Page 32 of Owen
Both Mari and I burst out laughing, then Mari says, “And of course, we wouldn’t have this little one either had Andrew and I never met, would we?” Mari stands too quickly, making her wobble on her feet and grab on to the table to steady herself.
I’m at my full height within seconds, hands on her elbows to support her. “Hey, I got you. Are you okay?” Concern drips from my lips. “We should text Jade.”
“No, don’t,” Mari snaps, then hangs her head. “I’m sorry, Owen. I didn’t mean to sound so stern.” She shakes her head. “Please don’t contact Jade. She’s busy and I don’t like her worrying about me. I think I need to lie down again.” Her pleading eyes speak volumes. “I felt better after I rested earlier. That’s all I need.” I notice her skin is paler now as she wipes her perspiration-covered brow.
I try to bury the niggle in my gut that there is a bigger underlying health issue causing Mari’s lightheadedness.
Reluctantly, I agree to not call Jade. I pull a wet and fruit salad-covered Poppy out of her highchair and order Mari to hook her arm into mine, carefully ushering her to their villa.
“Poppy needs her swimming diaper changed into a dry diaper, then she needs her nap.” Mari sounds concerned.
“I can help with all of that.”
Mari and I shuffle slowly to the forecourt and follow the path to the front of her villa.
Her eyebrows shoot skyward. “Have you ever changed a diaper before?”
“Never.”
“I’ll talk you through it.”
“Good plan.”
“She’s wrigglier than a worm, though.”
“I’ll be fine. It’s just a diaper.”
I help manage a three hundred-strong team of employees and run a production line in my father’s absence. I mean, what could go wrong?
8
JADE
Back half an hour earlier than expected, and around the same time Poppy has her afternoon nap, I press the front door closed carefully and sneak into the quiet villa, guessing my mom is resting while Poppy does.
I love training in Cyprus; early starts mean early finishes.
Today went better than expected. I had nothing to worry about.
The guys loved my choreography. We sat around for hours, running through it several times, examining parts of it we want to change to minimize risk, letting everyone have their chance to express their thoughts and concerns. Level heads and professionalism shone through each of us, highlighting just how much of a tight-knit unit we are already. The loyalty and attentiveness of my team knows no limits and I am buzzing about getting to fly in formation tomorrow.
I pull my aviator sunglasses off my face, fold the arms, then push one of them into the neckline of my tee shirt.
Burning up, I unzip my flight suit, rolling the green fabric down to my waist, then tie the arms of it around my hips.
“God, that feels good.” I shake out the tension in my tight shoulders and waft the neckline of my crisp white shirt, causing my sunglasses toclinkagainst the soft cotton fabric.
I toe off my black boots and make for the stairs, but just as the sole of my foot hits the first one, I hear a masculine voice travel across the hallway, prompting me to stop and listen.
Zeroing in on the noise, trying to figure out where the voice is coming from, I lean over the banister toward the living space when Poppy giggles with glee.
My lips involuntarily smile at her laughter. That giggle gets me every time.
“Oh, you like that, do you?” A Scottish accent, one I know all too well now, hits my eardrums.
What the hell is he doing here?
Louder now, he bellows in his broad Scottish-accented words, “It’s a braw, moonlicht nicht, the nicht.” And she giggles again.
