Before Alex can growl something back, the hostess steps in to welcome us onboard. “May I serve you a drink?” she asks with a bright smile.
“I’ll have a cold-pressed juice, thank you.”
“I’ll have a glass of Macallan,” he answers, his tone slightly more annoyed than usual. Then, as the hostess leaves our side, his gaze returns to me. “I’m gonna need a few drinks to forget I’m here with you.”
“Oh relax,” I say, chuckling. He might look angry to be here with me, but I’m on cloud nine. As I think something through, I rise from my seat and go to where he is. “I’m sure you can survive a weekend with me in Venice.” I motion for him to lean back, but he doesn’t budge.
“You aren’t sitting on my lap,” he snaps, annoyance dripping from his voice.
His attitude is getting really tiresome. “I always do,” I protest.
“Not anymore,” he insists. “I told you that night was a mistake.” I frown at his behavior, yet Alex doesn’t seem to mind. “You have the whole plane to sit.” And his gaze dips down to his iPad where he starts reading something in it.
I sulk, walking back to my seat and plopping down in it. Crossing my arms and leaning back in the seat, I stare out the window, my jaw clenching. I had almost jumped for joy when I saw Alex sitting in his usual seat as I boarded, but his grumpy attitude is souring any excitement I had felt. After a few minutes of silence, I give a quick glance at him, as he remains busy on his iPad and totally indifferent to me. Is he gonna ignore me the whole trip? Jeez! Shaking my head, a long sigh of displeasure escapes me.
“Can you stop pouting like a petulant child?” he sneers. “I can’t concentrate with you acting like that.”
Why is he such an arrogant asshole today? Is it some sort of payback to have decided to go to Venice against his will? I fight the urge to stick my tongue out at him, trying to instead focus on the world passing me by outside. The hostess brings me my juice and explains where she stored my bag. I give her a smile in appreciation before taking a sip. It’s pineapple and mint—I used to drink a lot of them in Seychelles during our honeymoon, which reminds me how happy we were back then. As I come to think of it, I wonder if Alex told them what to stock for the flight.
Resigning myself to sitting alone with zero attention, I get up to grab my purse, intending to get my own iPad to ignore my husband the same way he is ignoring me. I dressed in something I knew he would like, just in case he’d show up, so I was at least going to strut my stuff a little. I’m wearing a white fit-and-flare dress that falls below my knees; simple, innocent, and pretty similar to the one I wore in Aspen, paired with a pair of nude heels. I put a little extra sway in my hips as I pass by Alex, the dress swirling around me, and I’m rewarded with his swift grasp on my wrist, stopping me.
“Can you go sit somewhere that I won’t have to look at you for the rest of the flight?”
I jerk my hand away, offended. “Oh, so now even the sight of me is abhorrent to you?”
Alex exhales sharply. “No; it’s just that spending hours in your presence is distracting.”
His answer brings a smirk to my lips, and I perch myself on the arm of his seat, leaning in. “Is it because you are thinking about some of the things we’ve done in these seats? Wishing we could do them now?” I trail my hand down the front of his shirt, and I can feel the warmth of his skin through it.
But Alex grabs my wrist again, stopping its descent down his chest. “You are trying my patience, woman.”
“And you’re trying my patience, Alex!” I pull my hand back to release it from his grip and continue. “It can’t be sex one day, and then you treating me like I’m your enemy the next.”
“It can be,” he hisses, finally meeting my gaze. “Especially because it’s true.”
“I don’t get why you’re trying to force this narrative that we shouldn’t want or desire each other. We are going to Venice,” I remind him, my voice dripping with excitement. “If I know you at all, we’ll share a room so you can monitor me, and also be my personal escort around the city.” I pause, gauging his expression. “You’re trying to tell me that even though we won’t be leaving each other’s sides, you still won’t touch me?” I try to keep my voice level, but a little quaver sneaks in at the end, betraying my emotions. I can’t help but feel near tears at the thought of days spent in beautiful Venice, bereft of his touch.
Alex sighs heavily, turning his body slightly and refocusing on his iPad. He doesn’t push me off the arm of his chair, but he makes it clear enough that he is no longer bothering himself with me.
“Petra,” he begins since I’m not leaving. “This is not some romantic vacation for us to reconnect.” His voice is low and discreet, but I can taste the irritation in it. “This is something you forced my hand on, and now I have no choice but to escort you.”
“You didn’t have to come,” I huff.
“Yes, I did,” he snaps, matching my tone. “You have no idea the mess you’re getting yourself into.” He rubs the bridge of his nose between his fingers, obviously stressed. “You can’t even let me be alone to deal with your betrayal.” He lets out a breath, letting his words sink in. “This whole escapade is just you using my annoyingly persistent concern for you and your ever-present naivety to force me into babysitting you for a weekend.” His voice is curt and clipped.
What? I’ve had enough! Babysitting? Really? I think angrily. I shoot up, stomping to the back of the plane to get my bag. If anyone is being a child, it’s him. I settle back into my seat, pulling up the book I was reading on my iPad and try to shut out the world. I don’t want to think about Alex, Venice, or anything else besides the text I have right in front of me, yet I can feel tears sneaking into the corners of my eyes as I remind myself of the poor state of our marriage, but I dash them away, hoping he doesn’t notice. While I thought this trip would help us reconnect, the precise opposite is happening.
Leaning my chair back, I’m finally able to engage with my book, enjoying a snack of hummus when the hostess comes by next and succeeding in not looking in Alex’s direction. The plane is quiet, almost silent, and my iPad is getting heavy in my hand. I put it down on the table in front and roll onto my side, pillowing my head on my hands and thinking about the two little lives growing inside me, sad that even that permanent connection isn’t enough to persuade my husband to give me the time of day.
My eyelids are getting droopy, and I resign myself to a nap. I cross my arms over my chest. It’s a bit cold on the plane, but my ricocheting emotions, early pregnancy, and lightning-fast packing for Venice have exhausted me, so I drift off slowly to sleep.
Just a few minutes later, I’m roused minutely by a blanket being smoothed over me. The plane’s interior is dark now, and I’m grateful for the blanket, snuggling into its warmth. I’m still mostly asleep, so I tell myself to thank the hostess in the morning when I hear, “Sleep well, little Petra.”
Chapter 15
Venice, February 20, 2021
Petra Van Gatt