Serena Rosette
I boarded the private jet with a heaviness in my chest. The quiet hum of the plane’s engines was the only sound filling the cabin as I settled into the plush seat by the window. I had chosen the window seat so I wouldn’t have to meet the gaze of anyone else, least of all the staff who had been waiting for me in the airport lounge. The jet felt like an extension of the lie I’d been telling all day.
I shouldn’t have lied to Mason.
There was a knot in my stomach, an ache that had nothing to do with the long flight ahead and everything to do with the guilt that had settled deep inside me. I’d looked him in the eyes, kissed him like I meant it, and then told him I was going to the U.S. for an event, when the truth was I was heading to Paris. To my mother’s villa.
The thought
