He took the tablet back from her and squinted at it. "I thought it was a hieroglyph."
"It's a devil."
He turned the tablet, still staring at it. "Are you sure? There are five limbs and three eyes. Maybe it's a bug of some kind?"
"I know what I drew," Violet snapped at him. "And I wasn't very good at carving, all right?"
His lips twitched in amusement. "So, who did you curse?"
"My father. He'd left my mother again and she was depressed." He'd left her mother a lot in those days.
"What did you curse him with?"
This time, Violet's mouth curled in a wry smile, remembering her childhood anger. "I believe I demanded that his peepee fall off."
"I have an incredible urge to cross my legs and slide farther away from you."
"You're lucky there's not an Etch A Sketch handy."
He laughed, his smile so utterly brilliant that it lit up his entire face. In that moment, he wasn't Billionaire Jonathan Lyons, daredevil and mogul. He was just nineteen-year-old Jonathan who'd made her heart flutter.
Like it was fluttering right now.
She took a big gulp of the coffee and turned to stare out the window, not caring that her mouth burned on the heat of the drink. The last thing she wanted was to get cozy with Jonathan again. "At any rate," she said, turning her voice back to that cool diffidence, "we need to head to Alamagordo, New Mexico."
"Is that where you grew up?"
"Yes."
"Is the Etch A Sketch still there?"
"No. My mother made me dig it up and then told my father about it when he returned a few months later. He didn't care. In fact, I seem to recall that he corrected me on my curse and said that the Romans would have never marked such a spot, as it defeated the purpose of the curse."
"So he turned it into a lesson?"
"It isn't a lesson if you're already aware of the facts."
"So you marked it on purpose? Did you want him to find it?"
She had. She'd wanted her father to realize how furious and hurt she was that he'd left, and that Mommy spent all day in bed, crying and nursing a bottle of rum. She'd had no outlet for her anger, so she'd carved that symbol angrily into the tree, hoping that her father would return home the next day and ask about the symbol. What's this, Violet? And then she could show him.
But he hadn't returned home until months later, and he'd never noticed the tree. It had been her mother, giddy with excitement that her husband was home and paying a bit of attention to her, who had brought up Violet's curse. Isn't that precious of our Violet?
That was pretty much how her entire childhood had gone. Her father would leave. Her mother would drink. Violet would rage. Her father would return. Her mother would smother him with affection. Then he would leave again. All through this, Violet built resentment for her brilliant, flawed father.
"Violet?" Jonathan asked in a low voice. "You okay?"
"Alamagordo," she said flatly. "I agreed to be your guide, not your entertainment."
He sighed with resignation, and she felt a bit like an ass**le.
THREE
Violet was rather alarmed to see that the limo didn't head to Detroit Metro Airport, but instead went to a smaller airfield. "Where are we going?"
He gave her that cocky look that made her nerves grate. "The airport."
She gritted her teeth. "What airport is this?"
"A private one."
Clearly. She peered out the window at the small hangar. "We're not taking a commercial flight?" She'd been hoping for a multitude of passengers and some in-flight magazines to distract her from her company.
"Since we're just heading to New Mexico, I figured I'd fly us there."
Fear made her eyes widen. "What? We're not going to have a real pilot?"
He turned that intense, cocky look on her. "I am a real pilot, Violet. I fly my planes all the time."
"Yes, but . . ." She trailed off. It seemed rather impolite to say I don't want to leave my life in your hands. But what choice did she have? She could refuse and turn around and leave . . . and then everyone in the school district would resent her.
Yeah, like that was a choice. Violet sighed. "If you crash, I'm going to be furious."
"I'll take that into consideration."
She gave him a sharp look to see if he was joking, but . . . he didn't seem to be. With a sigh, she continued to stare out the window and bit back any comments or concerns she had about taking a small plane.
A half hour later, when she saw the actual plane itself, Violet gave a moan of distress. "You're kidding me, right? It's so small."
"Not that small. This is one of the bigger in its class," Jonathan said, staring up at it with what looked like affection. "Socata TBM 850. Turboprop. We'll have enough fuel to make it to New Mexico without having to stop and refuel."