Where are we going?
We’ve been in the air about forty-five minutes and for forty of them, I’ve been fighting the urge to ask. There hadn’t been an opportunity to find out at the private airport before takeoff. All I do know is I wasn’t asked for my passport, and I wasn’t about to remind him I’m not in the habit of carrying it with me. Assuming his plans include immediate marriage.
My stomach knots as I glance down at my watch, mentally calculating how many hours I have left. Forty-eight hours to respond to the Russian mafia. Or marry Niko.
Can’t get married in forty-eight hours anywhere in the UK, I think to myself. Which, as far as thoughts go, is a safer bet than letting myself imagine what’s about to happen. Because then I might have to admit the prospect thrills me on some level. But as I don’t have my passport, I don’t know how he thinks we’ll be marrying.
Noting my smile reflected in the dark window, I conceal it behind my hand. It’s safe to say I’m feeling quite smug all of a sudden. A little gleeful, even. I mean, what is he going to do? Smuggle me into a foreign country? Except, isn’t that exactly what a mafia type would do? And he did say he was someone worse than the mafia?
So maybe he’ll try that.
And maybe I’ll kick up a stink wherever we land.
And be shoved into some foreign prison.
“Not long until we land.”
I swing around to face him, perturbed my face might be so transparent. “Where will we be landing?”
“It would be a shame to spoil the surprise.”
“Right.” I might just over-enunciate the t the tiniest bit as I flounce away from him. It’s quite a feat, flouncing while seated. As is ignoring his quiet chuckle. So I don’t, pivoting to face him. “If you keep me from my sons—”
“Only a monster would keep a mother from her children.” This time, Niko is the one to break the connection, his gaze sliding away. It’s then I notice the plane has begun its descent. It isn’t long before it lands smoothly, despite the wet and windy conditions. In the dark, I can’t make out any landmarks. We could be in Ireland or … somewhere else. My geography isn’t great, to be honest, but there’s something strangely familiar about the landscape. Narrowing my eyes, I peer through the darkness wondering if it’s the hills in the distance that make it seem so. But then I notice my reflection squinting back at me.
“We’re only touching down,” Van says as the plane taxis to where it must. “We’ll be back in the air very soon.”
“Why?”
Niko’s forefinger taps the manila folder before he moves it to the chair next to him. “Come, I’ll show you.” He unclips his seat belt and stands. “You won’t need your purse,” he adds, turning for the exit. I swear I then hear him mutter, “Let’s go and find out if this worked.”
I emerge into the dark, damp night, the wind whipping stands of my hair across my eyes and into my mouth. The light from the cabin casts an arc in front where the fine misting of rain glistens like tiny diamonds peppering the air. A gust of wind plasters my dress to my legs, making me shiver. A moment later, I find myself half turning as Niko settles his jacket on my shoulders. Something passes between us as our eyes meet. This is how it all started, with a jacket, all those years ago. My fingers tightening on the lapels as nostalgia lingers in the air between, but then—
“Is that—” My head whips back to the night as my brain belatedly registers a childish squeak, then the rain-hazy figures on the tarmac. It’s Archie and Hugh and Holland, her smart new jaguar parked behind them. We’re not at a private airport but a small private airfield, local to Kilblair Castle, the rustic hanger standing in the distance.
“You arranged for my boys to be here?”
He nods, and the smile he wears is one I don’t think I’ve ever seen on him. Quietly pleased. Sort of modest. I shouldn’t think so but I like it on him. “I arranged for them to come with us.”
By contrast, my smile is a mile wide, relief flooding my body. As certain as I’d felt leaving them with Sandy and Holland, having them in my arms seems like everything right now. I don’t wait for Niko’s reply as I dash down the steps.
Only a monster would separate a mother from her children. Niko Vanyin is a lot of things—a lot of annoying things—but he isn’t a monster.
“Mummy!” the boys call in unison, Hugh waving madly as Archie tries to skip ahead, stopped only by Holland placing her hand on his shoulder. She bends and says something to him, but moments later, I’m there on the tarmac in front of them, my arms wrapped tightly around my babies.