Eyes closed, she mumbles, “Where?”
“Home.”
Her lids flutter, then lift. She gazes up at me for a moment, then looks out the window.
It’s obvious she can tell by the view that we didn’t land at Reno-Tahoe International.
But she only takes a deep breath and stands, avoiding my eyes.
She refuses to look at me on the drive into the city. She doesn’t look at my driver, either, or show surprise at seeing the Bentley waiting for us on the tarmac. She just stares out the window, her gaze far away.
I have to keep my hands curled to fists at my sides so I don’t pull her against my chest and bury my face into her hair.
When we get into Manhattan, she cranes her neck to look at the skyscrapers we pass. She looks very young, gazing out the window with wide eyes, her lips parted in awe.
I want t
