Page 10 of Remi's War (Four Dark Horsemen 2)

On the grand scale of things, the will meant nothing to me, and I couldn’t care less about the inheritance Theodore denied me. But the pain still found its way to sink into my bones, polluting my mind with conflicting thoughts of why my father decided to essentially cut me off when I wasn’t even born yet.

When I asked Asher, Dad, why his brother did something like that, his expression became guarded, and he advised me to not judge a past I haven’t lived.

Thousands of unexplainable things and lies surround my past, which only fuels my desire to uncover them all, to finally get all the answers and reunite with Amalia.

Even if she doesn’t want to be found.

The voice announcing the next flight snaps me out of my thoughts, pulling me back to the conversation at hand as my message still sits unsent.

Full name? Pulling out the big guns, I see.

My phone vibrates instantly.

That’s the only way to get your attention

Touché.

Love you, darling. Please be careful.

Theodore might have never loved me and held some unexplainable resentment toward me. At least his brother, the man I will always consider my dad, surrounded me with so much love and affection that I found a way in my heart to forgive his lie and rebuild our relationship from the crumbling pile of sorrow it became after the truth came to light.

I just wish he had taken Amalia in too on that fateful day. But then, was he really to blame, considering he had to honor our parents’ wishes?

Right back at you, Dad, and don’t worry. I will be.

After I manage to find the nearest optical center and buy myself suitable glasses, that is. Otherwise, various hazards unseen through my blurry vision would sneak up on me and bring unwanted injuries. God knows the few scars already marring my skin can attest to this statement.

Since my focus is on the flashing display, I don’t watch where I’m going and bump into a hard chest. I sway back, but a strong arm wraps around my waist, pressing me to hard muscles and saving me from falling on my ass, but my phone drops on the floor as my hands are trapped between our bodies.

Instantly, a masculine scent mixed with cologne and tobacco envelops me in a weird haze, making the hair on my nape stand while goose bumps spread over me, sending unfamiliar sensations through my body.

My soft curves almost melt into his powerful frame, and my palm itches to run over his chest to check if all these carved muscles are real or just a fragment of my imagination.

I definitely shouldn’t have drunk that wine on the plane, because nothing but insanity explains such thoughts toward a stranger, when men have never inspired anything but confusion in me.

Snapping out of my shock when another announcement blares, I finally find my voice and mutter before stepping back, “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” Gluing my gaze to the floor, I pick up my phone and whisper once again, “I’m really sorry.” Since the man stays silent, I use this opportunity to quickly walk farther away from him in fear he will either shout at me or try to initiate a conversation that always ends up awkward for me, because most men find me weird or annoying.

I can’t even blame them, because I turn into a fool in their company who can’t form a coherent sentence and blushes so much that people make fun of me.

Being an introvert in the modern, extrovert world sucks.

It takes me several more maneuvers through the airport until I’m headed out and scrunch my eyes, searching for Thomas, when a male voice calls my name. “Penelope Walsh?” Spinning to the right, I spot a short, middle-aged blond man wearing a worn-out black suit and smiling brightly at me. He extends his hand to me. “Thomas Smith at your service.” He snatches my suitcase from me after shaking my hand and motions me forward. “The car is waiting outside. Did you have a pleasant flight?”

We talk on the way to the entrance, and I stay close to Thomas not to create another accident or get lost, and nod. “Yes, thank you. Although all this walking is amazing after almost nine hours on the plane.”

We reach the double doors, and as they slide open, a harsh wind slaps me in the face before blowing my hair back. The fresh air fills my lungs as several horns sound, signaling heavy traffic gathering around the airport drop-off area.

Rubbing my arms from the cold swirling around me—I failed to check the weather before booking a flight here—I smile at the driver waiting by the black car, and he raises his hat.

Thomas heads straight to the trunk, already putting my suitcase inside, while my attention stays on the older man. “Welcome to Chicago, Miss Penelope.” Warmth coats his voice as he beams at me and opens the vehicle’s door.

Blinking in surprise and ignoring the additional honking, I place my palm on the roof. A shiver runs down my spine as if something powerful glides over my skin, leaving an invisible imprint on me, forever marking me for everyone to see.

Glancing back at the terminal, I wonder for a second about the strange man who has no name or face, yet his scent alone created a powerful response from everything female in me.

A smile shapes my mouth despite all the mess my life has become. Even though I won’t ever see him again and nothing really happened, the small encounter proves one thing to me.

I’m not a cold creature, unable to feel anything physical toward men as several failed dates have claimed, which means someday, I might find that true love all the poems, myths, and fairy tales speak so highly of.

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