Page 63 of Darling

“Where would you go first?”

“Paris,” I answer immediately. “I’ve always dreamed about going there. The architecture, the fashion,the Louvre.”

“Then it’s the first place I’ll take you the moment you have it.”He plants a promissory kiss on the side of my head.

Third Motion

The House Divided

Twenty one

Christian

London is in bright, glorious sunshine when I walk out of the Heathrow arrivals exit, the familiar sight of Francis waiting with his sign a welcome one. He smiles and shakes my hand vigorously.

“Very good to see you, sir.”

“You too, Francis. What did you do to be lumbered with me again?”

“Something good, I assume,” he says and moves for my larger case. “Whitehall or the hotel first?”

“I suppose I should go clean myself up. Hotel please, Francis.”

While we drive, I check my emails and shoot off a text to my mother to tell her I landed safely—she insists I do this after every flight—and then to Felix to tell him I’m in the city for at least the next five days. Then I message Asher to let him know I’ve arrived and that I wish he were here. I want him to see it the moment he wakes up.

Leaving him yesterday afternoon had been difficult. Surprisingly so. We’d only spent two days together in that hotel, but the absence of him now is a yawning, vacant hole in my chest. I can’t remember ever noticing Felix’s absence so loudly,so distractingly. I’d taken my medication and nodded off almost immediately on the business class cabin bed, but during the night, half in dreams, I’d reached over for Asher’s warm body only to find the cold, hard-edged plastic of the airplane. I wish he’d been able to come to London; I’d have loved to show him the city for the first time, take him to the Tate and the National Gallery, and let him look at art for hours. And though I’m not sure how I’d have explained his presence here, I find I care less and less about it. Whether it’s complacency or something else, I don’t know, but the bone-deep fear I used to have about being seen with Felix isn’t something I feel about being seen with Asher. Granted, he wasn’t the son of Adrian Brooke, but the idea of holding his hand as we stroll around London is one of overwhelming joy above anything else.

On the subject of his passport, I’d sent an email to Seema when I’d gotten home yesterday afternoon to enquire about how someone without a copy of their birth certificate might be able to obtain one, to which she’d responded:Are you asking me to obtain a copy of a US citizen’s birth record for your own private use?To which I’d responded:Of course not. Can you assist in procuring a passport for a US citizen who does not have access to a birth certificate?

She’d yet to respond, though I’m not concerned. I’m certain it isn’t the worst request a diplomat has made of their CIA envoy while in office. The request was ultimately harmless. Unlike Asher returning to the people who’d brainwashed and abused him.

Felix replies before I reach the hotel.

FTB:

DADDY’S HOME

I shake my head at his ridiculousness.

Me:

I’m not sure Nico would like you calling me that, sweetheart.

FTB:

Nico knows too well how badly I need a father figure in my life. When are you free for dinner? I can cook now!

Me:

Christ, really? What else have I missed while I was gone?

FTB:

I’ll tell you at dinner

Me:

I’m not sure of my plans yet. Let me assess how bad things are at the office first, and I’ll let you know. It will be lovely to see you.