Page 77 of Reign

Good. Competence remains alive somewhere.

I descend the stairs onto the tarmac. One of my men reaches for the SUV door, but I don’t get in.

Rafael can handle the pickup. He can collect Elena’s bags, manage the bodyguard, and bring her to the car.

But after reading her questionnaire, I’m no longer interested in waiting for Elena to be delivered to me.

I look toward the main terminal and start walking.

My driver moves instantly behind me. “Sir?”

“Leave the keys. I’m driving today.”

He stops.

The private terminal empties into the main airport, and the shift is immediate. Noise. Motion. Rolling suitcases. Overhead announcements. Families gathered too close to baggage claim. Travelers moving in too many directions with too little awareness of who stands beside them.

I hate public spaces.

Too many exits. Too many hands. Too many people who think danger announces itself before it arrives.

I find Rafael near a row of black chairs with one hand wrapped around the handle of a suitcase and a garment bag hooked over his arm.

His attention is on the man standing between him and Elena Amato.

Ryatt.

Broad shoulders. Still hands. Weight balanced like he already knows how the fight would go if Rafael stepped too close. His expression gives away nothing, but his body does. Protective. Alert. Irritated.

Useful qualities. Inconvenient ones.

Elena stands just behind Ryatt’s shoulder, not hiding, but not stepping forward either.

My attention moves to her.

Three months have passed, but I remembered her perfectly.

I just forgot how much harder she is to ignore in person.

Her sunglasses are pushed up onto her head, holding back practically none of her fringe. The rest of her hair falls loose on her shoulders, dark and glossy, nothing like the careful pinned style she wore at the wedding before she followed me into a bathroom and proved that better judgment is often overrated.

Her cheeks are flushed from travel or irritation. Maybe both. Her mouth is bare enough to look soft and painted enough to look intentional. She wears a fitted black top beneath a cropped jacket, a cream skirt cut at an angle that makes every line of her body look deliberate, and boots too pretty to be practical. Gold glints at her ears, her throat, her wrist.

Elena Amato doesn’t dress to arrive.

She dresses to be remembered.

A wasted effort. I couldn’t forget her.

She’s looking at Rafael with confusion tucked beneath her annoyance.

I stop beside them. Rafael’s head turns first. Surprise flickers across his face for less than a second before he buries it.

Not fast enough.

Elena notices.

She looks at me. The reaction hits before she can hide it. Her eyes widen. Her lips part.