Page 88 of Unmasking Mr. Crown

The moment he emphasized her name, she knew. Like The Matrix scene on the patio, their goodbye played out in slow-motion. Natalie squeezed his hand with all her might, but he didn’t let go. She drank in his face, his eyes, his scent—to the point that the parking lot melted away, leaving him in a robe and her barefoot in his Texas Longhorns sweatshirt.

“Call us when you land, honey. And give my best to Hart,” Foster hollered.

The mention of Hart killed the moment. Natalie broke eye contact, released Dash’s hand, and called back to her father. “Will do. Love y’all.”

She closed the door and waved goodbye, desperate to escape before her emotional dam burst. The car had barely made it out of the parking lot when the tears started, her head throbbing with a supersize headache. The city outside her window whizzed past as they sped toward the airport; cars and signs and buildings distorted by a rush of hot tears.

The driver broke the awkward silence. "Ma'am, are you okay?"

"I'll be fine," she answered, her voice tight.

"I've got some tissues up here if you need one."

"Thank you, but I'm good."

Everyone! Stop asking me if I'm okay!

I'm clearly not okay! Okay?

She rifled through her clutch for a moment, stopping when she uncovered the forgotten handkerchief from the gala. Covered with the stains of red wine, she found the last remaining clean space and wiped her eyes and nose. She studied the monogram in the corner, tracing Dash’s initials—DSB—with her finger.

Dash is crazy for Kate. She’s crazy for him. You saw it. Everyone saw it.

Concealment IS everything. Might as well take this secret to the grave.

For strategic purposes, Natalie parked herself and her Shake Shack order one gate over from her assigned gate. She hadn’t spotted Hart, thank God. If she could somehow slip on and off the flight without a run-in, it would be an answered prayer.

The fib she’d told Foster about her flight being delayed had unfortunately come true and the flight back to Chicago was now way behind schedule. She emailed the jazz trio to let them know the current state of affairs, and also to ascertain the level of insurance, if any, they had on their equipment and instruments. Their trust in her was top priority. She’d just taken a bite of her burger when an announcement sounded throughout the terminal.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we appreciate your patience as we work to get Flight 1168 to Chicago off the ground as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, our flight crew has timed out, and this flight has been rescheduled for tomorrow morning at seven. Again, our sincerest apologies. For those passengers who are making connections in Chicago, please come to the desk and we will do our best to assist you."

Natalie reached in the bag for a handful of fries, contemplating her next move.

Accept this for what it is: a blessing in disguise.

Which means more time with Pop and Kate.

And maybe Hart won’t be on my flight tomorrow.

She gathered her things, then high-tailed it to Baggage Claim, texting a travel update to both Noah and Otto’s assistant en route.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

DASH

"She's a beauty," Dash said, running his hand along the horse's slick, black mane.

"Yes, well, looks are most certainly deceiving in her case. She’s a devil. A real handful," Kate replied from the back of the paddock.

"I don't believe that for a minute." He continued to stroke the animal. "She looks so gentle."

“Pop will tell you: Beware the gentle-looking ones. The ones that look innocent and sweet are the ones that can hurt you."

Kate handed Dash a body brush and moved around to the other side of the mare with a curry comb. The barn echoed with classic country tunes coming from an old boombox in Foster’s tack room. Together, they brushed the horse in silence. He hadn’t intended to stay an additional night, but Foster had been insistent he come back to the ranch and check out his stock of mares. The old man was so kind and welcoming (plus, it was his birthday). How could Dash say no? He and Foster talked nonstop during the drive home from Terrace Oak. They shared similar interests: hunting, fishing, golf. But his words dried up like a dusty creek bed now that he and Kate were alone. He’d pretty much muzzled himself the moment he turned around to meet her beloved sister.

Natalie.

His Amelia.