Chapter 2
It wasn’t at all what she expected. Yes, the luxury was there — the plush carpeting, deep leather seats, gleaming mahogany tables — but it was understated, quietly elegant rather than ostentatious.
What surprised her were the details: a small bookcase filled with novels and glossy magazines, and a few colorful Afghans and cushions scattered about as though someone actually lived here.
The faint scent of herbs mingled with polished wood and fresh coffee, softening the opulence and turning it into something warm and lived-in. A home in the sky, not a status symbol.
A uniformed attendant approached. “Welcome aboard, Mrs. Bosch, Mrs. Steyn.” Her cool tone belied her words. “Let me show you the seats. Once the captain gives the go-ahead, you can move to your cabins if you wish.”
Suzette frowned. “Our … cabins?”
JK appeared beside them. “You and Miem will share the bedroom and sitting areas at the back,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact.
Suzette blinked at him. “But that’s your private— Oh no, we couldn’t possibly put you out.”
He smiled, a hint of amusement tugging at one corner of his mouth. “You’re not putting me out.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she protested, the words tumbling out before she could temper them. “You should have your own space.”
“These seats recline,” he said easily. “I’ll be fine. Besides, I’ll be in the cockpit part of the time, relieving the captain. You and Miem will be more comfortable in the back. The bedroom has a full bed, and the sofa converts into one. Plus, you’ll have your own bathroom. It’s a long flight.”
His casual certainty only made her more flustered. “Still, it feels … wrong. You’re the one doing us a favor, remember?”
JK’s gaze held hers, warm and unyielding. “It’s settled, Suzette. I insist.”
The way he said her name — quiet, firm, threaded with that easy authority — made her pulse skip. Drawing a steadying breath, she murmured, “All right then.”
She sank into the smooth leather seat facing Miem, still a little out of sorts after the brief exchange, and watched as JK spoke quietly with the attendant about flight time and dinner service.
Then the woman laid a hand on his forearm.
The sight scraped at something tender deep within. Suzette forced her gaze away, fiddling with the seatbelt strap. What a cliché. Of course he had something going on with the flight attendant. What else would a movie star do during an eighteen-hour flight?
Well, not on this trip he won’t, she thought with quiet satisfaction.
She looked up. And caught those warm hazel eyes fixed on her.
He smiled. Just a small, knowing curve of his mouth, but it sent a shiver down her spine.
Dammit. Now he’s a mind reader, too.
She exhaled, turned toward the window, and told herself firmly, Ignore him.
*
Well, well, well.
That was an interesting turn of events — even if she’d read the situation all wrong.
Justin dropped into the seat across the aisle, facing her.
He’d meant to sit and mind his own business, maybe catch up on some reading, but found himself doing anything but that.
Watching her — learning her expressions, those subtle tells people never realized they gave away — had become his new favorite pastime.
The jet began to push away from the parking bay, a low rumble shivering through the floor and up the soles of his shoes. Austin’s voice came over the intercom, smooth and professional, asking everyone to take their seats.
His security team moved past him toward the back. He nodded at them absently, his attention still snagged on the woman across from him. The click and snap of seatbelts punctuated the low hum of the engines as the Bombardier began to move, gathering speed as it taxied toward the runway.
He heard a soft grunt from Miem and glanced her way. The poor woman had a death grip on the armrests, eyes squeezed shut, lips moving in silent prayer. And they weren’t even taking off yet.
He leaned across, touching the back of her hand. “The captain knows what he’s doing.”
She gave a shaky laugh. “Don’t mind me. I’m just a bangbroek. I like my feet where God meant them to be … on solid ground.”
“You’re no coward. Especially when you skim the waves with Piet on his catamaran,” Suzette teased.
“That’s different,” Miem shot back, eyes still closed. “If something goes wrong there, I’ve got a lifejacket and can swim to shore. The good Lord didn’t give me wings.”
Justin bit back a smile, enjoying their easy friendship. His reply was cut short when the aircraft turned and he shifted his gaze out the window.
They were at the edge of the runway.
He knew the rhythm by heart — the steady taxi hum, the brief pause, then the clean surge of thrust.
He waited for it, that moment when sound turned to power.
And there it was.
The tone deepened, the aircraft straining forward. That heartbeat between control and release always thrilled him — the deep rumble, the lift, the freedom in it.
He looked across the aisle, and his own excitement faltered, eclipsed utterly by hers.
Suzette’s eyes were wide, her mouth parted in a breathless smile as they climbed. The delight on her face hit him square in the chest.
Most passengers, while not as bad as poor Miem who was mumbling under her breath, tensed through takeoff, waiting for the seatbelt light to blink off.
Not Suzette. She leaned into it. There was something unguarded in her expression — wonder, excitement, pure joy.
The engines roared, but all he heard was her quiet laugh, soft and incredulous, as the earth fell away beneath them.
For a man who’d lived his life by precision, that sound undid him more than the power of flight ever could.
It pleased him more than he expected, seeing her come alive like that.
No pretense, no restraint, just honest delight.
And he realized how much he wanted to be the reason she felt it again.
To be the one who taught her what it meant to fly.
And that type of flying had nothing to do with aviation.
*
Somewhere over the Atlantic, her fears about meeting the Lawsons came crawling back, whispering worst-case scenarios she couldn’t shut off. She tossed and turned, the surprisingly comfortable sofa bed doing little to quiet her thoughts.
Eventually she surrendered, snapped on the reading light, and reached for the paperback she’d snagged after supper.
Normally, when sleep refused to come, she’d put on a movie.
One of his, of course. But she couldn’t exactly do that now.
Not when the man himself was sitting a few meters away, breathing the same air.
Did the cockpit share the same air as the rest of the aircraft?
Because that’s where he was now — flying the freaking thing.
Was there no end to the man’s accomplishments?
He’d gone straight there after their evening meal, all easy confidence and quiet authority, wishing them a peaceful sleep.
Peaceful. Pfft.
There was nothing peaceful about that man.
And how she’d survived two meals and an hour-long refueling stopover in his company was a small miracle. It had felt as though his eyes were on her the whole time. As if he were reading every flicker of expression she tried to hide.
Maybe he thought her funny? Or odd? Or both?
But dammit, he was so … so JK.
All charm and quiet confidence wrapped up in one infuriatingly gorgeous package.
Much better, Suze. Focus on the movie star. It’s safer to obsess about him than to dwell on meeting your daughter’s biological family.
And just like that, the gnawing trepidation that had taken hold since Essie announced her plan to visit Texas and get to know the Lawsons.
Which left Suzette Bosch, the woman who had raised Esther from the age of ten, standing on the sidelines.
An outsider.
She’d talked to them once. Via a video call. Branna and Jonathan seemed pleasant enough, warm even, and grateful for her role in Essie’s life. But meeting them face-to-face? That was an entirely different story.
Now Esther was settling in Texas with Max and little Sophie, close enough to see her family regularly.
And Suzette? She would return to South Africa. Alone.
It wouldn’t take long, would it?
For her daughter to forget the woman who had held her through countless nightmares, helped with her homework, cheered her on through medical school, and comforted her when her marriage fell apart.
The thought pressed like a stone against Suzette’s chest.
Jealousy wasn’t her nature — or so she’d always believed — but lately, that nasty green devil had been perched on her shoulder, whispering, taunting.
You’re not good enough.
For a woman who’d grown up unwanted, shuffled from family member to family member before landing in the children’s home, belonging had always felt conditional, something that could be taken away.
And now she faced it again — that familiar ache of being left behind.
Only this time, it was by the woman who called her Mom.
*
Justin looked up when the cockpit door opened. Melinda, the flight attendant, stepped in, her expression carefully neutral.
“Mrs. Bosch is up,” she said quietly. “She looks upset.”
His brows drew together. “Upset? How?”
“Reddened eyes. I suspect she’s been crying. She came up front to use the lavatory to not disturb her friend in the bedroom, so I made her some chamomile tea and offered cookies, but …” She hesitated. “I don’t think it’s going to be enough.”
Unbuckling, he turned to his co-pilot — Melinda’s husband — and murmured, “Take over for a bit.” Then he pushed out of the confined space, stretching his shoulders as he stood.
Melinda slid neatly into his seat.
“Thanks for letting me know,” he said, already in the doorway. “If I’m not back in ten minutes, wake Austin.”
She nodded once. “Got it.”
At the galley, he paused, grabbed a bottle of scotch from the bar, and poured a finger into a tumbler. Glass in his hand, he made his way down the aisle. He stopped outside the curtained-off section and rapped lightly on the bulkhead.
“Suzette?”
A beat of silence. Then her voice, soft and uneven. “I’m okay.”