Page 124 of Forbidden

Dear God. At what cost?

Finally, the day comes, and we pack, and say goodbye to Falcon.

He is now walking around the roof, and he tries to stretch his wounded wing daily.

We have let him do it, the aim being, when he’s stronger, healed, and ready to fly, one day he will fly away, to find his place in the world.

The other option is, we lock him up, hope he gets better, then fly him back to the national park and we let him free.

The thing is, we cannot keep him locked up in the kennel any longer. That is wrong. He also needs to exercise, stretch his wings, and move.

After saying farewell to our dear Peregrine, Lorenzo takes my hand, and we take our private elevator to the Bentley. Alfred drives us to JFK airport, and Lorenzo’s jet, and I am calm and content.

As usual, we are flying without staff. It’s our way, and we are becoming even more reclusive. We are also becomingone.

I’m unsure if it’s getting unhealthy, like we are addicted to each other, but the train has left the station.

I have been telling Lorenzo I love him when I leave for work, and he does the same. We are as close to a normal couple as we can be, and I feel fulfilled.

I still make him lunch before I go to the library to work, and sometimes he even eats it.

Even if a piece of me still worries things have happened too fast, I know it’s more than infatuation.

I love him!

I know I get agitated when woman come on to Lorenzo, and I know he has many exes. I have trouble controlling my jealousy, and I hope being married will calm my fears. I can tell Lorenzo is equally possessive, but I know he is better than me, at keeping it in check.

Wanting to hold onto what you love, is likely healthy, but this does feel as if it has ramped up.

In saying that, I am likely too close to know. I am likely way too caught up in…us!

After landingin the French Riviera, we drive past beaches and yachts, and we check into a five-star hotel. We then reach Lorenzo’s usual penthouse suite.

It feels way over the top, but Lorenzo reminds me Monte Carlo, and Monaco is just down the coast, and Europe is old. With some very old money, royals, castles and bloodlines.

After we place our passports, and my jewelry in the suite’s safe, Lorenzo tells me we’re going shopping. I don’t understand.

“Baby, this is a business trip, and even I have to dress up. I don’t like bow ties or gold cufflinks, but it’s to be expected at times, especially at these high-profile premieres. Trust me, you’ll see.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” I say, looking down, “I have two matching sandals.”

Lorenzo laughs and he holds me close. “You’re going to make a perfect wife.”

I gulp, and I know we need to talk more.

Before it gets awkward, our fingers find each other, and we are heading for the tall ornate door.

Three crazy hours later we re-enter the hotel’s gorgeous lobby, and two men push a trolly with dresses and shoe boxes.

I’m embarrassed, and it feels ridiculous.

I keep my sunglasses on, and I tilt my head down. Lorenzo keeps his on too, and I huff low. “I cannot believe you, Mister. You will need a lot of punishing.”

There is no way I’m wrong. The classy trolly is covered in Valentino, Givenchy, and Dior.

It is absolutely ridiculous.

As an impeccably uniformed Frenchman holds the elevator open for us, we enter. As soon as the doors close, he turns to me. “Do you know what we forgot?”