Overnight twelve-year-old Jillian had been torn from her school, her friends, her community.
Jillian had struggled in their new life, with the new identities. The moves were hard. The isolation at times unbearable.
But over the years she’d settled into being these other people, playing the necessary part.
Her younger sister Katie wasn’t as skillful. Nor was Katie as disciplined, or focused. Two and a half years ago—just eight months before Jillian met Vitt in Turkey—Katie had fallen in love with a handsome stranger, a grad student at Illinois University, and feeling safe, had revealed who she really was. She ended up paying for that misplaced trust with her life.
Jillian wouldn’t make the same mistake. Jillian had learned that there could be no trusting handsome strangers, least of all men with connections to the mob.
Jillian’s throat ached, remembering. She’d been devastated by Katie’s death. The phone call from her mother giving her the news had been the most horrific phone call of her life. Even now, Jillian still felt shattered.
Jillian had been the big sister. It had been her job to protect Katie.
She hadn’t, though.
And now Jillian had Joe, only this time Jillian would not fail. She would do the right thing. She would protect Joe with her life.
“Jill. Your glass.”
Jillian jerked her head around to see the flight attendant standing before her with a flute of champagne. Vittorio already had his. Ruthlessly she smothered the memories of Katie and her family, killing the emotion inside her, smashing down the grief. She couldn’t change the past. She could only move forward.
Her eyes felt hot and gritty. She blinked hard, blinking away unshed tears as she took the champagne flute. “Thank you.”
The flight attendant disappeared, leaving them alone and Vittorio lifted his glass, dark eyes gleaming above high, bronzed cheekbones, the stiff, formal collar of his black suit contrasting the devastating sensuality of his mouth. “I propose a toast.”
She lifted her glass, heavy, so heavy at heart, and waited for him to finish the toast.
He let her wait, too, making her hold her glass high, making her wonder what he’d say.
The jet’s engines came to life. Jillian tensed, realizing soon they’d be airborne. Soon she’d never be able to escape.
And then smiling without smiling, Vittorio touched his glass to the rim of hers. “To the future,” he said, “and our lives together.”
Her heart fell, crashing into her ribs. Was he jesting? What kind of life would there be when there was no love, trust or respect between them?
Again her eyes burned, but once more she squashed the pain with a cool, hard smile. “To Joe,” she said instead, changing the toast, her voice as brittle as her smile.
“To Joseph,” he agreed. “The son we made together.”
They drank.
She swallowed, the cold, slightly sweet, slightly tart champagne fizzing and warming all the way down.
She glanced down into her glass, watching tiny bubbles rise to the surface, admiring the champagne’s pale gold color against the cut crystal stemware. Champagne in crystal was almost magical. She’d once loved how a glass of fine champagne could make her feel elegant. Beautiful.
She’d confessed that to Vitt, too, and for one week he’d ordered her champagne every night before dinner.
Did he remember? Is that why he’d ordered champagne now?
Her head jerked up and she looked into his eyes. His expression was shuttered. She could see nothing there.
But once, even briefly, there had been something between them. Once they’d made love to each other as if their hearts had mattered.
“Feel beautiful now?” Vittorio asked lazily, watching her with those dark inscrutable eyes of his.
So he did remember. “Like a princess,” she answered.
“And we’re living a fairy tale,” he replied mockingly.