Chapter 2: The Private Number
1471 Words
Milo’s own eyes widened.
He had never called anyone that before.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I don’t know why I said that.”
The man looked at him for several seconds.
There was something strange in his expression now. Not anger. Not surprise alone.
Something hurt.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Milo.”
“Milo what?”
Milo remembered the rules.
“Just Milo.”
The man’s almost-smile returned.
“Smart answer.”
“My mom says full names are private.”
“Your mother sounds careful.”
“She worries.”
“About you?”
“About everything.”
The man nodded, as if he understood more than Milo had said.
“Go on, then. Before she wakes up and decides I kidn*pped you.”
Milo grinned and hurried inside.
When he came out, the man was still there.
“You waited.”
“I wanted to make sure you found your seat.”
“I know where it is.”
“I’m sure you do.”
Milo took two steps, then turned back.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Milo.”
The man said his name as if testing it against a memory.
Milo returned to his seat and climbed in beside Elara. Her eyes were still closed.
“Everything okay?” she murmured.
“Yes.”
“Did you talk to anyone?”
Milo looked toward the front of the cabin.
The man was gone.
“No,” he said.
Elara reached for his hand without opening her eyes. Milo held on until she fell fully asleep again.
Several hours later, Westbridge appeared beneath a layer of pale afternoon cloud.
Elara felt the city before she truly saw it.
The change in her breathing. The tightening at the base of her throat. The old memories stirring where she had buried them.
Milo pressed his face to the window.
“It’s huge.”
“It always was.”
“Did you grow up there?”
“Yes.”
“Did my dad?”
Elara fastened his coat.
“Yes.”
Milo turned to look at her.
She busied herself with checking their passports.
Westbridge International Airport was crowded, bright, and far louder than Kingshaven’s terminal had been that morning. Milo tried to look in every direction at once.
Elara kept one hand firmly around his.
“Don’t let go.”
“I won’t.”
They collected their luggage and moved into the arrivals hall. Elara’s phone filled with delayed messages from Daphne, Lydia, Tessa, and Colette, each demanding to know exactly when she would arrive at the apartment.
She had refused to let them meet her at the airport. She had needed these first few minutes in Westbridge to belong only to herself and Milo.
Then the coffee she had drunk before landing caught up with her.
Elara guided Milo to a seating area near an information desk.
“I need to use the restroom. You stay right here.”
“I know.”
“Don’t move.”
“I know.”
“Don’t talk to—”
“Strangers, don’t accept food, find staff if there’s a problem.” Milo pointed toward the uniformed airport employee behind the desk. “That lady counts.”
Elara followed his finger, satisfied.
“I’ll be five minutes.”
“You said that in Kingshaven and took nine.”
“Stay here.”
Milo waved her away.
He waited until she disappeared around the corner.
Then he saw the man from the airplane.
He was walking through the far side of the arrivals hall with two other men. One carried a tablet. The other watched the crowd with the alert posture of security.
Milo stood.
He only meant to take a few steps.
The man turned at the exact moment Milo hurried toward him.
They collided lightly.
A hand closed around Milo’s shoulder before he could fall.
“You again.”
Milo looked up and smiled.
“You speak English.”
“I speak several things.”
“So do I.”
The man released him only after making sure he was steady.
“Where’s your mother?”
“In the restroom.”
“And you were told to stay where she left you.”
Milo glanced back at the seats.
“Yes.”
“Yet here you are.”
“I saw you.”
“That is not usually considered an emergency.”
Milo thought about this.
“No.”
The man’s gaze rested on him again. There was that strange intensity, as if he were looking for something in Milo’s face.
“You said your name was Milo.”
“Yes.”
“Were you born in Kingshaven?”
“Yes.”
“And this is your first time in Westbridge?”
“Yes.”
The man crouched again.
“Do you always answer strangers’ questions so easily?”
“You’re not a stranger. We met on the plane.”
“That is not how your mother would define it.”
Milo considered denying this, then sighed.
“She would say you’re still a stranger.”
“She sounds sensible.”
“She’s a lawyer.”
That seemed to surprise him.
Before he could ask more, the man with the tablet stepped closer.
“Mr. Ashbourne, the car is ready. The board is waiting.”
Milo looked from the assistant to the man.
“Mr. Ashbourne?”
The man stood.
“Yes.”
“What’s your first name?”
For one second, he hesitated.
“Dorian.”
Milo repeated it silently.
Something about the name felt important.
Dorian turned to leave, but after several steps he stopped.
He spoke quietly to his assistant, who handed him a card and a pen.
Dorian wrote a number on the back, then returned to Milo.
“This is for your mother,” he said. “If either of you ever need help.”
Milo took the card.
“Why?”
Dorian looked as if he did not know.
“In case Westbridge becomes difficult.”
“I have my mom.”
“Then you probably won’t need it.”
Milo closed his fingers around the card.
“Will I see you again?”
Dorian’s expression changed.
“I don’t know.”
“I think I will.”
Dorian looked at him for a long moment.
Then he straightened and walked toward the exit.
Milo watched until he disappeared through the glass doors.
“Milo?”
Elara’s voice made him jump.
He shoved the card into his pocket and turned.
She hurried toward him, alarm already sharpening her features.
“I told you not to move.”
“I barely moved.”
“You left the seats.”
“I could still see them.”
“That is not the rule.”
“I’m sorry.”
Elara crouched and checked him over as if someone might have injured him in the few minutes she had been gone.
“Did anyone talk to you?”
Milo pressed one hand against the card in his pocket.
“No one bad.”
“That is not an answer.”
He wrapped his arms around her neck.
“I’m hungry.”
Elara sighed, but her anger weakened. She lifted him and carried him back toward the luggage.
“You are impossible.”
“You love me.”
“Unfortunately.”
“I love you too.”
She set him down and took his hand.
For a moment, Elara stood beneath the high glass ceiling of the arrivals hall and looked toward the exit.
Years ago, this airport had been the place where she had returned to Westbridge alone and collided with a stranger whose arrogance had reminded her of the boy she once loved.
Dorian.
Even thinking his name still hurt in ways she had never managed to explain.
Perhaps he had forgotten her.
Perhaps that was better.
She tightened her hand around Milo’s and led him away.
Outside, Dorian paused beside the waiting car.
He did not know why he looked back.
Through the glass wall, he saw Milo running toward a slender woman. She bent to meet him, then took his hand.
Dorian could not see her face.
Only the fall of dark hair over one shoulder. The careful way she checked the boy. The familiar line of her back as she turned away.
Milo looked up at her.
“Mom.”
Something inside Dorian dropped.
The assistant opened the rear door.
“Mr. Ashbourne?”
Dorian kept watching until the woman and child vanished into the crowd.
He had never believed in instinct.
Yet every instinct he possessed told him he had just watched something important walk away.
Eleven years earlier, before Milo was born, a sixteen-year-old girl had met the boy who would call her Lioness.
- Writer
