Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Even the idea is surreal.
I switch on the light, and everything becomes clear in my mind. There is no time to waste. I set my purse down, kick my heels off, and head through to my bedroom, where I dig out my suitcase from the bottom of my wardrobe. My brain is on autopilot as I start packing a few essentials for the trip. Jeans, a couple of sweaters, underwear, socks, a few dresses, some nice shoes, toiletries, a notebook, my sketchpad, chargers for my cell phone and laptop.
As I fold things up and slot them into my suitcase, I pause mid-fold, suddenly filled with a strange and nervous excitement, and yet I don’t even know what I’m hoping to find. Love? Closure? Revenge for abandoning me? Maybe just a clue to who I am.
My suitcase is nearly full, and I’m pretty sure I have everything I need. If it turns out I’ve forgotten something, well, I’m going to New York, not the middle of nowhere. I can always pick up anything I’ve missed when I’m there. Zipping up my suitcase, I drag it off my bed and onto the ground.
I return to my wardrobe, pull out a pair of soft jeans and a comfortable pink jumper, and change into them. Then I quickly slip on a pair of ankle socks and a pair of trainers, and run a comb through my hair, having already packed my brush.
Then, I do a quick mental inventory of everything I need. My passport, check. Cell phone, check. My wallet with a bit of cash and my cards, check. My laptop is bagged and ready to go, check. My ability to breathe, good enough.
I decide to make myself a cup of tea and relax for five minutes, but on checking my watch I see I don’t have time for that. It’s already five minutes after the two-hour mark. I glance out of the lounge window, and there it is. It’s all real. A long, completely pristine black car is waiting, the engine idling, and a man in a perfectly pressed uniform is standing beside it, his posture rigid enough to make me nervous and intimidated.
I pull my jacket on, grab my handbag, laptop bag, and suitcase, and head downstairs.
“Umm, hi. I think you’re here for me,” I say uncertainly when I come face to face with the chauffeur.
“Miss Button?” he asks.
I nod.
He gestures for my suitcase. I hand it to him, and he opens the back door of the car without another word. I thank him and get in. The door closes with a soft thud. The interior of the car smells faintly of new leather and citrus, and the kind of luxury I didn’t know existed outside of Instagram posts swallows me up.
After a moment or two, the driver’s door opens, and the chauffeur gets in. He pulls away from the sidewalk, and we start to make our way down the quiet roads. I sink back against the soft seat, trying to relax as I stare out at the darkened streets of London, everything familiar slipping by too quickly, replaced by the gnawing anticipation of the unknown. It hits me that we’re not heading towards Heathrow, and I speak up anxiously.
“Excuse me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I was told we’d be going to the airport.”
“Indeed, we are,” the driver replies. “We have an eta of approximately five minutes.”
“Oh,” I say absently, realizing that he hasn’t really confirmed why he’s gone past the turning for the airport, but I don’t want to sound like I am accusing him of abducting me or something, so I stay quiet and wait to see where we end up in five minutes’ time. Maybe he knows another route or something.
He turns off the road, and I peer out of the window, my mouth dropping open when I see our destination. It’s not Heathrow. Not even close. It’s a private airstrip, I realize in awe. There is a row of sleek jets lined up like swans on glass. The chauffeur has already gotten out of the car, and he opens my door for me. I step out and thank him. He gets my suitcase from the trunk and reunites me with it and then he closes the back door, tips his cap to me, and drives away, leaving me standing alone on the edge of the airstrip with no idea where to go or what to do.
I look around and see a building with orange lights in the windows and some activity going on inside. A woman in a stewardess’s uniform comes out of it and approaches me.
“Good evening, Miss Button,” she greets, all crisp white uniform and a polished smile. “If you would like to follow me, your flight will be taking off shortly.”
I follow her across the tarmac. She is surprisingly fast considering the height of her heels, and I almost have to jog to keep up. She turns around to flash me a professional smile before she goes up the staircase of a jet. Well, well… I follow her to the top where she stands aside and guides me aboard, gesturing for me to go on ahead of her.