I only do that when my feet are on the ground – well, on the roof of the building – and I’m far away from the rotors. They continue to spin, sending blasts of wind and my hair over my face. I tighten my grip on Dali’s collar, afraid he might get blown away.
“This way,” I hear Mason speak.
He places his hand on my back and leads me to the elevator. After the doors close, I lean against the wall and remove a coil of hair from the corner of my mouth.
“I’m never doing that again.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Mason says in a businesslike tone, his hand back on his side.
I know he’s still angry with me. Or disappointed, at least. He’s barely spoken to me since last night. For all I know, he called for a helicopter specifically so we wouldn’t have to speak to each other during the trip to DC.
“It’s better than being on a small boat,” my dad says.
The ride doesn’t seem to have bothered him at all, probably because he rode on helicopters plenty of times during his career as a photojournalist.
He’s lived, alright. And me? I’m starting to think I haven’t been living at all. And I’ve only been gone from Eastport for what – twenty minutes?
The doors open and we step out, but there seems to be another set of doors. Mason says his name and something on the wall flips. A keyboard? I don’t see any numbers or letters to push, but it must be one because he runs his fingers across it at lightning speed, creating one long beep instead of a series of small ones. The panel flips back. A hole appears in the wall and a camera pops out. A laser eye scans Mason’s face for a few seconds. He opens his mouth and it scans the inside. Then it disappears again.
I blink. Is this real or am I in a sci-fi movie?
Finally, the second set of doors opens. A man in a tailcoat and white gloves waits on the other side.
A real man. Ha. For a moment there, I expected an android. I guess Mason is more of a Bruce Wayne than a Tony Stark.
“Good morning, Mr. Burke,” the butler greets. “And please accept my congratulations on your wedding.”
“Thanks, Frank.”
The butler turns to me with a warm smile. “Welcome to Boot Camp, Mrs. Burke.”
I arch my eyebrow. “Boot Camp?”
“That’s what Mr. Burke likes to call his building,” Frank says. “Just like how the Secret Service calls the White House ‘Castle’. We are in DC, after all.”
I nod. “Of course. And thank you for your warm welcome, Frank. It is Frank, isn’t it?”
He places his hand on his chest and bows his head. “At your service. If there’s anything you need, anything at all, please let me know. The household is at your beck and call.”
The household? Wait. I have maids and… what? A chef? A gardener? A pool cleaner?
“And this must be your father, Noah Higgins.” Frank turns to my dad. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“Noah,” my dad corrects him. Then he offers his hand. “It’s my pleasure.”
“Frank,” Mason speaks. “Bring Noah and the dogs to the ninth floor.”
He nods. “Yes, sir.”
“Whoa.” I stand in front of Mason with creased eyebrows. “My dad and the dogs are living on a separate floor?”
“Just the one below us,” he answers. “That’s where the gardens are. It’s more… green, so I think the dogs will like it better.”
And let me guess, there are fewer things for my father to break in case he has an episode, unlike here, where I can see a lot of glass. That’s good, though. I don’t want him getting hurt.
“Also, the movie theater is there so he can watch movies on a big screen,” Mason adds.
“I like it already,” my father says.
“Then I’ll stay there, too,” I say.
There’s no way I’m going to let my dad be on a different floor. That seems even worse than him being in the house next door. I won’t see him. I doubt I’ll hear him if he needs me. Or the dogs.
“Our bedroom is here, Aster,” Mason tells me. “Surely you would rather stay with me?”
He is angry with me. Otherwise, he wouldn’t put me on the spot. He wouldn’t ask me to choose between him and my dad. He wouldn’t dare me to expose our secret.
True, he and I slept in different rooms last night, but my dad doesn’t know that. He can’t. He has to believe Mason and I are genuinely in love and happily married.
I frown. Why is he doing this to me?
I don’t even understand why he’s angry. All I said was that I wasn’t ready for physical intimacy, for… sex. And I’m not. I’ve never experienced it. Besides, this isn’t a real marriage. I thought he understood that. We’re just husband and wife on paper. We don’t have to be in bed. What’s the point in that when we don’t love each other, when we’re going to get divorced someday anyway?