Her Birthday Celebration Was My Exit novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: Ninety-Nine Roses
On their fourth anniversary Remo throws his childhood sweetheart a birthday party and sends Ilaria for the candles; she lights them, hands him the keys to his jet in front of everyone and books a flight north, and on the terrace Lisetta whispers that it isn't even her birthday.
On our fourth anniversary, Remo Salerno came to pick me up himself.
In four years, he had never once done that.
He was the Don of the Salerno family. He sent drivers. He did not stand on cold airport ramps.
But there he was when I climbed down from the jet, leaning on his black Maybach with his hands in his pockets.
"You're late, Captain," he said.
"Headwinds out of Teterboro."
"I don't care about headwinds. Get in."
I opened the back door to toss it in.
The whole back seat was roses.
Red ones, packed in tight, wrapped in black silk ribbon.
A massive arrangement of ninety-nine.
My hands went cold.
In May he had asked my ring size. "For nothing," he'd said, and changed the subject.
I was a five.
I put my bag on the floor and didn't say a word all the way to Lake Forest.
He didn't either.
He kept checking his phone and smiling at it.
I thought he was nervous.
The manor was lit up.
Lanterns ran down the lawn to the lake. Cars lined the whole drive.
Scores of our friends were on the terrace with champagne.
I had practiced saying yes in the shower that morning.
Remo walked ahead of me with the roses in his arms.
Then the first firework went up over Lake Michigan.
Gold. Then red. Then a hundred white lights rose off the water and lined up against the dark.
Drones.
They spelled a name.
LISETTA.
The terrace roared. "Happy birthday, Lisi!"
A woman stepped out of the crowd in a black sequined dress.
She had honey-brown hair and red lipstick and diamond studs.
Remo put the ninety-nine roses into her arms.
I knew her.
A week ago I had flown a passenger home from Milan. Big sunglasses. A silk scarf. Two silver cases so heavy the ramp guys groaned.
Remo had called her a family friend's daughter.
She'd never taken the sunglasses off. She'd never said a word to me.
"Remo," I said. "Are you throwing her a birthday party?"
He was fastening a bracelet around her wrist. He didn't look up.
"Yeah. Lisi just got back from Milan. Nobody had time to plan anything, so I did it here."
Then he glanced at me and frowned.
"What's wrong with you? You look like you saw a ghost. Is there some other occasion today?"
Four years.
Our first date had been October tenth. He had taken me to a hot dog stand because I'd said I hated fancy places.
He used to remember that.
I smiled. I made it a good one.
"It's nothing. I hope she has a happy birthday."
He nodded, already turning away.
He raised his glass to the terrace.
"And on Tuesday, the birthday girl flies to Capri. Private jet. Our pilot's the best there is."
Everyone cheered.
Lisetta laughed and kissed his cheek.
I looked down at my phone.
There was an email I hadn't answered in nine days.
Bering Freight, Anchorage, Alaska. First officer, Boeing 737 freighters. Class starts October 14.
I had been going to say no.
I had been waiting for a ring.
I opened the airline app.
One way. O'Hare to Anchorage. Tuesday, 6:40 a.m.
Seat 23C.
I paid for it with my own card.
Then I went back to the email and typed a reply.
"I accept. See you Wednesday."
"Ilaria!"
Remo's voice cut across the terrace.
"Why are you just standing there? Go get the candles."
I looked up.
The cake was on a silver cart by the railing. Three tiers, white roses, gold leaf.
"I called you three times," he said. "You didn't say a word."
One of his friends laughed. "She's the future Donna, Remo. She's thinking about the wedding."
"What wedding?" another one said. "Who else would have her? She's the help who flies the plane."
Laughter rolled down the terrace.
Lisetta tilted her head and looked at me properly for the first time.
"Oh, is she the pilot?" Her voice was sweet as icing. "She flew me home. She didn't even know who I was."
"Candles, Ilaria," Remo said. "Come on."
I knew exactly where they were.
Second drawer to the left of the stove, behind the matches. I had put them there myself.
I walked into the kitchen and got them.
I came back out and pushed them into the cake one at a time while everyone watched.
Thirty.
I lit every single one.
My hand was perfectly steady. It always is, at the controls.
Then I took the Gulfstream's key fob off my lanyard.
I unclipped my crew badge with the Salerno crest on it.
I set them both on the cart beside the cake, right next to Remo's hand.
"Find another pilot for Capri," I said.
Nobody on the terrace said a word.
Remo looked at the keys. Then at me.
Then he laughed, easy, and put his arm around Lisetta.
"She's tired. She flew all day. Ilaria, go lie down."
"I'm not flying on Tuesday."
"We'll talk later."
"We won't."
The candles dripped wax onto the white roses.
Lisetta leaned in and blew them all out in one breath.
Everybody clapped.
I walked out to the far end of the terrace, where the light from the lanterns stopped.
The lake was black. The drones were still up there, spelling her name.
I heard heels on the stone behind me.
Lisetta stopped beside me with two glasses of champagne. She held one out.
I didn't take it.
"Four years," she said. "And he didn't remember. That must really hurt."
"Enjoy your party."
She drank from her own glass and smiled at the water.
"Do you want to know a secret, Captain?"
I said nothing.
She leaned close enough that I could smell her perfume. It was the one Remo bought me for Christmas.
"It isn't even my birthday."
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