Page 103 of Forgotten Promise

Compared to Kailani and Benjamin, he was a latecomer to the Trinity Masters, not joining the society until he was twenty-six years old. Up until then, he’d done a fair amount of dating, but he’d never managed to move from casual hookups to committed relationships because he’d never opened himself up, never let himself be vulnerable.

Then the Trinity Masters had recruited him, and he’d felt relieved.

That was the predominant emotion.

Relief.

It felt as if the society had just made things easy for him. They would give him spouses and he could have the family he wanted—one that would always stay—and he didn’t have to invest or try or leave himself open for the inevitable pain associated with being rejected…left behind.

For a few weeks after joining, he’d been flying high. Then he caught sight of an ex—a lovely, sweet woman he’d dated for several months in his early twenties—in the grocery store. She was with her husband and pushing twin toddler boys around in one of those carts that resembled a car, complete with a steering wheel. The couple was laughing at something one of the boys said. She looked so happy, so in love, and he’d thought…that could have been me.

He’d gone home and spent hours reevaluating their relationship, recalling all the ways she’d tried to get closer, only to have him push her away time after time.

Then he recalled that relief he’d felt after joining the Trinity Masters, and he had realized he’d never have the family he wanted unless he made some changes. So he’d done the hard thing and made an appointment with a therapist, who’d helped him work through his issues with trust. He had been seeing her for years, proud of the strides he’d made, so when the call to the altar came, he’d felt ready…ready to meet his spouses, to share parts of himself he’d never shown anyone else, to be the type of husband they could rely on and trust.

He’d given them all of that…and it still hadn’t been enough.

John reached his car, climbing behind the steering wheel.

Regardless of how it all ended, he missed them.

He missed the hell out of them.

Loneliness had settled over him, enveloped him like a mummy, the feeling suffocating, irritating, miserable.

What made it all worse was neither Benjamin nor Kailani had reached out to him. Part of him had expected—maybe hoped was the better word—that they’d try to contact him, even if it was just to say goodbye.

When they didn’t, he’d gotten pissed off all over again.

His initial anger toward them had lasted until he’d boarded the plane in Hawaii. Taking his seat, crammed in the too-tight economy section, the rage faded, morphing to sadness, as he realized he would never see them again.

Not unless he started attending Trinity Masters events, which he knew he wouldn’t. The idea of running into them at some gala or meeting, the chance that they might be there with their new trinities, was something he simply couldn’t face.

Now, his feelings fluctuated between misery and fury, and he hated it.

Fucking therapy. Figured he’d manage to fix his emotional issues just in time for life to take another goddamn swing at him.

John closed his eyes and strengthened his resolve. He’d go to Monte Carlo and focus all his energy on the case. When he came back to L.A., it would be with a clean slate as he put the past month behind him and moved on.

* * *

John stepped off the plane, following signs to the baggage claim area. He’d been shocked when, after calling the number to book his ticket, the email confirmation showed that Interpol had sprung for a first-class seat. He hadn’t been looking forward to the fifteen hours of travel crammed into an economy seat, but he’d been sure there was a mistake. He tried to call back the number, but this time instead of answering on the first ring, he’d gotten voice mail.

When he boarded, he’d been pleasantly surprised to discover no mistake had been made. He’d been set up in one of those comfy pod things, where he’d watched a couple movies, then slept a full eight hours, after which he enjoyed breakfast before landing. Instead of being tired and sore, he was well rested and refreshed when he reached his destination.

It had been bliss, yet he still hadn’t managed to stop comparing the commercial flight to the unsurpassed comfort of Benjamin’s private jet.

Jesus. Benjamin had ruined him in just one week, and John felt fairly disgusted with himself for finding first class lacking. It was time to return to real life, one where he was grateful for shit like first class.

He sighed as he glanced outside at the darkening sky. It was going to take him a couple of days to adjust to the time difference because while it was ten a.m. in his head, it was actually seven p.m. here in Nice, France.

Mentally, he made a plan for next steps. He was a little nervous too. The signs in the airport were all in about four different languages, but based on his googling on the plane—first class had Wi-Fi—once he actually got to Monaco, signs would be in French and Monégasque, and while a lot of people spoke English, there were no guarantees.

He’d downloaded a couple translation apps, just in case.

The plan was to grab his suitcase from baggage claim, go through immigration, and then, according to the itinerary he’d been emailed along with the plane ticket, someone would meet him here at the airport to help him get the thirty kilometers from Nice to Monte Carlo. There were taxis and a train, but John was glad someone was going to meet him and point him in the right direction, especially since it was evening here.

Once he got to his hotel, he’d have some free time. The next thing on the itinerary was for him to meet someone in his hotel lobby tomorrow morning, which meant he was on his own tonight, so once he was checked in, he’d head out for a late dinner.

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