Page 91 of Remembering Passion

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Thank you.”

Once the plane was in the air, we both changed from our formal wear into more casual clothes. This time we were both wearing blue jeans. Damien spent most of the flight between calls with his sister and calls with Stephen Elliott, an attorney I recalled from Sinclair.

With my legs curled beneath me in the seat, I sat watching the man I’d tried to forget, seeing him in a way that contrasted the reasons I’d left him. While I’d worked for him, I’d witnessed his anger. It wasn’t directed at me, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t heard his curses or seen the way his face could redden.

During the duration of the flight, there were bursts of cursing, yet his deep baritone voice stayed resolved, as if he was preparing himself for the worst.

I thought about his offer or his proposal. It wasn’t exactly the way a girl dreamed it would be. We weren’t under the canopy of stars or in still water with a diamond ring. Although, according to him, that had been the plan.

“We’re about to land,” Angie said. “There’s a car waiting to take you to the hospital.”

“I’m going to get my purse,” I said, standing and walking to the bedroom in the aft of the plane. When I turned, Angie was behind me. “I’ll hurry.”

“I wanted to thank you, Ms. Crystal. I don’t try to eavesdrop, but I know Mr. Sinclair is worried about his father and about the company. I’m so glad you’re with him.”

I swallowed. “Me too, Angie.”

The memory of Damien saying the flight crew had witnessed more verbal disagreements came back. “Did you meet Amber?”

“Ms. Wilmott,” she said with a serious expression. “Yes.”

“I know you can’t tell me anything…”

Her smile returned. “I can say we’re very happy to have you back. Take care of him.”

Take care of Damien Sinclair.

“I will.”

Damien was still on the phone as we exited the aircraft and entered the back seat of the waiting car. The cold breezes from up north were replaced with Florida’s humid air. The spring flowers were replaced with palm trees.

“He finally showed up,” Damien said into the phone. He looked at me and mouthed “Darius.”

I inhaled, wondering what the confrontation would be. It was hard to tell with Darius.

When Damien finally tucked the phone into the pocket of his jeans, he reached for my hand and gave it a squeeze. “Dad’s still in surgery.”

I nodded.

“I could do this alone.”

“You could. You don’t have to.”

Palm trees lined the streets and tall lamps illuminated the way. My skin grew tight as the car came to a stop in front of the hospital. Once out of the car, Damien placed his hand in the small of my back and led me through the large glass doors. Without a word, he guided me through the hallways, up an elevator, and through more corridors.

Dani was the first recognized person I saw as we approached a small private surgical waiting room. She rushed from her chair and wrapped Damien in a hug.

“No word.”

With his lips pressed into a straight line, Damien nodded.

When Dani backed away, she turned to me. “God, I’m glad to see you.”

The two of us embraced. Truth be told, we’d met a few times for lunch over the last two years. It was nice to see her out in the open.

I retook Damien’s hand. “I’m glad I’m able to be here.”

Next stop was Marsha Sinclair, Damien’s mother. When her bloodshot eyes focused on Damien, she too stood and wrapped him in a hug. “Thank God you’re here.” She turned to me. “Gabriella.”

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