Chapter 66
"NO! LET ME GO! SYDNEY!"
I scraped my nails against Gabriel's expensive black turtleneck. I kicked my legs like a toddler throwing a tantrum in a supermarket.
But he was a wall. A giant, movable wall of muscle and stubbornness.
He didn't yell. He didn't look angry.
He looked... calm. Terrifyingly calm.
"Shhh," he soothed, his voice low and vibrating against my back. "Easy, Aleesha. Calm down."
He was talking to me like I was Primrose! Like I was a golden retriever who saw a squirrel and needed to be put on a leash!
"I am not a dog!" I screamed, tears streaming down my face. "That is Sydney! She is watering the flowers! Let me go to her!"
I tried to lunge toward the white house. I saw the girl drop the watering can. She was looking at us! She was real!
"Sydney!" I opened my mouth to shout again.
Slap.
Not a hit. A hand.
Gabriel's large palm covered my entire mouth. It was warm and smelled like leather gloves and hand sanitizer.
"Mmph! Mmmph!"
"Enough," he whispered in my ear. "You are hysterical. You are hyperventilating. We need to leave."
WHUP-WHUP-WHUP-WHUP.
A sound like a giant fan filled the air. The trees started to sway violently. Leaves swirled around us like a tornado.
I looked up through my blurry tears.
A helicopter.
But not just any helicopter. Not the scary news helicopters I see on TV. And not the cute, aesthetic ones I pinned on my "Luxury Travel" Pinterest board.
This one was Black. Sleek. Military-looking but shiny. It looked like a villain's ride in a superhero movie.
It descended onto the grassy clearing, blowing my hair into a bird's nest.
"No," I whimpered into his hand. "No, no, no..."
I don't want to go! I want to go to the house! I want to see the ghost!
"We are leaving," Gabriel announced.
He bent down. He scooped me up.
Not bridal style. Not romantic style.
He threw me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes!
"MMPH!" I punched his back. I kicked his stomach. I pounded my fists on his shoulder blades. Put me down! I am a wife, not a crop harvest!
He ignored my wiggles. He walked toward the helicopter with long, steady strides.
The side door slid open. A pilot in a black helmet nodded at Gabriel.
Gabriel tossed me inside.
I landed on a plush leather seat.
I will jump! I shrieked.
I scrambled toward the open door. I will jump out! I have strong legs!
I tried to leap.
Snatch.
Gabriel caught me by the waist before my sneakers even touched the metal step. He pulled me back effortlessly, buckling me into the seat with a click that sounded like a prison cell locking.
"Sit," he commanded.
He sat opposite me. The door slid shut. CLANG.
The noise of the outside world—the birds, the wind, the ghost girl—was cut off. Now it was just the hum of the engine and the sound of my own sobbing.
I pressed my face against the window.
As the helicopter lifted off, I looked down.
The house. The garden.
The girl was gone.
But I saw the watering can lying on the grass.
"It was her," I whispered, my heart breaking all over again. "It really was her."
★
We were high in the sky. The clouds were fluffy, but I hated them.
I wiped my snot on my sleeve (sorry, Chanel sweater).
I turned to look at Gabriel.
He was looking at his tablet, checking emails. Checking emails! As if he didn't just drag his wife away from her dead cousin!
"Gabby," I choked out.
He didn't look up. "Drink some water, Aleesha. There is a bottle in the holder."
"Why is she alive?" I asked, my voice trembling.
Gabriel paused. His finger hovered over the screen.
He slowly lifted his head. His eyes were dark pools of calmness. No guilt. No panic. Just... void.
"Who?" he asked simply.
"Sydney!" I yelled, pointing at the floor (meaning the ground below). "My cousin! We buried her! We had a closed casket because the car accident was... was bad! But I saw her! She was holding a watering can! She looked at me!"
I unbuckled my seatbelt and leaned forward, grabbing his knee.
"Gabby, tell me! Did you hide her? Is she in witness protection? Is she a spy? Why is she there?!"
Gabriel sighed. He placed his tablet down.
He reached out and tucked a strand of messy hair behind my ear. His touch was gentle.
"Aleesha," he said softy. "There was no one there."
I froze.
"What?"
"You saw a gardener," Gabriel explained, his voice smooth like velvet. "A random woman tending to her plants. But because you are tired... because we visited the Swiss river... because you buried that heart..."
He leaned closer, looking deep into my eyes.
"Your mind projected Sydney's face onto a stranger."
My jaw dropped.
"No!" I shook my head vigorously. "No! I know her face! I know her nose! I know her hair! It was Sydney!"
"Sydney died two years ago," Gabriel said firmly, but with pity. "You went to the funeral. You have her death certificate. You saw the police report."
He wiped a fresh tear from my cheek with his thumb.
"It is grief, mi amor. It is trauma. The brain tries to fix what is broken. You miss her so much that you are seeing her everywhere."
He looked so convinced. So sad for me.
"You are hallucinating, Aleesha. It is normal. But it is not real."
I stared at him.
Is he right?
Am I crazy?
I did miss her. I missed her so much it hurt to breathe sometimes. And I was stressed! I saw intestine pictures yesterday! Maybe my brain finally snapped?
But... the watering can. The way she froze. The way she looked at Gabriel with fear.
Was that my imagination too?
"No," I whispered. "No. I trust my eyes."
I grabbed his hand.
"Take me back," I begged.
Gabriel pulled his hand away gently. "We cannot go back. I have a board meeting in New York in five hours. This detour has already cost us time."
"I don't care about the board meeting!" I wailed. "Gabby, please! Just go back! Just for five minutes! I need to see her up close! I need to touch her!"
"Aleesha, stop."
"Please!" I grabbed the pilot's shoulder seat. "Mr. Pilot! Turn around! Go back to the house!"
The pilot didn't even flinch. He didn't turn his head. He was like a robot programmed only to obey the Don.
"He does not listen to you," Gabriel said coldly. "Sit down."
"I won't!"
I threw myself at Gabriel. "Turn the bird around! Turn it around!"
Gabriel caught my wrists easily. He held me away from him, like I was a kitten trying to scratch a bear.
"We are not going back to a random farmhouse to chase a ghost," he stated. "It is irrational."
Irrational.
Logic.
He is using logic to crush my heart!
It wasn't fair. I am soft. I am pink. I am made of cotton candy and dreams. He is made of steel and schedules and cold, hard facts.
I tried screaming. I tried fighting. But fighting Gabriel is like fighting a mountain. You just break your own fingernails.
I felt my energy drain away like water down a drain. I couldn't fight his muscles—they were too hard. I couldn't fight the pilot—he was too loyal. I couldn't fight the logic—it was too perfect.
I looked at him. He was sitting there, so high up, so untouchable. The King in his flying castle. And I was just... nothing.
I have no choice, I realized, a sob choking me. I cannot force him. I can only beg him.
I have to strip away my pride. I have to show him exactly how broken I am. It is the only thing I know he might listen to.
I slumped.
I let gravity take me. I slid off the plush leather seat.
My knees hit the floor. Thump.
I dropped to my knees on the carpeted floor of the helicopter.
It was humiliating. I am a wife! I am an equal! I should be sitting in the seat!
But right now, I am not a wife. I am a beggar.
I bowed my head until my forehead almost touched his expensive Italian shoes. My messy hair fell forward, covering my face like a curtain of misery.
I made myself small. I made myself pathetic. Because maybe... just maybe... if I am small enough, he will pity me.
"Please," I whispered to the floor.
Gabriel didn't move. "Get up, Aleesha. The floor is vibrating. It is uncomfortable."
I didn't get up.
I crawled closer to his legs.
I reached out with my trembling hands.
I took his large hand—the hand that catches yarn, the hand that holds guns (allegedly), the hand that wears my wedding ring.
I pressed my lips to his knuckles.
Kiss.
I kissed the ring.
Kiss.
I looked up at him through my messy hair. My eyes were red. My nose was runny. I probably looked pathetic. A pathetic, desperate wife begging her powerful husband for a crumb of closure.
"Please, Gabby," I choked out, my voice broken. "I am begging you. I will never ask for anything again. I will not ask for pink bags. I will not ask for Hello Kitty. I will cook every day. I will stop asking about the Unknown Number."
I squeezed his hand.
"Just take me back. Let me see that it's not her. Let me see that I am crazy. If I don't go back... I will never know. I will be haunted forever."
I kissed his hand again. Salt from my tears fell onto his skin.
"Please, Hubby."
Gabriel stared down at me.
His face was unreadable. But his jaw clenched. A muscle feathered in his cheek. He looked at my kneeling form. He looked at my desperate eyes. He looked at his hand, wet with my tears.
The silence in the helicopter was heavy. Heavy with my pain and his control.
Gabriel closed his eyes for a second. He let out a sharp exhale through his nose.
He opened his eyes. The darkness in them softened... just a fraction. He gripped my hand tight. He yanked me up from the floor, pulling me onto his lap. He buried his face in my neck.
"You are impossible," he muttered against my skin.
He reached into his pocket. He pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen.
Then, he spoke into the headset.
"Pilot."
"Yes, Sir?"
"Change of course," Gabriel said, his voice deep and resigned. "Return to the coordinates."
"Sir? The schedule—"
"Burn the schedule," Gabriel growled.
He hung up.
The helicopter banked left. We turned around.
I collapsed against his chest, sobbing with relief.
"Thank you," I wept. "Thank you, Gabby."
He held me tight. Tighter than usual.
"Do not thank me yet," he whispered ominously.
He knew something I didn't.
But I didn't care. We were going back.