My Wedding Was a Fake, So I Claimed My Fortune and a Billionaire novel · Chapter 8 of 24

Chapter 8: Thirty Thousand Feet

Davis said fine.

He said it in the hall with my overnight bag at my feet, without looking up from his phone.

"Birdie's got a friend with a retirement party, a weekend at Hilton Head," I said. "She needs me to carry the cake."

"Fine. Have fun."

He kissed the top of my head.

"Be back for Monday," he said. "Ten o'clock. Don't forget."

I didn't forget.

I walked out into the morning with the folder still unsigned on my grandmother's dresser and a lie so easy it frightened me.

The black car was waiting at the curb.

The driver took me across town to Hunter Army Airfield, where a small white jet sat on the wet tarmac with its stairs down.

Auden stood at the foot of them in a navy overcoat, no hat, with his hands in his pockets.

"You came," he said.

"I said I would."

"You said what time."

"Same thing."

He took my bag himself.

The plane was cream leather and dark wood, six wide seats and a galley and a closed door at the back.

A pilot in a white shirt nodded and disappeared into the cockpit.

A steward put two glasses of ice water on the table and vanished.

"No one will come out of that door," Auden said, "until I ring."

We took off over the marsh.

Savannah fell away under the wing, green and silver, until I couldn't see Jones Street, the wharf or anything that had my name on it.

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