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“That isn’t a complime—”
I press my hand to her cheek to shut her up. She sucks in a harsh breath, and it’s nice to see this little trick still works. Soft, her skin is still so smooth, a reminder of how breakable she is. “Elanee, I’ve accounted for every person on this plane. I would not put you at risk. We pickpocketed your bracelet, and for the next two days, Layla will attend your clients wedding and enjoy your little getaway. Meanwhile, you and I need to talk.”
“But what if he calls? What if he comes? I can’t put Layla in harm’s way.”
My heart twists because I should’ve been there to protect her from the start. My own wounded arrogance should’ve checked up on her while she lived abroad in Russia. How long had she carried this burden alone? What things had my father put her through?
“Layla is well adept at dealing with situations like this. And I’ll have someone watching her to make sure she’s safe. If something goes wrong, I have tabs on your parents, who we’ll bring to safety immediately.”
“No, we—”
I brush my thumb across her sharp, defined cheek. She used to be petite before, but now she looks slightly on the gaunter end. It goes without saying I’ve kept tabs on her from the moment I found out. I’d hired Archer to watch her from afar in case something happened and I was forced to take her out against her own will. “You are not fighting this alone, Elanee. I’ve waited weeks for this opportunity. Do you know how hard it’s been for me to hold back?”
She swallows harshly. An announcement for seatbelts to be put on is made as we stare at one another. I’m fighting every primal urge to take her with me. Instead, I force myself to stand and press a kiss on her forehead. I know she hates me and I’m entirely okay with that. But I will never be sorry enough for the pain and suffering I caused her. And I was yet to find out to what extent that was.
When I stand, I’m hit with a head spin and catch myself on the back of her seat with a wince as more pain shoots up my ribs. My eyebrows furrow in confusion. I’d been dealing with headaches for the last two months, but this is new. And annoying.
Elanee is half standing out of her seat as she holds me up. “Dmitri?” she says concerned. I wait for the wave to pass.
“I’m fine.” I brush her off. “I’m just healing from two broken ribs. You won’t get rid of me yet,” I dryly joke, but neither of us finds humor in it.
I take my seat as she reluctantly takes hers but whisper shouts, “That’s not funny. And are you seriously still fighting?”
“I’ll have you know, I’m still in my prime, Elanee Lane. I’ve only just hit thirty.” She was only two years younger than me.
“It’s terrifying the fact that you think you’ve ever been in your prime with the amount you drink.”
My eyebrows flick up at her quick-witted response, and I see my girl for the first time. The Elanee, I knew. She’s still in there, fighting. She clicks her belt over the beige cashmere sweater and black leather skirt in a rather uppity mood. The corner of my mouth pulls up into an arrogant smile.
“If memory serves correctly, I’m not the only one who likes to drink.”
14
ELANEE
I’m terrified.
It’s all too risky.
But as I look over at Dmitri, who is, and always has been, unapologetically himself—I strangely feel secure. But also, the charm of security and protection had acted as a double-edged blade more than once.
“Champagne?” The eager air hostess offers Dmitri. He’d always been like this for as long as I could remember. He had his choice of women because they fell to their knees just to receive a compliment from him. I certainly had my fair share of snide remarks and pranks from jealous women simply because of how close we’d once been.
“My wife here would like one also. Can you please add a little orange juice to it? She likes those mimosas. Unless, of course, you have spicy margaritas; she’d kiss you for it.”
My head whips in his direction at the mention of ‘wife’, and I notice the air hostess slightly shocked and then deflated, but she’s quick to hide it with a polite smile and looks at me for the first time since we were airborne. “I-I’ll see what I can do,” she offers as she places the champagne down.
“Did you just use me to shoot her down?” I berate under my breath.
He casually unbuckles his belt with a smirk. “Oh, come on now, it always worked in the past. Remember, ‘code red?’ If you went on a date and didn’t like the guy, you’d send me a text message to come in acting like your crazy possessive ex-boyfriend.”
My jaw drops at his recollection of events. “That only happened once. And we never had a code red. Your sorry ass just decided to act like an asshole and interrupt my date. No one would touch me for months after that shit you pulled.”
He seems pleased with himself as he stands up, and I’m shocked by how quickly I grab his hand. “Where are you going?” I ask. I hate the desperate tone in my voice. How quickly what should be a light conversation turns to my impending misery and doom. I’m supposed to hate this man, I remind myself. But I also want to reminisce in the tiny window of time I have to be with someone familiar. It’s a jumble of mind fuckery.
He pats my hand. “We have this entire weekend, Cricket. But I think there’s someone else who wants to see you first.” His gaze flicks to economy, and my sister is patiently standing in the aisle. She’s wearing the exact same outfit as me. The blonde wig she wears is uncanny, and I forgot how conniving the two of us were. When we put our minds together, whether through sun, hail or storm, we’d reach our objective. Even if we ended up with cuts and bruises along the way.
“Elanee.” My name sounds like a singular drop in the ocean. Tears well in my eyes as she pushes past Dmitri and embraces me. She almost knocks me off balance, which isn’t hard to do these days, and I brace myself against the chair. Mixed emotions bubble and resist the urge to pull away. This moment is too good to be true. But I cling to it because, despite my efforts to hide from them, they were the two I knew deep down would never give up on me, even when I tried my hardest to convince them.
