Page 45 of The Hermit

Grace: I have everything under control. You can come home.

Ciara: I’m not ready to come home.

Grace: Just be careful and look after yourself. Let me know if you need anything.

Ciara: I will. Did you get in trouble because I left?

Grace: No. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.

“You’re not going to tell her we just got married?” I ask.

Grace’s eyes snap to my face. “No. It will upset Ciara.”

I shake my head. “You care too much about how she feels.”

She makes a disgruntled sound as she puts the cell phone in her bag, then proceeds to stare out of the window.

While Alan drives us toward the airfield where the private jet is waiting, I keep glancing at Grace, noticing how tightly her hands are clasped together on her lap.

Tension pours off her in waves, and every now and then, she swallows hard.

Wanting to set her at ease, I say, “I live in the Tetra Mountains, which are part of the Carpathian chain between Slovakia and Poland. My house is secluded, so we won’t be bothered by other people.”

“Great,” she mutters. “No one to hear me scream.”

Jebat. Not the reaction I was looking for.

After a moment of tense silence, I ask, “Do you have everything you need? Once we’re in the mountains, we won’t leave until Tuesday.”

Not answering my question, Grace asks, “Will Evinka stay with us?”

“No. She seldom comes to my place.”

I notice Grace’s hands gripping each other tighter until her knuckles turn white.

Thinking she needs to hear it, I say, “You’ll be safe with me.”

“So you keep telling me,” Grace whispers, her voice hoarse.

When we reach the airfield and Alan parks the SUV near the private jet, I’m on guard as I climb out.

With my hand resting on the hilt of my gun, I wait for Grace to get out of the SUV, then nod toward the aircraft. “Move.”

“Yes, sir,” she mutters under her breath.

Evinka silently laughs while signing, “She’s not happy with you at all.”

We all board the plane, and I’m surprised when Grace takes the seat beside me. I would’ve thought she’d try to sit on the opposite side of the cabin.

Not sparing me a glance, she asks, “How long is the flight?”

“Two and a half hours.” I suck in a deep breath, then add, “It’s another hour car drive from the airfield to my house.”

Grace only nods, her eyes trained on her lap.

I miss arguing with her.

“I’m surprised the ceremony proceeded without me having to threaten you,” I mention, trying to bate her.

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