Free Tiger Lily: Part Three by Amélie S. Duncan Page A

myself.
    Yes. You’re my superman too. After a minute, I got a text back.
    I want to be for you, Tiger Lily .
    My heart leapt.
    You don’t ever need to be. I’d take Jonas Crane any day.
    Why?
    I touched my lips. Then typed.
    Because I love you. Do you love me? I quickly erased the message and wrote.
    Because I love you. Now I don’t want to be responsible for you missing your meeting so stop texting! Xox
    He wrote back.
    I‘ll have to remind you who gives the orders. My meeting is about to start. I’ll talk to you soon.
    I felt a pang in my chest as I stared down at the phone. I knew I needed to give him time. But still, I couldn’t help the longing I felt to hear the words “I love you” back.
    The car lurched forward on the brakes, and I wiped the condensation from the window to see what was happening. The traffic was bumper-to-bumper on the roadway. Would I be late and miss the appointment? The appointment I don’t want to go to anyway? I grumped as I sat back on the seat. Sure, I told Jonas I thought it would help, but I couldn’t help my skepticism. I looked out the window again. David had found a traffic break and zigged through the cars to take advantage. The car moved fast along the highway, leaving me with little time to prepare for my psychiatric session.
    Before long, David was through the exit and up the avenues, pulling up to park in front of a brick and stone building with an awning. I eyed the gold and marble lobby through the large glass windows as I opened the door and climbed out before David could make it around to open the door for me. He gave me an admonishing shake of his head and smiled at the sheepish grin I returned back to him. We walked inside and he handled the initial exchange with security, leaving his contact information as a further layer of Jonas’s security. I didn’t find this necessary, as Declan wouldn’t even know about this place or location, but I didn’t intrude in their conversation. Afterward, David offered an encouraging smile as we boarded the elevator to the eleventh floor.
    My heartbeat sped up upon reaching the floor. We stepped out and headed to the wooden door with the gold placard that read, “Isla Bridgewater, M.D. Ph.D. Psy.D.” All bases covered , I mused as I walked up to the door, already imagining a powdered elderly woman with a tight smile and polished leather office.
    I pictured the space decorated with framed degrees and ultra-comforting music to lull clients into a relaxed state as they divulged the contents of their lives while Isla Bridgewater, M.D. Ph.D. Psy.D, would sit there and listen. She’d be politely taking notes and handing out brochures at the end of the appointment.
    What I found when David opened the door to the office was not at all what I had imagined. Sure, the waiting area had the stuffiness I anticipated, complete with polished leather couches and tasteful pillow accents. But Dr. Isla herself stood before a dark oak reception desk, wearing a white embroidered tunic. She was a short and curvy, with gray wavy hair that brushed her shoulders. Her dark-toned skin was smooth, with a few creases along the corners of her large brown eyes, and her wide mouth was turned up in a smile, which I surprisingly found myself returning.
    “Thank you, David. Judy will call you when the session is over.” We said goodbye and he left.
    “Hello, Lily. The office is warm and has a nice, thick carpet. You won’t need your shoes and may leave them on the stand.” Isla motioned to a small wooden shelf and coat rack. I quickly removed my jacket and short boots, eyeing her white socks as I followed her into her office. The furnishings were similar to her receiving room but with more upscale eastern artifacts intermixed with framed honors on the wood-paneled walls.
    She motioned for me to take a seat on a sofa with a short back and wide cushions. Crossing her legs, she sat down next to me.
    “We will start with a breathing exercise. I want you to