since I checked the mailbox, I felt safe enough to breathe.
18
FRANKIE
I’d always thought escaping into the night would feel like something out of a spy novel my mom liked to read—cool, slick, maybe glamorous if we did it right.
But mostly it had felt like my heart was trying to crack my ribs from the inside out.
Even now that I was ostensibly settled inside the Butera family’splane,my dark clothes no longer necessary in the warm light of the cabin, my hastily-packed bags stowed away, the adrenaline still hadn’t let up.
The private jet sat on the tarmac like some sleeping creature, dark windows glinting under floodlights.
We’d boarded fast—fast enough that my backpack, once stuffed with textbooks when I was still in college, was still half-zipped under the seat across from me.
The guys had all worn black too, of course, though it wasn’t as much of a novelty.
Still, it was ridiculous how good each of them looked.
Too bad I was too wired to appreciate the gorgeous view for more than a heartbeat at a time.
Paris. I had chosen Paris. Because they told me I needed to pick a place—somewhere far, somewhere safe.
Now here we were, waiting to take off into the night, headed for the city of lights.
My stomach fluttered. It should have been excited butterflies, the thrill of visiting someplace I never thought I’d see. But these winged insects inside me didn’t feel like the good kind.
Across from me, I could see through quick glances that Devin was watching me. Jonathan sat by the window, murmuring quietly into his AirPod, jaw tight with whatever logistics he was handling. Alex had his laptop open, fingers moving fast, eyes flicking up to check on me every once in a while. Protective even when distracted.
At least Mom was safe.
That thought grounded me like a warm weight in my chest, even as everything else threatened to spin.
The all-expenses-paid tropical cruise guys had arranged for her—wheelchair accessible, staffed, and apparently outrageously fancy—had made her squeal with excitement too much for her to consider why and how it had come to pass.
My poor mother hadn’t truly relaxed in years, not since her body started failing her.
She deserved soft things, gentle days, ocean air. She deserved so much more than the constant medical and financial stress she’d been dealt.
Still, leaving her…it felt wrong. Even knowing how excited she was for this “adventure.” And knowing how excited she would have been for me to go on one, too, if I could tell her about the clandestine Paris trip.
The captain’s voice crackled through speakers overhead, something about final checks and expected flight time, and the instant the engines began that low, rising rumble, my pulse shot up.
My fingers curled around the armrest of my leather, much-fancier-than-I’d-imagined seat until my knuckles went stiff and hot. I tried to breathe, but the air felt thin, like the cabin was shrinking.
I’d never been on a plane. Not once. Now I was on one because I was fleeing life-threatening danger. Somehow the two stressful situations didn’t cancel each other out in the slightest.
“Hey.” Devin’s voice was soft enough that I barely heard it over the engines.
I blinked away a daze of fear and looked at him. He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, those dazzlingly green eyes warm and steady as they searched every one of my features.
“Frankie, you’re crushing the armrest to death.”
