CHAPTER 7

ZARIA

Of course it did.

I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to stay calm and not draw attention to myself as I tugged the stubborn strap free from the conveyor edge.

“Fucking, let go!” I gritted out, only for it to come loose, throwing me off balance, and I bumped straight into someone behind me.

“Oof…sorry!” a man said at the same time, steadying himself and then me before I could even process the impact.

“I’m sorry,” I replied automatically, taking a big step backwards, searching around for exits, faces, cameras…

“Hey!” Large fingers snapped a bit too close to my face. I turned my attention to the man who was still… there.

He was smiling now. “Looks like the bag is winning today.”

I frowned, glancing down at my luggage and then back at him.

Yeah, right.

“I think it has personal issues with authority,” I said before I could stop myself, immediately wondering why I had said anything at all.

He didn't notice, chuckling softly. “That makes two of us.”

I nodded once, noncommittally, and turned forward again, reminding myself that he could be sent by anyone to toy with me.

Still, the tension in my shoulders loosened by a fraction, which irritated me more than the bag ever could have.

The line shuffled forward slowly, and somehow we remained next to each other. Beneath the harsh airport lights, I was acutely aware of him now, and I didn’t like that either.

He was tall and rather lean, dressed simply in dark jeans and a soft grey sweater that looked so comfortable. His face was distinctly Asian, with soft cheekbones, baby fat here and there, a straight nose, and eyes that held warmth behind the lenses of his glasses.

Handsome, my mind supplied, unhelpfully.

I felt a faint heat creep up my neck before I turned my gaze away, disgusted at myself. I was thirty-something years old, exhausted, pregnant, running for my life, and still reacting like this.

How ridiculous.

My guard tightened instinctively.

As we reached the security trays, he gestured casually toward the empty one beside him.

 

“Window seat?” he asked.

 

I narrowed my eyes, glancing at him. “How did you…”

 

“You are a bit jumpy," he said with an easy shrug. “Aisle people tend to be more… relaxed.

 

I snorted quietly. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all week.”

 

“Wang,” he said once we were through security, offering his hand with a suggestion that he expected nothing in return, not even conversation.

 

“Zaria,” I replied, shaking it briefly. His grip was firm, another detail my mind noted and filed away.

 

We moved apart after that, or at least I thought we would, but coincidence or fate had other plans. When I reached my gate, I saw him there again, standing near the window, scrolling through his phone with one hand while holding a paper cup of coffee in the other.

 

“Shit.” I almost changed direction. Instead, I told myself I was being foolish and took my assigned seat.

 

The seat directly beside him.

 

He looked up, surprised, then smiled. “Well,” he said, sliding his bag under the seat in front of him, “either this flight is tiny, or the universe is being oddly specific.”

 

“Or airports just enjoy irony,” I replied, settling into my seat and buckling in.

 

Our knees brushed briefly as he shifted to make room, and I stiffened before forcing myself to relax. He noticed, I was sure of it, but he said nothing.

 

As the plane filled and the overhead bins slammed shut one by one, he reached for the window shade, fumbling with it, and tugging it down only for it to snap back up with a loud click that turned a few heads.

 

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I always forget which way it goes.”

 

“Trust me,” I said, fastening my seatbelt. “Tonight, that’s not the worst mistake anyone could make.”

 

He glanced at me, looking curious. “Long journey?”

 

“Yes,” I said, resting my hand lightly on my stomach as the plane began to taxi. “But necessary.”

 

“Those are usually the hardest ones,” he replied, seemingly thoughtful.

 

The engines roared to life, vibrating through the cabin, and as the plane lifted off the runway, Brazil fell away beneath us into a blur.

 

It was a place I would never allow myself to miss so I kept my eyes forward, counting the seconds until altitude.

 

That was me believing I was lost to Renzo Dominico forever. For several minutes, I stared out the window, thinking about how close I had come to disappearing in a very final way.

 

How the horrible explosion happened behind my eyes every time I blinked.

 

Wang shifted beside me, pulling a book from his bag.

 

All this time, he had been in the periphery of my vision, quietly reading, occasionally stretching, once offering me the last unopened bottle of water from his tray…

 

“You sure?” I asked, wary of his kindness.

 

He nodded. “I drank enough before boarding. Besides, you look like you need it more than I do.”

 

I accepted it with a brief nod. “Thank you.”

 

“So,” he said eventually, glancing at the map on the screen in front of him, “China for school?”

 

I eyed the book in his hands,  “What are you reading?” I asked, changing the subject. This wasn't Brazil and I didn't need to tell anyone anything about myself.

 

If he felt insulted, he didn't show it. Instead, he held the book up. “A terrible attempt at learning Portuguese," he sighed. “I thought it would be useful. Turns out, it’s mostly confusing.”

 

“You chose a difficult language to flirt with,” I said dryly.

 

“Ah,” he said, smiling faintly. “Portuguese is not forgiving.” Then he paused, blinking. “Is that what I’m doing?”

 

“I don’t know,” I replied calmly. “Is it?”

 

He tilted his head, studying me with an unreadable expression.  “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just bad at small talk.”

 

“Then shut the fuck up.” I snapped.