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Thank goodness, I’m in charge of my faculties again. At least some of them. “Mathias, I need to check my connection flight.”
He stops so suddenly that I bump into him. Honestly, I have no idea how he can still smell so yummy after the flight. I’m hoping that my little bit of vanilla body lotion and the perfume are still working.
Momentarily distracted by checking his bag, Mathias doesn’t notice that I look around to orientate myself. A brief rush of panic rises as I’m aware that I’m following a stranger in a strange country. Thousands of What ifs are racing through my mind, when he holds a piece of paper in front of me. First thing I read is Mathias Ciaran Cavendish. Confused about the name, I don’t hear what he’s telling me. The pronunciation of Mathias sounded so German, or at least not English, but Ciaran and Cavendish couldn’t be any more Irish. In my opinion anyway. I tilt my head to look at him. His face is very close to mine. He’s actually staring at me with a raised brow.