Chapter 140

VOLUME TEN: YOU WERE MEANT FOR ME

"Please fasten your seatbelt, Miss Peyton. We're heading into some turbulence."

Tess's French-manicured fingers clenched the arms of the leather seat as the plane shuddered and bucked. Not because she was afraid of flying - her father's pilot was ex-Air Force and could fly anything - but because the Indian food she'd gotten from that sketchy takeaway on the drive to Heathrow was making a bid to come back up.

You will not throw up. You do not have time for food poisoning.

The evidence of her packed schedule was laid out on the table before her, in all its painstakingly bullet-journaled glory, in the pages of the planner that dictated her life. If it wasn't in the planner, it simply didn't happen. Puking her guts up somewhere over Alabama wasn't in it. Ergo, she would not be sick. End of story. And what Peytons wanted, they usually got if they worked hard enough.