LUCY
A deafening silence lasted between us all the way to the airport and unto the Clayton private jet, a spectacular specimen of crimson red. An easy target for terrorists.
After takeoff, a steward arrived to serve us a bucket of ice-cold champagne and professional plastic smiles. As I prepared myself to do the same thing to Grant's family, I took a glass of champagne. I might as well get myself drunk because that was going to be difficult than pole dancing to hell. It would not matter much if I did not have too much to lose. I was still very afraid that Grant's family would get to his head. The image of the Clayton's ripping June apart from me like they had done with Grant himself years ago traumatized and haunted me.
"Have you told your family about this yet?" I had to ask, taking
