Chapter 45
FORTY-FIVE
Gigi
I lean back in the plush leather seat of the private jet, the engine humming as we speed from Paris to London. Poppy sits at my side, her head propped in her palm as she scrolls through her phone absentmindedly.
Harry’s a few seats away, staring out the window with an intensity only he’s capable of.
He’s dressed in his usual get-up: a dark shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a hint of the chest I was clawing at a matter of hours ago.
I can still taste him on my lips; feel his hands on my skin, the way he worshipped me everywhere and fucked me as if the world were ending. Perhaps it is.
I can’t let it mean anything, no matter how much it kills me. It was reckless.
And now, as the jet slices through the air, I’m left with the cold reality that I’m returning to Jamie and his unpredictable temperament – even if it is at the price of a few remaining weeks, maybe months.
Harry catches my eye then, his gaze lingering. There’s a question in it.
What are you thinking about?
I look away, focusing on my lap as I twiddle my thumbs. Poppy locks her phone, drilling into me about my idiot brother, contrasting the storm raging inside my head. My lack of communication has her looking at me puzzled.
Her eyes dart between Harry and me.
I shake my head. Don’t ask.
The pilot’s voice crackles over the intercom, announcing our descent. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ll be landing shortly. Please fasten your seatbelts.”
As the jet begins its descent, I peer out the window.
The world outside tilts, the city sprawling below us.
The air feels thick, like a noose growing tighter, tighter, until the plane touches down with a jolt.
My head pounds, numbing the noise of the wheels screeching against the tarmac.
We taxi to the private terminal, eventually drawing to a stop.
The pilot’s voice comes through the speakers again. “Welcome to London City Airport.”
The cabin doors open with a hiss.
I stand on wobbly legs, my joints feeling like lead as I grab my bag. Poppy stands simultaneously, groaning as she stretches out her limbs, having been sat in the same spot for more than an hour.
“We know the plan.” Poppy turns between Harry and me. “Jack will be in touch when he’s got news, but in the meantime, life resumes as normal.”
Silence swarms the three of us. Unless there’s any vital information from me before we hear from Jack, it’s a waiting game with no clear end in sight.
Poppy’s focus zeroes in on the side of my face, but I avoid her eye, wanting to bask in ignorance for a few minutes longer. The second I step outside, this trip will become an odd fever dream.
At the thought, I turn my head just slightly. Harry tilts his head up a fraction, and our eyes meet. For a second, it’s like we’re back in that room, his body pressed against mine.
He turns away.
I swallow, forcing a steady breath through me, trying to calm my racing pulse before I walk into the arms of another man.
Poppy stands in the doorway, motioning for me to follow. I force a nod, heaving my bag over my arm. Harry’s right there, mere inches away, but I don’t have it in me to say goodbye.
I choose silence, heading down the aisle between the seats.
“Gigi?” he says softly.
A second passes before I turn to him fully. He rises to his feet slowly, stepping closer. I see his discomfort in the way he rolls his head round his shoulders.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ring – the one Jamie gave me. Harry launched it across the room last night. Fuck. I drop my head to my empty finger, having completely forgotten about it through the chaos.
I always thought the ring was huge – an ugly, massive thing – but it looks tiny cushioned in Harry’s palm.
He doesn’t say much as he holds it out. His eyes meet mine, and there’s a depth there; a sadness that mirrors the void growing inside of me. I know what he’s thinking, even if he won’t admit it.
This is it – the end of whatever we had before it ever really began.
I mutter, “My ring.”
I want to tell him to keep it, to throw it out the window into the Thames. I look into his eyes, and for a fleeting moment I consider confessing it all. The abuse, the threats, the beatings; the fact I’m only marrying Jamie to keep him from hurting the people I care about.
Instead I force a weak smile, taking the ring from him.
He watches me slip it back on, his jaw tightening, but he doesn’t argue.
We stand there for a moment, the silence stretching out. His gaze drops to his hands, and when he looks back up again, there’s rawness in his expression that breaks me a little more. Harry’s face is vulnerable in a way I’ve only seen in glimpses.
His tone is careful. “Are you going to be okay?”
“I’ll be fine.”
He tilts his head slightly, as if he knows something but doesn’t know what. He blinks it away, pushing his hands into his front pockets. “Don’t forget who you are in there,” he says, his voice rough. “I once saw you impale a man’s skull with your stiletto.”
I smile. “You remember that?”
“I remember it all.”
My hand twitches to reach out to him. “I’ll come back to you,” I say. “For the training.”
I give in to temptation, reaching up slowly to touch his face. My fingertips hover over his cheekbone, gently brushing. His eyes close, just barely.
“Swear it,” he says.
“I swear.”
He leans in, bringing his forehead to mine. I let myself pretend, for one breath, that this is enough. But I want to bury my face in his chest. I want to fly this plane somewhere else. Harry wouldn’t even hesitate.
He mumbles, “Don’t look at me like you’re trying to remember.”
“Gigi,” Poppy calls.
I jerk away from him, my cheeks flushing. Poppy doesn’t look directly at us, but I see the knowing glance she shoots my way. She steps outside the plane without another word.
I take a deep breath, stepping round him, hoisting the bag further up my arm. I walk down the aisle to the doors of the jet and then glance back at Harry, who deliberately lingers in his seat, out of sight of whoever’s awaiting me on the runway.
I see the resignation there – the quiet acceptance that this is how it has to be.
He bows his head in goodbye.
I step out of the jet.
The cool London air hits me, carrying the faint scent of rain and petrol. There’s a blur of activity – ground crew shouting, luggage carts whirring by, engines whining in the distance – but my focus narrows on the figure waiting at the edge of the tarmac.
Jamie’s leaning against a sleek black car, arms crossed, hair slicked back, his face a mask. His eyes lock onto mine, sharp and cold, like he’s already sizing up every second I’ve been away.
I force my feet to move, descending the stairs. My heart shatters with each step towards him. As I reach the bottom, he extends his hand to take mine in that firm, controlling grip.
“There you are,” he says smoothly. “Missed me?”
It’s a taunt.
I murmur something noncommittal, but inside I’m screaming, because just like that, everything is back to normal. The door slams shut on any hope of escape as I step into the car.
The drive back is a silent torture. Jamie doesn’t say much, his thumb flying across his phone screen. Something feels off. Even the air feels still, as if the world is holding its breath.
I glance sideways, but his face is impassive, that predatory smile gone. Did he find out why I was in Paris? Does he know Jack is still alive? But above all else, has he found out about Harry?
The thought sends a spike of panic through me, and I clench my fists in my lap.
As we pull up on the driveway of the Circle headquarters, I watch as the building rises in the distance like a fortified prison. The gates open with a creek, giving way to … absolutely nothing.
Where is everybody? is the first thought that hits me.
The courtyard is eerily quiet, the usual bustle of recruits absent. Normally, the place is a hive of activity, but today, it feels like a ghost town.
Jamie helps me out, his fingers digging in just enough to hurt. He guides us towards the main entrance, hiding that cruel, vindictive smile that’s become his trademark.
Before I left for Paris, I had the overwhelming fear something was happening behind closed doors. Now I feel that concern pressing on my chest so intensely I struggle to catch my breath.
He ushers me through the corridor, hand gripping my elbow. I look in each room as we pass, but there’s not one person there. Not one lingering soul in any part of the Circle headquarters.
Then I hear it at the far end of the hall. The muffled hum of laughter coming from the ballroom.
The doors are slightly ajar, and I catch a glimpse through the crack.
A sea of people in elegant gowns and suits, crystal chandeliers casting a golden glow over the tables laid with food and champagne.
Guests?
What the fuck is going on?
My confusion mounts as Jamie quickens his pace past the entrance. He pulls me down a side corridor, his grip on my arm unyielding.
“Jamie, wait—”
He cuts me off with a sharp look.
We reach a dressing room at the end of the hall. He shoves it open, pushing me inside. I stumble forwards, catching myself on a nearby chair.
Jamie leans against the door, a mix of triumph and cruel amusement. A woman appears behind a clothes rack carrying an armful of fabric. I recognise her. Liv, the fashion designer from Pixies. She gives me a quick once-over.
“Ah, finally,” she says, her voice brisk. “We’ve got a lot to do and not much time.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Jamie’s smile grows. “Surprise, darling.”
“This one’s for tonight – silk, elegant, with a subtle shimmer,” she says. “Then tomorrow, you’ve obviously got your gown. They’ve just collected it from the jet for safekeeping.”
“Tomorrow?” I ask, my voice shaking.
Liv starts pulling out dresses from her pile, holding them up against my body. “Pre-wedding dinner tonight, and the wedding tomorrow.”