Try to make me cry
I was listening.
An hour into the flight, the initial theatrics had settled into a simmering, uncomfortable quiet. Eddie sat across the aisle, his navy jacket discarded, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that were tense with a strange, restless energy. Bella was perched on the edge of the seat next to him, her fingers constantly fluttering—adjusting her hair, smoothing her skirt, reaching out to touch his arm as if to reassure herself he was still there.
“I thought you didn't want me to come along, Eddie,” Bella’s voice drifted over, hushed and conspiratorial, yet loud enough to pierce through my focus. “What changed your mind? Were you trying to make your wife jealous?”
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