Catherine fixed her collar and adjusted her suit, careful to hide every trace of the bruises Dorian had left behind, as she stepped down from the jet. She wore large sunglasses to conceal her face. She turned toward Maximilian.
He stood beside her in a plaid shirt, jeans, and a denim jacket, so completely different from the refined professor's wardrobe she was used to seeing him in, yet somehow still impossibly handsome.
She smiled.
The three of them were supposed to be dead.
Catherine glanced toward Fitzgerald, who was struggling with the cooler he had insisted on bringing with him.
"You can roll it."
Fitzgerald looked at the cooler, then at her, and smiled before setting it down and pulling the handle out. He adjusted his sunglasses and rolled it along behind him.
Dorian still believed they were dead.
Catherine intended to keep it that way for a little longer.
