“The one trying to set a withdrawal date from Afghanistan.”
“Oh.” I lifted my hand to cover my heart, like I could somehow rub the ache out of it. “That’s a shame.”
“Speaking of shame.” She rolled to face me, bracing her head on her hand. “How are Mom and Dad handling your choice of corporate law?”
“Hey!” I rolled my eyes. “I spend at least half my day handling the contracts for the nonprofits—”
“That the richest companies in New York have for tax purposes?” She laughed, then pressed her lips between her teeth when she caught my glare. “Okay, okay.”
“It’s only for a couple years. Just long enough to pay back Mom and Dad for law school.”
“Because you’re feeling guilty that you grew up privileged?” She cocked an eyebrow at me.
“Because I can’t take the constant guilt trips about not working in the best interest of the family,” I answered honestly.
“You know, Isa,” she said, slipping into her impression of our father, and I grinned. “You could do so much good for the family if you’d simply devote your entire life to making it legal for us to pay less taxes.”
“Something like that,” I laughed. “I just can’t take it anymore.”
“I get that. I’m barely covering that apartment in DC now that you’re gone, but I refuse to go to them for money.” She wiggled her finger toward my nose. “You could always move back to DC just for me, you know. Forget Mom and Dad. There are tons of corporate jobs there. You don’t have to take the political ones. Your room is so lonely without you.”
I scoffed. “Then get a roommate.”
“Valid point.” She glanced past me. “Any chance that your inability to see a relationship through has to do with the fact that you keep that picture on your nightstand?”
I didn’t need to look to know it was the picture of Nate kissing my cheek in Fiji. “I think it has to do with the fact that I pretty much keep him on the nightstand.”
She slowly brought her gaze back to mine. “I know that what you two share is . . . undefinable, but Izzy, how long can it go on like this? You here and him . . . everywhere?”
A boulder lodged itself in my throat. “Nate has his reasons.” That night in Fiji had scared him more than it had me, just not enough for him to go talk to someone about it. “And it doesn’t matter that I don’t agree with them. He won’t let me choose between my career and him. I can’t force him to choose between me and his career either. I don’t know how to let him go, Serena.”
She brushed my hair back. “I know. I just hate to watch you living your life like a first-time driver with a stick shift, jolting forward and stalling over and over again.”
“I love him.” There was no other way to explain my actions.
“Yeah.” She offered me a sad smile. “But does he feel the same way about you?”
Weight settled in my stomach, immovable and nauseating. “I don’t know. But I’m determined not to come back from Palau until I know the answer. I’m done being the person with the most to lose here.”
Nate wouldn’t let me down. I knew that in the very depths of my soul. I just had to make it clear that the time for our shot was now.
The next day, my stomach twisted into knots when my group was called to board at Chicago O’Hare. Was this how Nate felt when my flight had been delayed on our way to Fiji?
Guilt sagged my shoulders as I stood, lifting my bag to my shoulder. I should have found time to text him on that trip, to put him out of his misery.
Guess this was payback.
I looked around at the other passengers as I moved into the boarding line, hoping that one head would stand above the others, that a pair of crystal-blue eyes would already be looking my way. He wasn’t here yet.
But he would be. Nate had never let me down in my life. Had he canceled plans on me because he was going to be spending his weekend “cleaning the pool”—his favorite phrase for telling me he was deploying over the phone? Sure. Absolutely. But he had never not called.
I checked my phone as the line moved forward, then opened the flight app for my boarding pass. The desk attendant reminded everyone at the gate that the flight was sold out as I scanned my ticket and boarded the flight.
Shaking my head that Nate had gone overboard with the first-class tickets, I slid into my seat, keeping my bag between my feet. I’d brought four new novels, complete with highlights for him, and didn’t want to have to haul the bag back out to give him his pick when he got here.
“Can I get you anything before takeoff?” the flight attendant asked with a polite smile.
“No, thank you. Do you know if everyone has checked in for first class? I haven’t seen my travel companion.”
“I don’t, I’m sorry.” He glanced at the empty seat. “Don’t worry. We still have about forty minutes before we close the doors. It takes a while to get everyone seated on a plane this big.”
“Thank you.” I sat back as he moved on to the next seats, and I kicked myself in the heart for what I’d obviously put Nate through on our way to Fiji. I pulled my phone from my purse and typed out a text.
Izzy: This seat next to me looks awfully empty.
I hit send and then watched the screen for the three scrolling dots that would tell me he was replying, but none appeared. After opening the airline’s app, I searched for the flight our paperwork told me he was on.
It landed five minutes ago.
That explained it. He probably hadn’t switched his phone off airplane mode while sprinting from a gate on the opposite side of the airport. He’d better be running. My heart jumped, my pulse accelerating at the thought of seeing him in just a few minutes.
But those minutes ticked by.
The flight attendant gave me a sympathetic look when he asked if he could help stow my carry-on for takeoff.
I buckled in, then shamelessly leaned into the aisle, looking above the seat’s partitions to watch the door I’d boarded through. My stomach sank when the attendant moved toward the door, and I nearly fumbled my phone, dialing Nate’s number.
It didn’t even ring before it sent me to voice mail, which meant it was off. “Nate, I think they’re closing the doors, and I’m really worried. It looks like your flight was delayed, and I don’t even know if I can get off at this point, so I guess I’ll catch up to you at the next layover in Hawaii? I can’t wait to see you.” I hung up.
He missed the flight.
He missed the next one too.
Bleary eyed, I checked into the resort the next day. “Isabeau Astor, but it might be under—”
“I have you here,” the concierge replied with a smile that I was too exhausted to return fullheartedly. “We’ll see you to your bungalow.”
“Can you tell me if Nathaniel Phelan has checked in?”
“You’re the first, ma’am.”
I nodded in thanks and followed the bellhop, my steps robotic and my heart growing heavier by the hour.
“Here you are.” The bellhop opened the bungalow and set my luggage inside. “Is there anything we can help you with?”