Page 183 of This Bitter Sweet Temptation
Holden sits up front with the pilot, and I’m in the back. The rest of the plane yawns between us like a luxurious white prison.
The fireproof briefcase with the egg sits at my feet, safely locked up.
Holden didn’t even fuss when I insisted on carrying the secured suitcase one last time. After all, what could happen on the plane?
I pick up the briefcase and pull it on my lap, opening it with a press of my finger to the sensor. A green light flashes and the lock clicks.
I push the top open and stare inside with a sigh.
How can something so beautiful be so terrible?
The jeweled egg sits inside the velvet interior like an armed bomb. Glinting diamonds, layered white spiraling through deep sky blue and gold accents. It reminds me of kintsugi, the Japanese art of fixing broken items with gold. Their imperfections only make them more beautiful.
The thought makes my throat close bitterly.
Hesitantly, I trail my fingers along the smooth, textured surface.
I know I shouldn’t touch it, but eh.
This feels like the only time I’ll ever touch it before it’s behind glass for good.
Of course, I can visit the museum anytime, even during off hours for my own VIP visit. I don’t know if I ever will.
It might be the most stunning treasure I’ll ever see, but there’s a harsh gravity only I can sense.
A heaviness that runs straight to my heart. Bad energy and worse vibes.
I wonder if PopPop’s feelings with this object were ever half this complicated.
Sighing, I jerk my hand back, then slide the briefcase back on the floor. Holden watches me from his perch at the front of the plane.
I stare out the window, ignoring him.
Eventually, the tingling on the side of my neck eases, and I know he’s looked away again.
The crappy feeling lingers long after we land and grab our rental car. Gramps’ penthouse was supposedly too risky after the break-in at his house in Portland, so Holden picked a condo being rented out in a secure, but underwhelming building.
There are other cars flanking us, private security Holden brought in to make sure we’re absolutely protected in transit.
I should be grateful.
But I just keep thinking how relieved he’ll be to finish this and get rid of me.
Very soon, we’ll be going our separate ways.
This is it, and my heart fragments a little more with every breath.
The condo is a small,one-bedroom unit.
Somewhere he might’ve stayed before, back when he’d travel with Gramps. There’s a slight stagnant smell in the air, like the unit hasn’t been lived in for a while.
I miss the penthouse already, even if it’s loaded with bad memories now.
I sigh and head out to the small balcony so I can avoid Holden’s scent. His laundry, his musk, his woodsy cologne.
Outside, there are traffic fumes and smells from a bakery down the road cutting through the city’s busy stench.
Growling chaotic sounds in cars and horns and people. A lot ofpeople.
