Page 170 of Love Me in the Dark
I laugh softly. “Balloons weren’t listed in my duties.”
“A good third party knows when to bring balloons, Cal.”
“Quinn. Most people call me Quinn.” That’s a lie. Most people don’t even know I’m there.
“I like Cal.”
“Driving is smarter than flying. Less fanfare, I know, but under the radar is how they want it.”
Hellena falls silent a moment. “I’m not a princess. And I’m not in a hurry. I just…don’t want this.”
My fingers tighten on the wheel as we drive into the early evening. We’re clear of New York City now. And shadows begin to gather on either side of the road I’m taking off the highway.
“Hellena—”
“Hellie.”
I smile. A slice of heaven wrapped in hell, one who smells sweetly spiced and is too pretty for her own good. The name definitely suits her.
But I’m not here to get to know her, to lust or dream or anything apart from delivering the goods. So I temper my thoughts and try not to think about how fucking pretty she is, how I can feel the volumes of her below the surface. She’s a job, nothing more.
“Hellena,” I say, “we all have burdens to bear. My advice? Make the most of this one.”
3
HELLIE
Cal. I’m going to call him Cal.
His name makes the blood in my veins stir, and I’m not sure why.
Make the most of it? His words float through my head. As we drive, the conversation flows about nothing, carefully about nothing. No dreams or desires or personal things when it’s as personal as can be.
Maybe it’s because my father crafted my life to be one of isolation, friends fading away until there were only mafia offspring left in my circle. I tell Cal this through funny stories and escapades that are more pathetic than I paint them, how I tried to live a life without the dreams that simmer and rock against the surface, things that can never be.
I’d visit places that felt like freedom but never were, my acts of rebellion so tiny they made no difference to even my world, let alone to any others in it.
He smiles, laughs, adds the empty and appropriate comments where they all belong, but each one of those things he says holds more. Truths. Like he can see me…beyond the façade.
Or maybe it’s all in my head.
We’re now in Pennsylvania. I’m not sure where, the highway has given way to smaller roads as he weaves us through towns, through the woods that cover either side, until he turns, finally, somewhere around midnight, into what looks like private property.
“Dad’s or the future husband’s?” I ask as he parks at the top of a long driveway in front of a two-story house.
“Neither.” His gaze is long before he gets out and opens the door for me. Holding out his hand. “I’m third party. My job is to deliver you, unharmed, and on time.”
“No one trusts the other.”
A muscle works in his jaw, his movement around the car setting off sensors that give the area a soft, welcoming glow. In the light he looks both hardened and full of promises.
“My job,” he says softly, “is to make sure no one tries to fuck this up.”
“Do you think they will?”
“No.”
I nod. “I could bribe you into letting me go.”
