Page 29 of Honor

“Kevin Dalca.” He smiles. “He recently adopted a handsome boxer named Boxy.”

“That’s original.” I go for another bite of salad.

He tilts his chin down. “He mentioned he’s been trying to get in touch with you about…”

“I know,” I stop him before he can finish his sentence since I know exactly what Kevin wants. “I’ll shoot him a text.”

I leave off the wordsoonbecause lying to Donovan isn’t something I’ve ever done, and I have no intention of starting now.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Evie

Rubbing my forehead,I take a deep breath and look down at the checklist I saved to the notes app on my phone.

Since Lottie invited me to Paris, I’ve jotted down every possible thing I feel is a necessity for the trip. Once I realized I couldn’t stuff all of my so-called ‘essentials’ into my suitcase, I started trimming the list.

I believe I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, and that’s good since I’m flying out of New York City tonight.

I have exactly one hour to prepare before Lottie arrives to take me to the airport.

She explained that she’s arranged for a driver in a SUV to make the trek there since she doesn’t own a car. I don’t either. I do know how to drive, though. I learned that sweet skill when I was sixteen. My mom insisted on it, and although I live in Manhattan and get everywhere I need to by foot or public transportation, driving may come in handy one day.

Just as I’m scanning my list one final time, my phone rings.

“Mom,” I whisper as I glance at the screen.

I was hoping that I wouldn’t hear from her before the trip because I’m not sure how to explain to my mom that I’m jetting off to Europe with a virtual stranger.

If I try and appease her concerns by sharing that Lottie is an heir to the Emmel fortune, that will send her down to her local Emmel’s to brag about the fact that her daughter is Mr. Emmel’s granddaughter’s maid of honor.

I decide to use the diversion trick that has always served me well. I’ll keep the conversation focused on her.

“Hey, Mom,” I chirp as I answer. “How are you?”

“I’m as good as I can be,” she says in a rush. “How’s my girl?”

“I’m great.”

I’m not. I’ve only been on an airplane twice, so nervous butterflies have taken hold of not only my stomach but every inch of my body.

I’m literally shaking in my shoes right now.

“Are you sure?” she asks, her mom sense obviously has kicked into high gear. “You sound different.”

I take a long, deep breath. “I’m sure.”

“All right, dear.”

Thankful that we’ve moved on from that, I quiz her about her day because that always leads to a handful of stories, and by my calculations, that will eat up enough time that I can end the call after she’s finished telling me the last of them. “How was your day, Mom?”

“Fine.”

What?

I’ve been talking to my mom on the phone at least a few times a week for the past five years, and she’s never answered that question in one word.

“Just fine?” I use her old trick of pushing for more.

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