20.
I breathe in the crisp, chilly air as I walk further into the never-ending back garden.
Correction: the estate garden. Because that’s what it is.
A long, wide field of green grass and tall, dewy shrubs – some shaped as figurines of mythical creatures – along with beautiful Common Rues adorning the expanse.
Its herbal and slightly bittersweet smell wafts around the garden, calming my nerves.
I’ve been strolling this place for a while now, but the more I walk, the deeper these gardens go. It’s kind of like a maze, but instead of being complicated, it’s designed in a way that makes it easy to navigate.
My heels press against the manicured ground as I explore the quiet space, with only the occasional sound of the leaves rustling against the wind keeping me company. There’s no music here; no chatty upper classes bragging about their new home in the Hamptons. This is perfect, almost magical.
I reach an opening, and see a long, rectangular concrete bench ahead of me. It’s curved on the outside, and has a set of concrete-sculpted antlers as its legs.
I make my way to it and all but slump onto it, then click open my clutch before grabbing my hair clip from inside it.
Finger-combing my hair, I pull them up, twist them around, and clip them behind my head.
A wave of ice-cold air whooshes by me, and when it brushes my now-exposed neck, I exhale through my lips, relishing it, and my shoulders slump as a sense of calm takes over me.
Solitude – it’s a beautiful fucking thing.
You may love the people you’re surrounded with 24/7, but sometimes, being alone and doing something as simple as enjoying the fresh air is necessary.
The brain can only take so much; process things to a certain extent.
Giving yourself time is just as important as giving it to your family.
After all, they wouldn’t be the same without you, nor you without them.
The incidents of tonight have taught me something: never overexert yourself simply because you think you can.
The human body is not a machine. If anything, it’s a record that plays well for a small amount, and then demands a break.
It’s tough to imagine Dor and the crew doing this for years, and even though I love the taste of this lifestyle – the thrill and satisfaction of it – I think it’ll take me a while to fully get used to it.
It’s funny how I’ve only just realized all this, which circles back to what I said earlier: solitude . It makes you see and understand things in a broader perspective, because when you’re alone, you have more time to think, more time to branch out your train of thought.
But, as much as I’m loving the ‘me’ time, I need to update Dor. I haven’t seen Timothy here yet, so there’s a chance he’s left the estate.
With a click of my tongue, I pull my phone out of my clutch and text Dor.
Me: Couldn’t find Timothy. Did you or the others have any luck?
His reply comes in a few minutes later.
Dor: Nada. Although, Magner said the CCTVs in some areas of the estate seem to be glitching.
He thinks Haroon must’ve fucked with them so that no one could see him trying to come at you.
A few of the Lutkus security personnel told Magner that they found Haroon tinkering with some settings in the control room before he left abruptly, which, as we know, was when he decided to introduce himself to you.
That makes me suck in a breath.
Me: But how could he know where I’d be throughout the night?
Dor: I dunno, but he did come to the gala for you, and he confessed as much to you. My guess is he malfunctioned a bunch of cameras to make it seem like a network issue. I’m not an expert in these things, so I can’t predict much.
I frown as I type my response.
Me: That’s fucked up. I’m glad he’s dead.
Dor: Yeah, me too.
Dor: You okay, though?
I smile.
Me: The air out here is lovely. Wanna come join me?
I know I just went into the whole solitude monologue, but like, it’s Dorran. My Dorran. So, he technically doesn’t count.
Dor: In a bit, I promise. Safiya and I are still scanning the crowd in hopes of finding the little shit.
I arch a brow at the name. Safiya Gaddafi is Naila Gaddafi’s sister. What the hell is she doing with Dor?
Me: Gaddafi?
Confirmation is always necessary.
Dor: Yeah. She’s offered to help me out a bit.
Me: So she knows about the mission, then.
Dor: Not entirely, no. But she knows who I am and what I do, so she guessed it pretty quickly.
Me: Oh…
Dor: Don’t do that.
Me: Do what?
I know exactly what.
Dor: Gimme one-word answers. You know how I hate them.
Me: Okay…
I am a menace, after all.
Dor: Cigs, I swear.
Me: What the fuck do you want me to say?
I all but drop my phone when it scares the shit out of me by suddenly ringing and vibrating in my hands.
“ What? ” I say after receiving the call.
“Tell me what’s bothering you,” he urges, and his voice, paired with the sound of his breath, brings goosebumps to my skin.
“I’m fine,” I state, drumming my nails against my knee.
“Yeah, and I’m the resurrected version of Mahatma Gandhi,” he counters.
My lips twitch, but I don’t smile.
When I don’t say anything, he sighs. “Cigs, baby …” I hear him excusing himself, and the sound of music soon muffles as he clearly moves away from the foyer. There’s a click of a door being shut, and then he speaks again. “Take a guess at where I am right now.”
“What am I, Sherlock Holmes?”
He chuckles. “I’m in the same room Timothy was in before he left. I don’t know if Varsha and Alex have scouted the space yet, but my God, it reeks of weed and sex in here.”
“You’d know, obviously.” I regret it the second the words slip past my lips. I’m not the jealous type, but in this moment, I am. Kind of.
“Come on, Little Swan, it’s me ,” Dorran says.
“I’ve seen her pictures, Dor. She’s really pretty.”
“She is also someone I’ve just vowed to be a brother to – for the rest of my life,” he tells me.
I blink. “What?”
He sighs once again. “Yup. We bonded over tough pasts and difficult life choices that have led us to where we are now. Hers is just as pretty as ours, apparently, albeit in a different way.”
My chest tightens. “You okay?” I ask, wrapping an arm around me as the chill grows.
“Yeah. But Safiya sharing these things with me made me realize that the four of us are not so alone, y’know?”
“I know.” I look down at the grass as I dangle my feet above it. “And I’m sorry I doubted you. I didn’t mean to, I swear.”
“Oh, sweetheart, don’t worry about it. If anything, I felt complimented by the lingering accusation.” I know the smug bastard is grinning. I can practically feel it from here.
“You’ll take any excuse to stroke your ego, won’t you?”
“I take pride in the little joys life throws my way every so often.”
I roll my eyes. “Please go sit on a cactus. That’d bring me immense joy.”
“I don’t want a sprinkler for an ass, thank you,” he quips.
I laugh. “God, sometimes I forget that we’re full-blown adults . Just look at how we speak . Fucking immatures, both of us.”
“I honestly don’t care. As long as I can make you smile, I’m good.”
“And what about me?” I ask.
He hums like he’s mulling over my question. “Well, you always make me smile. But it’s also followed by a few close calls to death and some head-banging migraines. But that’s okay; I’m used to them.”
I scoff. “Like I said: immature .”
“Made you smile, though,” he challenges.
“It didn’t.”
It did.
He laughs. “Fuck, I love you,” he says, and warmth creeps up my neck as his words glide over me like invisible silk.
I grin. “I love you.”
“I gotta go check in with Safiya – see if she found something,” he tells me.
“Okay.”
There’s a pause, and then, “We good, right?” he asks – an edge of vulnerability laced into the question.
“We are,” I answer truthfully. “I mean it.”
“Great.” He clears his throat. “I’ll come join you in a few, but until then, if you need anything or if you find something, don’t forget to shoot me a text.”
“Ditto.” I straighten and stretch my upper body a little. “Alright, I’m hanging up. Love you.”
He laughs. “Okay, love you.”
With a smile, I disconnect the call and tuck my phone back inside my clutch, just as approaching footsteps crunch against the grass, setting every nerve in my body on edge.