Page 22 of Jetmir

The cold air stung my cheeks while the landscape spread beneath us, painted in greens, golds, and blues.

The sun felt warm against my face despite the freezing wind.

My pulse still raced wildly.

“I’m flying,” I screamed, spreading my arms wide.

“Yes, you are.” Thorne’s voice felt distant, but his body wasn’t. I could feel him, holding me and keeping me safe. “You’re doing so good, Anya.”

The parachute opened with a powerful snap, replacing the rush of free fall. Suddenly the world became quiet as I drifted through the sky.

The countryside stretched beneath us like a living map. Sunlight shimmered across distant rivers. The wind brushed gently against my face.

“How are you feeling?” Thorne asked, his lips brushing against my ear.

“Great,” I screamed, laughing. “I can’t wait to go on that date with you.”

I felt him smile against my skin. “As soon as our feet touch the ground, my fair princess.”

My heart beat fast, and I’d never felt more alive. It had nothing to do with this reckless jump and everything to do with the promise of more.

A car horn shattered the memory, wrenching me from the Connecticut sky and back into the climbing heat and noise of Miami. I shook my head, forcing the past away.

I wouldn’t dwell on memories of my ex-husband today. In a few days, I’d celebrate my twenty-second birthday with my girlfriends and be my old self.

Or at least I would pretend until Jetmir left my mind and heart for good.

CHAPTER SIX

JETMIR

The scent of cigarettes, paper, and leather competed with the sharp notes of bourbon. The attorney was still alive in the next room—frightened, exhausted, and painfully aware that weeks had passed since anyone had seen him.

The lawyer who’d handled the divorce process for Santos. The man who tried to cut Anya from me.

Over. My. Dead. Body.

I poured another finger of bourbon into a crystal glass and watched the liquid catch the yellow light. The attorney’s muffled voice drifted through the wall.

“You won’t get away with this. Let me out.”

The door to my office opened and my twin sister, Elira, strolled on through, eyeing me disapprovingly.

“This won’t help your situation and you know it.”

Maybe not, but neither did a divorce. So I ignored her and took a slow drink.

“Come on, Jet. You have to let go of your obsession with Anya,” she reasoned, taking the seat opposite me. “Please don’t do anything stupid. It will cause a war between our families. Amara is married to a Santos and that will⁠—”

“Let there be a fucking war, then,” I said in a hardened voice. “Anya is my wife.”

“Was,” she corrected, and I shot her a glare. “Okay, okay, don’t bite my head off. I’m just worried about you. It’s been three years…”

“Three years, four months, and twenty-three days.”

“Jesus Christ.” She leaned back in her seat and heaved an exasperated sigh. “So what is your plan?” she asked. “And what does that poor lawyer have to do with it?”

“I don’t have one,” I lied with a straight face.