Too late to regret

nan, the kind of car Julian's father used to reserve for heads of state. As the door was held open for me, I hesit

is voice as steady as the idling engi

windows as my neighborhood-the place where I had lived in a "temporary" apartment for three years, waiting for a husband who never intended to claim m

o name-just a tail number that whispered of anonymity and power. As I walked up t

. Thorne has requested that you

, cream-colored silk and dark, polished mahogany. A plush captain's chair waited for me, a cashmere throw folded neatly over the armrest. On the

first time in forty-eight hours, the adrenaline that had been keeping me uprigh

murmured. "There are fresh clothes in the stateroom at the back,

rce. I looked down at my hands. They were still shaking. I was a scholarship girl from the wrong side of the tracks, a secret wife

the sprawling grid of the city shrink until it was nothing but a toy set. Somewhere down there, Julian was likely sit

won. He thought

on the armrest began to glow. A call was coming through. My hear

aves rippling under a setting sun. But the voice that filled the cabin was unmistak

e late

"The car arrived on time, Mr. Thorn

k of ice against glass on his end. "You shouldn't let them haunt you.

three hours," I whispered, leaning

ry air around me. "Use it. Every cold word Julian spoke, every door he slammed in your face today-save them. Wrap them

ying to change the subject before the intensity of hi

errat. For the next six months, you will not be Maya Thorne, the scholarship student. You will be Maya Thorne, the enigma. You will learn to speak three languag

rrifying thrill go t

," Cyrus said. "And

Why are you doing all of this? This plane, the

ine. I could almost imagine him sitting in a darke

ian like a shadow. I watched you edit his father's merger proposals and saw the brilliance in the margins that he was too arrogant to

ed. "You've bee

of letting you go. Go to the stateroom, Maya. Change out of those clothes. Wash the sce

ne wen

s were a promise and a threat all at once. He didn't want a wife; he wanted an asset.

nd walked toward the back of the plane. I pushed

a single outfit: a deep navy-blue wrap dress in heavy, expensive silk, paired with a trench c

the ones Julian used to buy for Isabella. It was a classic, understated

me star

er. I scrubbed my skin until it was pink, washing away the tears, the dust of my old apartment, and the lingering me

d colder.

e throw. As the plane chased the sun across the Atlantic, I closed m

s and a blue silk handkerchief, waiti