Page 100 of Beneath Scarred Vows
I don't look up. "I'll need to pack."
"Have Emma help you."
"I can manage myself. Do not send her in here."
Ares doesn't argue. He steps back, creating more space between us. "Set the meeting for two days from now. That gives us time to prepare."
I nod, still not meeting his gaze.
"Make it casual. Nothing that would raise suspicion."
"I know how to lie, Ares," I say, looking at him.
He moves toward the door but pauses with his hand on the handle. "I bet…" he says and stops himself. Then turns to look at me. "For what it's worth, I hope you're right about him."
"No, you don't," I reply softly. "You want your revenge. You need someone to blame."
Ares scoffs. "Get some rest, Katerina. It's going to be a long flight."
"This isn’t over between us," I call out to him before he leaves, "Not in the way you think.”
He closing the door behind him without speaking. I stare at the space where he stood, feeling strangely hollow.
I look down at my phone, George's contact information glowing on the screen.
I press the call button before I can change my mind.
I just hope I'm not leading a lamb to the wolves.
That George is innocent.
And that Ares's blind obsession doesn't get us both killed.
The phone rings four times before he answers.
35
KATERINA
Istep out of the car and walk up the few steps into the private jet. Once I'm inside, I see an empty chair beside Ares and two open ones across the aisle from him. I opt for one of the seats across the aisle.
I settle into the leather chair. He doesn't acknowledge me. His eyes remain fixed on his laptop screen, headphones firmly in place. Fine by me. I'm not exactly in the mood for small talk either.
It's barely dawn. The sky outside the window is that murky blue-gray that makes everything feel strange. The jet engines roar to life as they power up, the sound vibrating through my seat.
My throat still aches when I swallow. I want to hate him for that, for crossing a line I never thought he would. But emotions aren't that simple, are they? Especially not when it comes to Ares.
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He's still pretending I don't exist.
A stewardess with too-white teeth and huge breasts approaches, smiles, and asks if I want anything to drink before takeoff. Irequest water. My voice sounds rough, like I've been screaming for hours. Maybe I have.
Ares doesn't move his headphones. Doesn't look up from his screen. His fingers tap away at the keyboard like he's writing the most important business email of his life rather than sitting just feet away from me, his wife, the woman he claimed meant a lot more than what I ended up being.
The woman returns with my water, and I thank her. The jet lurches forward, taxiing toward the runway. Chicago will soon disappear behind us, the city where I started to feel alive again, where I began to believe that this marriage might be more than a business arrangement.
What a fucking joke.
As we wait to take off, I'm startled by his question.
