Page 92 of Dominance

But each and every time I choked on fear. On my own foolishness.

I let this happen. Shoved a wall up where we had found an opening, a way in. Because Anna is all that matters. And coming here was a mistake.

So, I slipped out before the sun was totally up, taking the back staircase out and down. The first step was to set a false trail of everyday expenses, appearances.

Dad went to the golf course, right on schedule.

I checked in at the office, telling my secretary to hold my calls. That I’d be in meetings all morning. That I was going to take care of some wedding stuff.

Exactly what they’d expect ten days from my nuptials. The busy bride. The career woman.

I’m glowing right?

I’m on cloud fucking nine.

More like going down in flames.

If I get caught, I have no idea what Dom will do to me. Fortunately, he won’t think of checking the safe, not on a Friday. No one will.

I made sure that I am the only one who makes the drops at the office now.

Trailing Adriano here and there has given me a lot of good information and strategies. Cues on how the men following me, my guards, my driver, work.

Watching my father work and asking all the right questions over the past several weeks has given me as good a picture of the whole as I’m likely to get. It’s now or never.

The closer we get to the wedding, the more scrutiny I’ll be under.

The afternoon is bright and sunny as I head to the airport.

I wish I felt anything but terror.

People, crowds.

As much as the rabble helps me feel somewhat safer, lost in the fray. Just some brunette in clothes I would never wear, another traveler.

Why do I feel like there are eyes on me at every turn?

Why am I jumping at shadows?

Because I am so out of my depth. I’ve never tried anything like this.

I dig deep, putting on my Gloria Vipera wherewithal one last time and head to the ticket counter.

“I have a reservation. My boss’s secretary called it in.”

“Name?” The desk clerk asks in the line next to me.

“Adrian Colombo.”

My head nearly snaps to the side at the familiar voice. The familiar presence standing only a few feet away from me.

“Ma’am?” A woman at the ticket counter in my line asks, for the second or third time, I realize.

“Um. yes. Sorry,” I mumble, keeping my voice down. Stepping up to the counter, my hands quiver as I fumble with my purse.

“Are you alright?”

I nod, not wanting to give myself away, smiling tightly at the attendant.

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