Chapter 1
I am sitting on a plane.
A private jet.
Someone has put a glass of fresh pomegranate juice in front of me, but I haven’t taken a sip.
I’ve been asked questions: “Are you comfortable? Do you need anything? Are you still jet-lagged? Does the dog need anything? Would you care for an asparagus soufflé?” and I either nod or shake my head. I’ve barely said ten words in the past two hours, probably for the same reason I haven’t tasted that delicious-looking pomegranate juice: my throat seems to have closed up. I’m afraid if I open my mouth I might scream. Because nothing—and I mean NOTHING—is right about this scene.
There is a dog sleeping at my feet.
Not my dog. Not my feet.
There is a guy sitting across from me, the best-looking guy I’ve ever known, the guy I’ve been in love wi
