On a sunny Saturday afternoon, Grace stepped aboard a private jet bound for New York, the flight path already cleared in advance. Her phone was still connected to a call with Raphael.
On the line, his voice was gentle, full of reminders and concern.
“I’m only gone for a few days. I’ll be back Wednesday,” Grace said.
“Alright. I’ve got to fly to Germany on Wednesday too—but I’ll be back that same evening.”
Neither wanted to hang up. They exchanged a few more reluctant words before ending the call. It would be the longest they’d been apart in recent memory.
Raphael had insisted she reply to his messages every day—and absolutely not look at any other men. She couldn’t help but laugh; sometimes he acted more like her dad than her husband.
She boarded the plane, where her father, Roland,
