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“But you keep having to do all this stuff for me.”

Bellerose half turned, and it was one of those moments where, despite the fact they looked nothing alike, he reminded me of Caspian. Beautiful, unassailable, and merciless. “It’s not for you. It’s for him.”

“I’m not sure whether that makes me feel better or worse.” I did my best to present the tatters of a smile. “All the same, I’m sorry I dragged you out. And on a Friday night as well.”

“It’s fine.”

“But you could have been, I don’t know, at a party or having sex.”

“Actually, I was knitting.”

That surprised a snuffly laugh out of me. And then I realized he wasn’t joking. “You knit?”

“What I do in my spare time is none of your business.”

“But knitting? Seriously? That’s…you do realize that’s adorable, don’t you?”

“I think I preferred it when you were crying.” The look Bellerose was giving me would have clotted cream. Except he’d let himself be human with me—even if just for a moment—and I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be properly scared of him again.

“You’re so mean. Why are you so mean, Bellerose?”

“It gets things done.”

I rested my head on his shoulder. “You know, you don’t have to wait with me.”

“You know I do.”

Time went all airporty. Dragged its feet. Slumbered in corners. But, finally, the plane was cleared for takeoff. I went through the last few checks and hurried outside after Bellerose. He’d dealt with my luggage and was waiting for me by the door of the plane, only slightly ruffled by the wind, and looking like the center spread from a Milieu pull-out special on private jets.

“Um.” I clunked up to join him. “Thank you for doing all this. And sorry for crying and being awkward and making a fuss about the…the credit card.”

I was such a nonsense person. When a man flew you across the world in his private jet so you could be with your friend, drawing a line at using his actual money was as hypocritical as it was futile. And I fully expected Bellerose to point it out, but all he said was, “You will call him, won’t you?”

“Yes. As soon as I can.”

“Make sure you do.”

Wow. Bellerose was certainly, err, something. I grinned at him. “He must pay you really well.”

“Most likely.”

“Or else you really love him.” Shit shit. I couldn’t quite believe I’d said that aloud.

Bellerose just smirked. “Not the way you do, Arden. Have a safe flight.”

Watching him descending the stairs with the sort of grace I could only dream of, I couldn’t help thinking of Caspian. Surrounded by glass and darkness and so many walls. “You’ll take care of him, won’t you?” I blurted out.

He half turned. “Always.”

And then he vanished into the shadows between the runway lights. And I was alone. Well, apart from the pilot and the cabin crew, and all the other people Caspian was paying to attend to my every need.

But, y’know, emotionally speaking.

* * *

We landed in Boston at around 7 a.m. Or rather at 2 a.m. EST. Which was instant jet lag, my body insisting that there should be morningness, when it was still the middle of the night. I’d set an alarm for an hour before landing, which had given me time to shower and de-rumple, but I still stumbled off the plane like a zombie who’d partied too hard.

I couldn’t tell if it was my brain being porridged or the inherent sameness of airports but it didn’t really feel as if I’d flown across the world or that I was in another country. At least not until I had to talk to people who sounded like they’d left their r’s in seventeenth-century England. And then the realness of it all became almost uncopeable-with.