Suddenly, a passport was in her hands, opened to the page with her picture.
He leaned close and spoke, his volume low with a tone that bid her attention. “I know you aren’t feeling like yourself. That’s all right. Look at this.” He tapped the information within the small folder. When she looked down, he went on, “We don’t have much time. Listen closely and do as I say. Customs should be easy, but they might ask you a question or two. I’ll explain that the combination of alcohol and sleep deprivation has you confused, but it’s important to know your name.”
She blinked, making the words come into focus. “My-my name is Natalie—”
“Your name is Nellie Smithers.”
She shook her head again. “No, Natalie—”
“Nellie Smithers.” His timbre slowed. “Say it.”
“Why?”
He didn’t answer, only repeating the name she didn’t know, each time slower than the last. She tried to block him out, looking closer at the passport in her hand. It was her picture, but it wasn’t her passport picture. This picture couldn’t be more than a month or two old. Where did it come from? The picture in her passport was taken four years ago, when her childhood passport had expired. In the picture in her hand, she’s her current age with long brown hair and big green eyes.
Though their personalities couldn’t be more different, Natalie was the spitting image of her older sister, if her sister had green eyes. Instead, her sister had inherited their father’s brown ones. Nat always thought they made her sister appear stronger, a more formidable force like their father. That wasn’t what her dad said. When he looked at Nat, he’d say that she—his baby—was the perfect combination of light and dark.
Her mom and her dad.
“No…I have a flight to…” She tried to remember where she was going. It was somewhere cold. Her parents were already there. And her brother. No doubt her sister was coming. “…to…I’m going to…” Her eyelids were heavy, so heavy.
Hadn’t she slept? She thought she remembered sleeping.
“Nellie—”
“No, Natalie!” She spoke too loud, too drawn out. People would stare.
Dexter smiled. “That’s right, dear. I’ll take care of it all.”
He’d take care of what? Why was he happy? She’d said Natalie. Quietly, she said the name again, more of a whisper to herself rather than to him. “Nat-lie.”
It didn’t sound right. She licked her lips. The T was soft, though consonants are rarely soft. It wasn’t coming out as two syllables.
“Naalie…”
No that wasn’t right.
It was then she noticed her left hand, the rings.
Dexter must have seen her lift her hand because he helped her, raising it higher until the combination of diamonds and gold was right in front of her. “I’m so happy that you like it.”
It’s a strange sensation when an aircraft begins to slow. Tons of metal, hundreds of people, the weight exceeding anyone’s imagination, suddenly decelerating its forward thrust, hanging precariously in the air as if at that moment the aircraft could drop to the earth. It’s a frightening sensation—the passengers unable to change the deadly trajectory.
That was the sensation Natalie experienced, a free-fall from a mile high, her stomach in knots. Perspiration dotted her skin, her palms moistened, and the breakfast she couldn’t recall eating pushed upward. “I-I’m going…sick…”
Dexter’s lips quirked upward; even his eyes lightened. “No, dear, you won’t. I made sure of that. The anti-nausea component of your little cocktail won’t allow it.”
“C-cocktail?”
“Why yes, we’re about to land in Munich. You’re old enough to drink there. In Germany, it’s sixteen for beer and wine. It’s eighteen for spirits. The laws are the same at our final destination. Though I must say, as your husband, I’ll need to keep a close eye on your intake. It does seem as though you have a rather low tolerance.”
There was too much in his speech, so much to decipher.
“Destination?” Her chest clenched. “M-my mom…France.”
“Yes, it’s interesting that she’s who you mention. Of course, one day we’ll visit. Keeping us from your family isn’t my goal. I doubt our visit will be in France. You won’t be ready. Besides, they’re only renting that chateau. I’d love to visit their island. I’m sure it’s beautiful. But first, don’t you think we should get to know one another better?” His hand splayed over her thigh, the heat transcending the material of her tight jeans. “My dear wife.”
Chapter Four
Acceptance doesn’t mean resignation; it means understanding that something is what it is and that there’s got to be a way through it.
~ Michael J. Fox
With each second that Natalie stared, unsure what to say, Dexter’s hold intensified until the tips of his fingers blanched with the depth of their grip. Pain ached deep below her skin.
Dropping the passport, she clawed at his unmoving hand. “Stop. Y-you’re hurting me.” The sentence came faster, the pain returning her ability to speak, yet through clenched teeth, the words were barely audible.
Dexter’s hand didn’t move. The pressure neither lessened nor increased. His words, however, were clear and concise, knives cutting through the plane’s rumbling. “On this plane, with the roar of the engines, our conversation is private. Remember to keep it that way when we’re off the plane.” His fingers dug deeper.
Natalie gasped, biting her lip to keep from screaming. “Please.”
Again, the pressure leveled. With each assertion, she prayed that he wouldn’t make it worse. She could bear it as long as there wasn’t more.
“Tell me your name,” he demanded.
She tried to remember. Everything was still foggy. The answer was in the passport. Not the real answer, but the one that would bring her relief. The small folder was now wedged beside her leg where she’d dropped it.
Dare she let go of his hand to look?
Before she was able, Dexter snatched the passport with his other hand. The one on her thigh never twitched or wavered in its mission.
“I-I can’t remember,” she admitted.
Dexter’s head slowly shook. His fingers dug harder into the jeans, into her leg.
Tears prickled to life behind her eyes.
“No,” he growled, a low rumbling hiss. “That won’t do. We have customs soon and a car to secure.”
“But…I have another flight.”
“Don’t be silly. Europe is too beautiful, and what did you call it? Oh, I remember…magical. It’s too magical to miss seeing the countryside.”
“I don’t understand,” Natalie replied, keenly aware that somehow she’d grown tolerant to the pain his hand continued to inflict.
“Your name?”
Her eyes closed to her silent plea and then opened.