Salvatore DiMarco
We parked at the runway. My jet was ready, the aircraft and the crew were sharp, ready to take us back home. Another SUV parked beside us, and Scarlett stepped out of it as if she owned the place.
I took a deep breath; this was going to be the longest flight of my life, then I turned to my side and saw the woman sitting beside me—Sienna, my wife, perfect, poised, composed, but nervous. There was something about Scarlett that triggered her. I can only imagine the type of childhood and life she had around her mother and sister; always complying, always putting herself second, not by choice, but by survival.
I lingered a bit longer, and she looked at me, “You are staring,” she mumbled, shifting in her place. I leaned forward and pecked her lips. There was no word for w
