“Would you like to keep flying?”
Shaking my head, I sighed. “No.”
“No?” He stopped and turned to me, his face shadowed by the darkness, though I could see him without trouble. “Perhaps today, after you’ve flown by yourself, you will think differently.”
“Is this what you want to do for the rest of your life?” I asked. “If you continue, it’s only a matter of time before something goes wrong. I hate watching you do the death dive.” I looked down at my hands. Unlike Hope, if Luc died, that would be it. He would be gone forever.
“Does it bother you?” he asked, his voice low.
“Yes. I hate it.”
“Why?”
“Why?” I studied him, trying to understand. “Because it makes me afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Afraid of losing you.” The last word came out on a surprised breath.
He did not move as the first trills of a morning bird sang from the branches above us. “Why do you fear losing me?”
“Because,” I said slowly, trying to understand my ownthoughts and feelings. At some point in the past six weeks, Luc had become a very dear friend. I had learned his habits, his mannerisms, even the way he spoke and how he thought. I had memorized his laugh lines and loved the way his accent changed the cadence of familiar words. Everything I had once assumed about him had been rewritten, and I had come to respect him deeply. “Because,” I tried again, “you are dear to me, and I would miss you very much.”
He regarded me in the darkness as a gentle wind rustled the leaves overhead and played with the tendrils of hair at my temples. “Thank you.”
“Why?”
“Every time someone speaks about my death, they are sad because they would lose something I candofor them. For my mother, it’s the money I earn. For my students, it’s the education I give them. And for my fans, it’s the thrill I provide.” He reached out and removed the tendril that laid across my lips. “To know that you would miss me because I am very dear to you gives my life new meaning.” He lowered his hand, but his gaze stayed on mine. “You are very dear to me, too,ma chérie.”
My heart started to flutter a new beat. When had I become his darling?
Affection for this thoughtful man had taken root within me weeks ago, but it was quickly turning into something more. Something much deeper.
Was I losing my heart to Lucas Voland? I couldn’t love him—
“Come,” he said, as he took my hand, “we will be late.”
“Do not be afraid,” Luc said to me an hour later as I sat in the cockpit of the Blériot aeroplane I would use for my first solo flight. He was standing beside me, his face level with mine. “Just remember all the things I have taught you.”
“I’m not afraid,” I told him—at least, not of flying. That was easy and far less frightening than trying to understand the complicated feelings churning within my heart since this morning’s walk.
“Good,” he said with a proud smile. “You are ready.”
He backed up and motioned to the mechanics that I was prepared for takeoff.
The weather was ideal for my first solo flight. Light filled the morning sky, but the sun had not yet crested the horizon. The field was clear and level, and a mechanic stood at the far end, ready if I needed help.
It was my turn to fly.
With a deep breath and a prayer, I put everything else behind me and focused on my flight.
When I gave the front mechanic my signal, I flipped on the ignitor, and he turned the propeller. It whirred to life and began to tug at the men restraining it.
This was the moment I had been waiting for. If I failed, I had Mama and Daddy to think about. I had to do this and do it well. There wasn’t much time before the cross-country flight. For the next thirteen days, I would need to practice as much as possible so I would be ready to tackle one of the biggest goals of my life. It was absurd even to contemplate that in less than two weeks I would be attempting to fly across the United States of America—and I had yet to fly solo.
I motioned to the mechanics, and they let me go.
This aeroplane was lighter and more powerful than the one I had been using for grass cutting and kangarooing. It raced across the bumpy field, causing my vision to bounce. When I pulled back on the throttle, the wheels left the earth, and the incessant jarring stopped.
