Page 16 of Cruel Dreams

I nod. He pays and I drift away. I don’t want to hear the total.

We roam the airport and he carries the stuffed bags. There’s a leather goods store at the opposite end of the corridor from the bookstore, and I stop to admire a purse and matching wallet.

“We’ll buy those too, and you’ll need a suitcase,” Zane says, handing me the bookstore bags and lifting the purse and wallet off the display table. I don’t object. I’ll need them and there’s no point in arguing.

“Are you hungry? Let’s find something to eat,” he says, shoving the receipt into his wallet, the plastic bag’s handle hooked over his wrist.

“Yeah, that sounds good. What is there?”

“There’s more variety past security, and you and Max will have a good selection to choose from. But for now, there aresandwiches, burgers, pizza, that kind of thing. If you’re prone to motion sickness, don’t eat anything greasy before flying. It might not sit well in your stomach.”

“Do you get motion sickness?” I ask curiously. I’ve been in love with him for five years, but he’s barely more than a stranger.

“No,” he says, his voice clipped.

Somehow, I made him mad.

I choose a Mexican restaurant that has seating positioned along the concourse. It feels strange to sit in the hallway, but I like it, too, watching people rush by. One man angrily jerks on a woman’s arm, shouting, “Because of you, we’ll be lucky to get through security on time.” The hair on my arms stands up, and I feel sorry for her as she rushes not to fall behind.

They disappear into the crowd.

“Traveling can be stressful,” Zane says, watching my reaction to the arguing couple.

A waitress serves us virgin margaritas and a huge basket of chips and salsa to munch on while we wait for our meals.

It strikes me as such a normal thing to do, like Zane isn’t one of the richest men in the world. Like we’re a normal couple wandering the mall on a Saturday afternoon and eating a snack before going to a movie.

I’m twenty-five years old, and I’ve never had an afternoon like that with a man.

With anyone.

I suppose you could say that Zarah and I had an afternoon like that, but her secrets didn’t let me enjoy the experience and Hector creeped me out. I wonder if any of this would have come to pass had she confided in me at the vintage boutique.

Maybe this is what I should look for when this is over. Normalcy. A partner who’s willing to waste an afternoon people watching while we browse for things we don’t need. Zane can’tgive me that. The activity is probably too mundane and he wouldn’t enjoy it.

The waitress serves our lunches and asks if there’s anything else we need. I shake my head and Zane says, “No, this looks great, thanks.” She walks away holding our empty chip basket and salsa cups.

Zane waits until she’s out of earshot and then says, “Nathalie’s meeting Vance Huxley tonight.”

I know that’s the plan, and I wish she didn’t have to do it. “Is she going to be okay?”

My enchiladas swim in a lake of sauce, and I think Zane’s right—no eating before flying—but it only takes one bite to stir my appetite. It’s not delivery from the five-star restaurant where Mel orders our meals, but it’s good, nonetheless.

“She says she will, and she doesn’t have to sleep with him. Just talk, try to get a little information.”

It’s disgusting, knowing the mayor of King’s Crossing uses a prostitution service when he’s supposed to be protecting the citizens of his city. When he’s supposed to be fighting crime, not contributing to it. The FBI is dirty, too, but the mayor of the city I call home is closer to me, more easily identifiable, and I’ll enjoy revealing what a slimeball he is.

“Mainly, I want her to collect as much proof as she can he’s been participating in illegal activities. I could have taken pictures of him groping her last night, but I don’t want to expose her part in this if I don’t have to.”

My lunch curdles in my stomach.

I hate myself for being glad it’s not me. That Ash didn’t do that to me. I push away from the table, wiping tears off my cheeks. “I can’t do this.” I don’t give him time to flag the waitress and pay the check. I gather the bulging bags and run down the corridor.

He swears behind me. “Stella, wait.”

I sit on a bench in an open area so he can find me. Planes are waiting on the runway, huge ones that carry a hundred people at a time. It’s amazing they can stay in the air.

Sometimes they don’t.

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