"Catherine, I know you want to get away from my brother," Iris said. "And you know I'd love nothing more than to see things end between you two. I know he's very protective of you, but I can help you get away."

Catherine almost choked on her tea. The cup hovered halfway between her mouth and the saucer, and her head spun. Was this the chance she'd been waiting for? She stared at Iris, trying to read the strange, smug expression on her sister-in-law's face, but the glare of the sun made it hard. Her head continued to spin, and then the room around her blurred. She felt the hot tea splash onto her lap, and then everything went dark.

​​

The darkness changed from black to fuzzy gray, and there was sound—a low mechanical hum. Catherine groaned—her eyelids were heavy, and her head throbbed. She tried to move her body, but the sluggish muscles wouldn't respond. She groaned again.

"Oh fuck," Iris cursed. "She's waking up."

The words sounded as if they were coming from very far away. Catherine tried to focus on them—tried to understand what they meant, but it was hard with the constant ache in her head. She tried to remember what had happened—where had she been? She remembered the blazing sun, a potted palm, a cup of tea.

The memory flooded back as if a door had been opened—she'd been having tea with Iris at The Savoy. Iris must have drugged the tea—but no—she'd been drinking the tea. Catherine groaned and tried to move again—her arm was twisted behind her back at an angle that caused her pain.

"I knew I should have dosed the cup with more," Iris said.

Catherine felt a flash of annoyance—the tea was clean, but the cup itself had been drugged. She'd been stupid to accept it. Hadn't her gut warned her that something was wrong? She tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids still felt as heavy as lead. She wondered how long she'd been out? A few minutes? Hours? Would Geoffrey come to check on her?

Her tongue felt fuzzy, and she tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. She tried to say something, but her lips wouldn't move. She tried again, but only mumbles came out of her mouth.

"What's that?" Iris asked. "I'm afraid I don't understand you."

"What?" Catherine asked. "Do. You. Want?"

The sheer effort of those four words left her more exhausted than before. The darkness still swirled around her, but she knew she couldn't give in.

"Oh well, that's obvious, isn't it?" Iris asked. "I want to play matchmaker. Pearl belongs with my brother, and you belong with Marco. Now, I don't give a damn about you and Marco and your relationship, but it just so happens to suit me. Two birds with one stone!"

"Huh?" Catherine managed to ask.

Iris laughed, "Don't you know? My brother is sending Marco off to Tanzania this evening—and you're going to be joining him. A lover's safari, how cute."

Catherine managed to free her arm from beneath her body. A tingling, painful feeling stabbed at the skin, and she wanted to scream, but she'd already used too much energy talking. A muffled grunt came out of her mouth instead.

"Sean won't let you get away with this," Catherine finally managed to say.

Iris laughed, "He'll never know I was involved. As far as he'll hear, you learned about his plans for Marco from that pathetic female bodyguard who follows you around like a dog. And don't worry—he won't give chase—I'll make sure of that."

"Geoffrey," Catherine groaned. "What did you do to her?"

"Nothing yet," Iris said with a shrug. "And nothing she agrees to cooperate with."

"And does Pearl know your plan?" Catherine asked. "Is she really that desperate to get a man?"

"No," Iris said. "She doesn't have a clue."

"Really?" Catherine asked. "Somehow, I find that hard to believe. I've seen girls like you and Pearl before—one is always a leader, and the other is a follower. You're not a leader, Iris."

"You don't know a damned thing about me," Iris snapped.

"Sounds like I've hit a nerve," Catherine said. "Have you thought about the risk you're taking for your friend? I mean, really thought about it?"

"Of course," Iris said.

"Good," Catherine said. "You know Sean better than I do, so you have a way better idea of the kind of suffering he'd put you through if he found out. That's a pretty high risk. Your friend will have a man and family money. She will leave you and playhouse with Sean. But what do you get, Iris?"

"Shut up," Iris snapped. "You can't drive a wedge between us."

Catherine sighed. She knew it was a long shot, but it was the only chance she had. The medicine still had her in its clutches, and even if she could move, there was no way she could outrun or outfight Iris. Not while she was still weak and tired from the drug.

"What time is Marco's flight?" Catherine asked. "Am I flying with him or separately?"

"None of your business," Iris said.

"Are we in a car?" Catherine asked. "Are you taking me to the airport right now? Did you spring for first-class, or are we stuck in business?"

Though it was exhausting to talk, she forced herself to continue engaging with Iris. The more Iris responded, the more likely she'd let something slip. And if she could make Iris angry enough, the girl would be more likely to talk.

"Are you sure you've thought this through?" she asked. "I mean, it's not like my husband is just going to drop Marco off at the airport and wish him well. I'm sure he'll have someone watching him. Probably, Levi at least and then some guards too."

"I'm not stupid," Iris snapped. "You're going directly on the plane—and no one is going to see it happen."

"Oh, so it's a chartered flight then," Catherine said, her mind racing.

"I never said that," Iris said, suddenly defensive.

"And if no one sees me, that means we're getting to the airport early," Catherine continued. "Or hmm, maybe a private hangar instead."

"Shut up, or I'm drugging you again," Iris threatened.

Catherine fell silent. She had no idea where Sean kept his private jet. Even if she knew, it wouldn't have been that useful—if the flight was chartered, Iris could be taking her anywhere. Catherine strained her ears, trying to listen for some clue about where they were, but all she heard was the quiet hum of the car's engine and its fans' rush.

"Thirty minutes, Miss Blair," a male voice said in a gentle Irish brogue.

"Oh shut up, Mike," Iris snapped.

Catherine's heart sank—she only had thirty minutes to get away from Iris. She focused on her body, trying to will her arms and legs to move, but it was useless. She thought smaller, thinking about her index finger. Slowly she forced herself to bend it—each twitch of the muscle felt like an exhausting task.

Little by little, she curled the finger inward. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and she shivered in the air-conditioned car. She uncurled the finger, curled it again, and then began to move her middle finger. Once she could bend and unbend her fingers, she began on her wrist and then her arm. It got easier as she went, but she knew she'd already lost a lot of time.