As the plane ascends, I entertain myself by watching the Swiss Alps until we get above the clouds. Then I lean back and wait for the beautiful flight attendant—Isabella—to come around with our breakfast. We left the hospital so quickly this morning that I only managed to grab a cup of coffee.

Isabella comes into the cabin a few minutes later, her bombshell body squeezed into a tight red dress. She’s holding a tray with coffee and a platter of pastries. Goldberg appears to have fallen asleep, so she heads toward us, her lips curved in a seductive smile.

The first time I saw her, when Julian came back for me in December, I was insanely jealous. Since then I’ve learned that Isabella has never had a relationship with Julian and is actually married to one of the guards at the estate—two facts that have gone a long way toward soothing the green-eyed monster within me. I’ve only seen the woman once or twice in the past couple of months; unlike most of Julian’s employees, she spends the majority of her time outside the compound, working as his eyes and ears at several high-end private jet companies.

“You’d be surprised how loose-lipped people get after a couple of drinks at thirty thousand feet,” Julian explained once. “Executives, politicians, cartel bosses… They all like having Isabella around, and they don’t always watch what they say in her presence. Thanks to her, I’ve gotten everything from insider trading tips to intel about drug deals in the area.”

So yeah, I’m no longer quite as jealous of Isabella, but I still can’t help feeling that her manner with Julian is a little too flirtatious for a married woman. Then again, I’m probably not the best judge of appropriate married-woman behavior. If I were to stare at any man longer than a second, I would be signing his death warrant.

Julian takes possessiveness to a whole new level.

“Would you like some coffee?” Isabella asks, stopping next to his seat. She’s more circumspect in her staring today, but I still feel the urge to slap her pretty face for the come-hither smile she gives my husband.

Okay, so Julian is not the only one with possessiveness issues. As messed up as it is, I feel proprietary about the man who abducted me. It makes no sense, but I gave up trying to make sense of my crazy relationship with Julian a long time ago.

It’s easier to just accept it.

At Isabella’s question, Julian looks up from his laptop. “Sure,” he says before glancing in my direction. “Nora?”

“Yes, please,” I say politely. “And a couple of those croissants.”

Isabella pours us each a cup, sets the pastry platter on my table, and sashays back to the front of the plane, her lushly curved hips swaying from side to side. I experience a moment of envy before reminding myself that Julian wants me.

He wants me too much, in fact, but that’s a whole other issue.