It was one thing for Carter Thebes to pick me up in the pouring rain, another for him to demand I sit next to him in business class, and entirely something else when he reached not only for my bag—as if I'm incapable of wheeling a small cabin bag myself—but for my passport?

Hell no, Thebes. I know what you're doing!

I snatch my documents like I'm a steel trap out in the forest, snagging a poor, unsuspecting animal's legs, and I clutch it to my chest like I just mined a nugget of gold worth the price of a house in Vaucluse. Neil's skeptical voice ringing in my ear from last night when I came barreling into his apartment with my empty suitcase in tow so I could stay the night and pack the clothes he kindly acquired for me.

"And how you ensure Mr Who-is-far-too-interested-in-you won't discover your secret all week, Anna?"

"I don't know. I'll come up with something..."  I had mumbled, because honestly, I had no idea how I was going to spin this if someone was to blurt out my name at a hotel reception or airport security because when I'd thought of this brilliant plan to infiltrate Carter Thebes' life to get to the truth, I hadn't fathomed I'd be needing a fake passport for international travel, had I?

Rookie mistake as Captain would say, but Captain's not here right now, nor is what I'm doing wholly sanctioned. I'm on a much-needed 'mental health break' aren't I?

"I—uh." I clear my throat, pin my passport under my armpit, and gingerly reclaim my very expensive and kindly lent wardrobe for the week. Nope. I may be Avery Honey to Carter Thebes, but my passport says otherwise, and somehow, I need to get through the whole week without spilling my beans.

"Shall we?" Carter smiles at me as if this looney behaviour is entirely normal from the women surrounding him.

I nod, following him towards the Departure gate, even though every cell in my body craves for me to head for the food court and grab a bite to eat, seeing how I skipped breakfast. Or at least let me grab a coffee.

But no. It seems no-nonsense Thebes has joined me today, which has been happening more and more these days—some melancholy grips him now and then and he slips into a serious man.

I don't mind. Not today.

We hurry through the customs, all the while my heart is reaching to flee through my throat. I chant 'You're doing this for Nina,' at least a thousand times before we are spewed out of two different security lines and into the Duty Free. Carter studies me curiously from the end of the X-ray bench opposite me as I slip my boots back on. I wonder what that's about.

"I'm a little hungry," I fill the silence that's planted itself between us since the check-in. This need to make sure all is well suddenly taking root. Carter hasn't said another word since then. Did he see Anna Harlow on my boarding pass at the check-in counter? Is he wondering who the hell am I? Or who I'm not? Does he see it now, the facade I wear? Has he made the connection? That I am Nina's younger sister? That I'm not Avery Honey, his secretary. That I could never be Avery Honey if I tried. I grew up in the SouthWest for goodness.

When the silence blooms on, he swings into his baby blue blazer, and I watch the movement. Captivated. Never have I seen a man so smoothly twirl his blazer and slip it on. Part of me feels like I'm watching a commercial being shot for some fashion men's fashion label or a strange runway show.

"You can head for the gate." I try to smile. "I'll just grab—" but the words die on my tongue because he shakes his head and takes my hand, pulling me after him.

"We'll get you something as soon as we board. I promise." My hand fits into his warm grip almost perfectly and suddenly I can just see it, how easily other women fall for this man. How they'd lap it up every moment with him, be it scrambling to get into the passenger seat as quickly as one can in the rain so he won't get drenched rushing around all chivalrous to open your door; or how easy it would be to allow him to upgrade you to first class without protest, or accept the helping hand. I can almost see it, him and I, and how this could be a normal day in our life—in another universe. But not here. Because I'm not here to simply nail Cater Thebes, I'm here so he can tell me what he did with my sister while he's trapped between my thighs—and it won't be sexy. All I need is a moment alone with him, just one moment alone where he thinks he's holding all the cards. Just one moment.

Strangely though, I picture wrestling him down and pinning him between my thighs in bed, and suddenly I want the week to be over. 

Ten minutes later, he's taking us straight to the start of the empty, a.k.a already boarded, business line. I carefully slide out my boarding pass for the attendant to scan, and then, we're off again, down the gangplank, with the last of the other passengers boarding.

We get shown our seats, and he takes my cabin bag again, with a, "I got it."

I don't protest this time, having made it into the plane without an incident of namedropping. And I watch him as he carefully gives way to other passengers headed to the back of the plane. I watch him as he places both our bags in the overhead once the coast is clear. I watch him as he takes his blazer off, calls for assistance, and kindly asks them to stow it away for him like he's asking for the biggest favour. I watch him, wondering how I could have ever felt a murderous rage for this man all the time from the outskirts of the media circles yelling, "Where is Nina Harlow? What happened to her?" Because for once, I'm wondering, could someone who gives way to those around him, picks up his own secretary, who asks for some snacks along with, "Could you please hang this for me?" with the sweetest, sincerest smile, because I'm hungry...  could he really harm anyone? Was Nina out there somewhere still? Alive? Or was he truly telling the truth when he said, "I'm sorry, I'm not sure what happened to her. One minute she was there, and the next she was packed up and gone."

That part of the story has never settled well with me, the 'packed up and gone' bit. Nina wouldn't do that, would she? Just pack up and leave, disappear, without a goodbye? What happened to her grand plans of winning the lottery and paying Mum's mortgage? What happened to her grand plans of finding herself a rich husband? Or locate a nugget of gold that'd sort our lives out in the outback with that old metal detector she bought from a pawn shop? What happened to 'You and I will grow old and die together, Anna, just the way we have always lived, by each other's side'?

She wouldn't leave me, would she? The sister who stayed up all night to help me through my first period cramp and my first broken heart—when Neil said he liked her more than me. The girl who I shared all my secrets and hopes and dreams with. The girl I confessed I got a butt tattoo while drunk and on a dare, and I needed her to check for me what the hell I got in case it was something embarrassing like a dick pic or something silly like 'soybeans' written in a language I cannot read.

I miss her. I miss Nina.

This is for Nina. I tell myself as the flight attendant comes around with two glasses of champagne and a packet of cheese and crackers or two for me.

I turn to Carter, leaning my body across the armrest as if I'm just another woman, thrilled and already half in love with him. I smile, and say, "When you'd written, 'a car will pick you up at 6:30 am,' I hadn't expected you to be driver." I lift my flute to my lips as if toasting him.

He tips his glass slightly in my direction and takes his first sip. "What can I say? I like driving in the rain, especially to pick up damsels in distress. Someone had to make sure we didn't miss our flight."

"And the upgrade? All part of your charm, I suppose?" I laugh, airily I hope. Maybe this is how he wooes his women. Picks them up in drenching rains, upgrades them to business or first class, as a flex; smiles that disarming smile with an easy twinkle in his eyes, because all his is so easy for him.

"No, that was purely selfish." His gaze lingers on me longer than appropriate, longer than any man has looked at me recently. It sends a pebble tumbling down my navel and heat pooling behind my solar plexus.

"Oh, I'd be careful." I take another sip to wet my throat or to distract myself, I'm not sure. "All work and no play will make you dull, Carter Thebes."

"Hmm... we cannot have that." He leans in, his gaze refusing to shift from my face. Those dark brown eyes that look like that can see right through me, alight with mischief, as he clinks his glass with mine. "What did you have in mind, Avery? I'm game if you are."

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