Page 70 of The Encore’s Crown

If she notices I’m moving like every muscle has been intimately introduced to Kiri’s body, she mercifully keeps that suspicion to herself.

Breakfast is at a tiny café Rafe found somewhere between the hotel and the airport. Everything is insanely cute. The omelets have little faces made from seaweed and ketchup has been turned into adorable smiling cheeks. Rafe’s coffee arrives with a bear floating in the foam, which he studies like some sort of science experiment.

I take pictures of all of it because I'm still me, no matter what might be happening. My brain can process heartbreak, exhaustion, international travel, and content strategy at the same time. Sadness might ruin my appetite, but it will not destroy my engagement rate. I adjust one of the plates closer to the window and take another photo.

“You okay?” Kasia asks.

I don’t look up from my phone. “Wonderful.”

Rafe makes a sound that suggests he finds that answer unlikely.

I glance between them. “What? I’m sad the trip is over. It was amazing.”

That part, at least, is true.

Kasia reaches across the table and squeezes my wrist. “We'll visit again.”

“Yeah, one day.” I smile brightly enough to end the conversation. “I'm fine, I’m just tired.”

They exchange a glance but let it go. The rest of breakfast disappears into a blur of suitcases, black coffee, Rafe checking the time, Kasia trying not to cry, and me posting a carousel of adorable eggs as though my chest doesn’t feel like someone packed it incorrectly and forced the zipper shut.

The airport is hell. Ticketing. Baggage. Passports. Announcements in two languages. The entire place moves around me while my brain stays trapped in a hotel doorway several miles behind us.

I keep expecting to see Kiri. Every tall man in black grabs my attention. I catch a man wearing a leather jacket in the corner of my eye, and something inside me leaps before common sense drags it back down. He said coming would make things obvious. I know he’s right. I still hate him a little for being right.

At the entrance to security, Kasia finally stops pretending she's okay. She throws both arms around Rafe and buries her face against him. He crushes her against him, cradling the back of her head and stroking her hair.

“It won’t be long,” he says into her hair. “I promise, okay? A month. That’s it, then we're back in L.A. And if I have to take a red-eye in between gigs just to see you for one fucking day, I will. Please don’t cry, Kas.”

She nods, but tears are already sliding down her face. Rafe kisses each one as if he can catch them before they fall.

Watching them makes me feel like shit, both for them and because of them. Because they’re allowed to love each other. They can stand in the middle of an airport and hold on like separation is an emergency. He can promise to cross an ocean for twenty-four hours without worrying someone might notice how much he cares. My own tears rise before I can stop them. I let a few escape but not enough to raise questions. Just enough to look like I’m emotional for my sister, overwhelmed by their goodbye, devastated on her behalf.

No one has to know I’m remembering Kiri’s mouth against mine.

Next time I see you, if you still want me, I won’t hold back.

If? What an idiot. As though wanting him is something I could just recover from.

Rafe finally releases Kasia and looks at me. His own eyes are suspiciously bright, tears threatening to wreck all that carefully maintained stoic charm. He pulls me into a quick, hard hug and pats my shoulder.

“Take care of her.”

I nod. I have no idea how I’m supposed to take care of anyone when my own heart feels like it's been thrown around like luggage at check-in, but I’ll figure it out.

“That’s what sisters are for.”

On the plane, Kasia lasts all of five minutes before her denial breaks. She settles into her seat, buckles herself in, wipes beneath her eyes, and stares furiously out the window. She’s angry at herself for not being braver, stronger—a painfully familiar Sawadzka family trait.

“This is stupid,” she mutters. “I should be used to this.”

“You shouldn’t have to be used to missing someone.”

“I’ll see him soon. A month is literally nothing.”

“It'll pass quickly, you'll be busy as usual.”

“Exactly. It’s not forever.”