Chapter 9
The rain pounded against the immigration office’s glass curtain wall. Sienna’s canvas shoes were soaked through in the waiting area.
When the number on the screen jumped to 118, she pulled out a folder containing a yellowing Peruvian visa. In the photo, she stood facing the Mayan Pyramids with a blurry silhouette behind her.
“Next!”
The interview officer tapped the divider.
Just as Sienna was about to stand, the tip of a dripping black umbrella entered her line of sight.
Robert’s Oxford shoe pinned her document folder. “My fiancée forgot her proof of funds.”
Like a magician, he pulled out a bank statement, its trailing zeros as dense as the rain outside.
It was at that moment Lewis burst in.
The hem of his suit was still dripping, and in his hand was a rain–soaked interception letter. “Sienna, are you crazy? A place like Peru…
His voice suddenly cut off. He was staring at the photo Robert had laid out–a group photo from an archaeological team three years ago. Tracy held a trophy, and Sienna sat in the corner cradling a mud–streaked brush.
“So you two already knew each other.”
The fountain pen pierced the interception letter, and Lewis’s Adam’s apple
11,120
moved like a trapped beast.
Last week, while cleaning his study, he had found the same photo under Tracy’s trophy. At the time, she had pouted, “Don’t look. I was so dorky
back then.”
The interview officer leaned forward to urge the process.
Robert suddenly wrapped an arm around Sienna’s waist. “Darling, it’s time to tell them your favorite Peruvian dish.”
The heat of his palm burned through her shirt. Sienna remembered the night Lewis pinned her against the kitchen counter to teach her how to pan–fry steak.
“Ceviche.”
She stared at the crumpled photo in Lewis‘ hand. “With double red onions.”
That was the ingredient Tracy hated the most–she picked it out every time they dined together.
The sound of flipping paper mixed with the rain.
The interview officer suddenly pushed forward a yellowed answer sheet. “Final question–write a love poem in Quechua.”
Sienna’s pen hovered above the word “love” when she suddenly heard Robert humming Fall For You, the background music she often played during her livestreams restoring artifacts.
Lewis suddenly slammed down his fountain pen.
Ink splattered onto the back of Sienna’s hand, overlapping with the stains from when she used to make rubbings of stone inscriptions.
Chapter 9
“You planned this all along, didn’t you?”
He shook open the interception letter. In the section for reason of immigration, it boldly read “academic research,” and the emergency contact was Robert.
Robert pulled out a platinum pocket watch. “Fifteen minutes left, my fiancée.”
His knuckles tapped the trophy in the photo. “By the way, the excavation report data back then…“.
At the moment the storm ceased, sunlight pierced through the clouds.
Sienna tore the photo in half–Tracy’s face drifted into the trash.
“Mr. Mcclure, please step aside.”
As she brushed past, Lewis caught a familiar scent of neroli–the same as the missing car freshener in his vehicle.
Robert’s umbrella tip traced a circle on the tile. “Contract marriage comes with after–sales service, like…
He pointed at the monitoring room–inside, Lewis was red–eyed, photocopying the torn photo.
