Dean laid a hand on my back and rubbed circles between my shoulder blades. “We can make love as soon as I get home. I promise that the minute I walk in the door, I’ll report straight to the bedroom.”
I turned in the chair and looked up at him. “When will that be? Won’t you have to stay overnight?”
“No,” he quickly replied. “I’ll tell Richard I need to fly straight back.”
“But it’s not always up to you,” I reminded him. “Remember that time when Mike was late getting to the airport and it pushed you over your limit for maximum hours of flight time?”
Dean exhaled sharply and backed away from me. “Look, I’ll say no if you want me to, but it’s a good gig, and apparently, Mike requested me. If I don’t do it, that’ll put Richard in a bind. You know how he likes to deliver for the clients. Keep them happy.”
“You don’t want to keep your wife happy?”
Dean frowned. “That’s not fair, Olivia. Come on. It’s just one night. I’ll be back before sunrise.”
I realized intellectually that I was being unreasonable, but emotionally, I couldn’t help myself. I was disappointed, but there was another side to this as well . . .
I waited for Dean to call Richard back, accept the job, and hang up. Then I watched him go silently into the bedroom.
“I just feel like maybe you’re a bit starstruck!” I called out to him in the other room.
He reappeared in the bedroom doorway and leaned a shoulder against the jamb. “What are you talking about?”
I should have just bitten my tongue, but I didn’t. “Mike Mitchell requested you personally, and you’re thrilled because he’s such a major star. You’re flattered.”
“You used the word starstruck,” Dean replied.
“Yes. If it were any other client, you would have said no.”
“But it’s not any other client,” he argued, disappearing into the bedroom again. “The guy’s a major VIP for the company.”
I sipped my juice and called out to him, “I’m sure that Richard could have found another pilot for tonight if you had said no!”
What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I just let it go?
“But I’m the one Mike requested,” Dean replied, calmly. “And I don’t want to let Richard down.”
I stood up and went into the bedroom. Dean was at the closet, sifting through shirts on hangers.
“Just as long as he doesn’t try and talk you into staying for one of his wild parties,” I said. “Do you think that’s what he’s planning?”
“Is that what you expect will happen tonight?”
My eyes closed. “Please don’t do that, Dean. I hate it when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“Answer a question with a question.”
He took a deep breath and let it out. “The party thing only happened a couple of times. And I told you . . . I’ll come straight home.”
I tried to accept his word, to not assume the worst.
He selected a shirt and checked it for wrinkles, then chose a jacket that had been recently dry-cleaned.
“I’m sorry,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “I’m just disappointed, that’s all.”
“I know.” He kept his back to me while he removed the cellophane wrap from the uniform.
I strode toward him and laid my hand on his shoulder. “See? This is exactly what I was talking about on the boat. I’m worried about scheduling sex and how it might affect us, and here we are, fighting already.”
He faced me at last, moved closer and slid his arms around my waist, touched his forehead to mine. “I’m sorry too. It was supposed to be a romantic night, and it’s a special anniversary. I should have thought of that.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s me. I’m nervous about getting pregnant. I’m afraid it’s not going to happen, and I’ve been thinking about it too much lately. Dreaming about what color to paint the nursery. I’ve even been looking at cribs, comparing all the brands.” I drew back and looked him in the eye. “I need to relax about all that. I don’t want to end up like that unhappy couple who got frustrated with each other and ended up in therapy.”
Dean frowned a little. “You’ve been shopping for cribs? Why didn’t you say anything?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to put pressure on you. And I know how much you hate it when I’m impatient.”
“I didn’t hate it when you were impatient to marry me.”
I smiled as he pushed a lock of hair behind my ear. “I wanted to get you to the church before you realized what you were getting yourself into and changed your mind.”
“Never.” His lips touched mine, and we kissed tenderly.
“I’m sorry,” he said, taking a step back, “but I really have to get going. Are we okay, though?”
I bit my lower lip and rocked back on my heels. “Hmm. Only if you’re back in bed with me by sunrise. Otherwise, you’ll be in the doghouse.”
He tapped his forefinger on his temple. “Got it. Dawdling leads to doghouse.”
I left him alone to get dressed and make his way to the airport.
Looking back on that conversation later, I wished I had behaved differently. I shouldn’t have given Dean such a hard time about taking the job, nor should I have suggested that he was starstruck. That had always been a sore spot between us because my rich father had once told him—point-blank—that I was out of his league in every way and he was just starry eyed at the idea of being with me.
I disagreed, of course. I loved Dean for the man he was because of all the luxuries he never had growing up. It made me think more of him, not less. I was in awe of him, and I was grateful and amazed that he loved me.
But on the morning of his return flight from Saint Thomas, none of that would matter in the least. I didn’t care what my father ever thought about Dean. All I wanted was to hear the sound of my husband’s key in the door. And to feel his arms around me. Just one more time.
CHAPTER 2
OLIVIA
Miami, 1990
The phone rang in the middle of the night. I sat up in bed, stomach burning with panic, as if I already knew something terrible had happened. Maybe it was a premonition. Perhaps somehow, in the mysterious abyss of sleep, my soul had witnessed something.
“Hello?” I answered, glancing at the empty pillow beside me while I tried to convince myself that everything was fine. Dean had probably decided to stay overnight in Saint Thomas after all, and that’s why he was calling.
“Is this Olivia?”
But it wasn’t Dean. It was his boss, Richard. My breathing quickened as I switched on the lamp. “Yes, Richard, it’s me. What’s going on?”
There was a pause on the other end of the line, which sent a wave of nausea through my insides.
“I hate to be the one to tell you this,” he said, “but Dean’s plane is missing.”
I tossed the covers aside and swung my feet to the floor. “What do you mean . . . missing? Did he crash?”
Silence again, and I immediately began to perspire.
“We don’t know,” Richard replied in a low, serious tone. “All I can say is that he made contact with air traffic control in San Juan shortly after leaving Saint Thomas, but then he just . . . disappeared.”