Chapter 10

Exactly thirty minutes later the limousine stopped. Dawney did not see what was happening, the partition prevented her from doing so, but she heard the sound of a gate opening. They walked a few more meters at a walking pace, then the car stopped and Dawney heard Annabelle knock on the partition wall.

“We're here, Mrs. Miller. Can I lower the partition? Is she presentable?”

That question left her stunned, but she preferred not to investigate why the driver had asked it. Perhaps, the passengers who routinely traveled there, during even the shortest journeys indulged in behavior that, a normal human being would have found indecent.

Thinking back to the way she and Cole had sometimes spent time in the back of hummers after concerts, or on long trips between states, she blushed. She could still hardly believe that she had come this far, and, not for the first time, she was glad to be over the tumultuous period that had been her adolescence.

“Yes, I am presentable, Annabelle. I'll fix up a little bit here, then I'll come down.”

“Don't worry, Mrs. Miller. I'll take care of it later, it's part of my job.”

“All right, whatever you like,” she replied, but in doing so, she checked that no crumbs had fallen on her seat, then carefully arranged the box of brioche, made sure the mini refrigerator was closed, and, lastly, slipped the small empty bottle of orange juice into her boot bag. As soon as she arrived in Aspen, she would throw it in the first wastebasket she encountered on her way.

The partition lowered, and soon after, Annabelle opened the limo door. She, accustomed as she was to spring into action immediately upon receiving the transmission from nine-one-one, slid out of the vehicle without even giving her time to say another word, then began handing her her luggage.

When the driver finished setting them up on what, and she could see now, was a runway over which planes passed, she allowed herself to look up for the first time. She was stunned.

In front of her was a white jet, which seemed to sparkle in the early morning sunlight, with a ladder already lowered.

Near the staircase, and not far from her, stood a middle-aged man, who like Annabelle wore a dark red uniform and a hat with a black visor, a light metallic gray limousine, black suitcases, and a pair of black and silver skis and poles, and Cole!

He was breathtakingly handsome: he wore a white turtleneck sweater, a pair of dark blue jeans that looked as if they had been made especially for him, and a pair of dark brown après-ski snow boots. To look at him, no one would have guessed that, only twelve years earlier, he was a rock guitarist, had longer hair, and was dressed in black leather from head to toe.

His physique had also changed quite a bit: he looked...more powerful. The twenty-one-year-old boy with a nervous, jerky physique and barely defined muscles, whom she had met at sixteen and for whom she had fallen head over heels, was no longer there.

In his place, in front of the staircase, was a man with a broad, muscular chest, strong arms accustomed to work, a narrow waist, and turned legs. He was still talking to his driver, but when he noticed her, he stopped and gave her a hint of a smile, before going back to talking to the man.

Annabelle picked up her Louis Vuitton suitcase and, at that point, she awoke from the spell and, without saying a word, picked up her skis and poles, slung them over her shoulders, then grabbed the handle of the bag in which she had stuffed her ski boots and hurried after her.

'Get a grip on yourself, Dawney,' she thought, scolding herself sternly. 'You are here to work and keep an eye on him, not to drool over him. Also, don't forget what he did to you...the wolf may lose its fur, but it will never lose its vice.'

When she was close to the ladder, Cole put his arm in front of her, stopping her. “Let me help you,” he told her and, without waiting for an answer, took her skis and poles off the shoulder on which she had placed them, then put them on his left shoulder. He also took the bag of boots from her hands, and before she could even protest. “Go ahead.”

“Mr. Young, I don't think that's the case...”

“One, I've already told you that you can call me Cole, after all, we're going to be together around the clock, so it's important that there are no formalities between us,” he interrupted her, serious. “Two, the doctor told me that I can do light exertion, and this is light exertion.” Without giving her time to reply, he walked past her and got on the jet.

'Gosh, what a tyrant!' she thought, but she could not help but follow him.

***

When she arrived on board, Cole had already stowed her suitcase and boot bag in a resealable container that, when closed, looked like an ottoman. He had also stowed her skis and poles in a corner of the jet and even secured them to prevent them from moving during the flight.

Annabelle got off the jet and, shortly after, climbed back on with the other driver, carrying Cole's luggage, skis, and boot bag.

He waited for them to finish setting them up, then turned to the man. “Garrison, will Ilary be at the Aspen airport as scheduled? Have you called her yet?”

“Yes, Mr. Young, she confirmed that she will be there by eleven o'clock. She told me that as soon as you arrive, she will take you immediately to the cabin so that you can freshen up, as you requested.”

“Good,” said Cole. “Has the Aspen hospital been notified of my arrival?”

“Yes, they will send a doctor this afternoon so that he can make arrangements with Mrs. Miller.”

“Great, I would say the most important things have been fixed,” replied Cole. “The day before our return, I will send you a message to let you know when we will be back and what time we will arrive here at the airport. You can drop us off now.”

“Yes, Mr. Young,” said Garrison, then he and Annabelle left them alone and descended the ladder that led from inside the jet to the runway.

Dawney looked around. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable: she had never been on a private jet and, although there was plenty of space, it seemed too little.

She was too close to him and, although she would never admit it, she would have preferred traveling on a commercial flight a thousand times more. There at least there would have been other people there and she could have put a reasonable distance between her and Cole.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, surprising her.

She returned her attention above him. Mentally, she went over the semaphore she had learned in her first First Aid class.

Red. Observe and evaluate the situation carefully. Yellow. Think about what to do. Green. Take action.

“What did your doctor tell you? Other than that you can make light efforts?”

Hearing that question, Cole felt the urge to either huff or roll his eyes, but did neither. Instead, he forced himself to remain calm and tell her the answer she sought. It was not the case to rush things: he had a month ahead of him, after all, and in a month many things could happen.

And he could have asked her all the questions that were buzzing around in his head. For example, why, instead of going to a homeless shelter, had she not asked Steven, the bass player, for help if she really wanted nothing more to do with him? From what he remembered, she and Steven got along very well, even too well, so much so that more often than not, when jealousy became an unbearable burden on him, he had “punished” her by either denying himself to her or unloading his anger on her.

Right now, though, he would have preferred that she had gone to him and his partner, Ginny, with whom Dawney had always gotten along very well, instead of to one of those filthy shelters and where the hygienic conditions were rather poor.

“When we arrive in Aspen and meet with the doctor of the local hospital today, he will tell you everything. My doctor has already sent him my medical records,” he answered.

The truth, however, was another: after more than a month of recovery, he was now well and his doctor had told him that he could resume his routine activities, but in order for his plan to succeed, he had to make Dawney believe that he needed her. And, to achieve that goal, he had split nearly two billion dollars between L.A Hospital's emergency room, his private doctor, and the doctor of the Aspen hospital. He recognized that, what he had done, had not been an orthodox move and, if Dawney found out, she would be furious and never want to see him again for the rest of her life, but it was a risk he was willing to take.

There was still that unfinished episode between them, an episode for which he wanted to make it up to her...then he also had a lot of questions to ask her and, yes, he also wanted to scold her for disappearing like that!

When he thought back on it, he still got chills...when it had happened, worst-case scenarios had flashed through his mind, and after her disappearance, and what had happened during his last concert with Razor Edge in Nashville, he had decided to give that life a rest.

At that moment he heard the jet engines start up and, on instinct, he grabbed her by the arm to prevent her from falling.

“Let's sit down now, we are about to take off. We will continue talking as soon as we are in the air and the plane has stabilized.”

Dawney did not object, acknowledging that he was right. There was nothing more dangerous than to be standing up, on an airplane, and unsecured with a seatbelt while it was taking off or landing.