DETOUR

CHAPTER 62: DETOUR

Zahra's Pov

The hum of the private jet was calm as we headed back to LA. Thankfully, Dashiell recovered in less than two weeks, which gave us plenty of time to shop for Italian itineraries and their luxurious accessories.

Leaning back on my seat, I flipped lazily through one of my favorite magazines, my entire focus on the women draped in beautiful Italian fur coats and jewelry.

Dashiell sat across from me, tapping on the keys of his laptop as he had unfinished work to handle. Adela sat quietly, her head buried into a newspaper as usual, nothing much except for the short image that plastered in my mind of her coming to Dashiell's Italian mansion to beg that she only had good intentions in wanting to be godmother.

He had no intention of punishing her, nor did he give her a letter with a red stamp.

I turned another page of the magazine and furrowed my eyebrows as something thin and heavy slid out from between the glossy sheets, falling onto my lap with a quiet thu