She stared at me. “You said your marriage was over.”
“It is.”
“She didn’t look informed.”
I had no answer for that.
When Elena returned with the service cart, she looked exactly the same.
Calm. Precise. Untouchable.
“Mr. Carter,” she said, “Ms. Blake—would you care for dinner?”
Vanessa flinched at hearing her full name.
Of course Elena knew.
The manifest.
The seat assignments.
My wife might have been betrayed—but she was never stupid.
“I’ll have the salmon,” Vanessa said.
Elena nodded, then turned to me.
“And for you, sir? The short rib… or something lighter after your long day of meetings in Chicago?”
The words were soft.
But they landed like a verdict.
“Short rib,” I said.
“Excellent choice.”
She moved on.
I hated her for not shaking.
Then I hated myself for thinking that.
Halfway over the Atlantic, the Wi-Fi connected.
My phone started buzzing.
Email after email.
