She wiggles closer to me, tossing her leg overtop mine, and the next thing I know, she’s fallen asleep. It feels like a big deal, her trusting me enough to fall asleep in my arms. I brush my lips over her forehead in a gentle caress and reach over, turning the light off beside the bed.
As I start to fall asleep, I realize that I would give anything, hand over every dollar promised to me, grovel on my knees, whatever was needed, to keep her.
28
Vanessa
Somehow, I blink, and suddenly, it’s time to leave for Greece. By some miracle, Teddy and I are flying over together and meeting his parents there. I think I’m as relieved as he is not to have to endure a flight with his father. Even still, my nerves are frayed. I’ve never actually been on a plane, and with a flight this long, I’m worried about how I’ll handle it.
Danika left last night with a group of her friends to go to some beach in Florida. She said which one she was going to, but I was only half-listening because I was busy freaking out over every last detail and wondering if, despite Teddy’s swim lessons I might drown.
All my bags sit by the door, waiting for Teddy to arrive. Our flight is at ten this morning, and he told me he’d pick me up at eight-thirty, which means he should be knocking on my door any—
Sure enough, there he is.
I swing the door open, hoping my freak out isn’t obvious, but the way his lips twitch I’d say I’ve failed.
“Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
“You know,” his eyes scan the floor and my mountain of luggage, “I didn’t take you for an over packer.”
I punch him lightly in the arm. “I wasn’t sure what I’d need.”
His lips twitch with a smile. “I can tell.”
I bite my lip, eyeing them. “Okay,” I concede, “I did go a tad overboard.”
“It’s fine,” he chuckles, reaching down and shouldering my backpack, adding a duffle bag to his shoulder and then grabs the handle of the largest piece of wheeled luggage.
I scoop up the rest and follow him out to his car. Somehow we manage to fit all of my shit beside and around his.
I don’t know how things are typically done at an airport but I find it strange when we pull up to a side entrance and get out of the car. Someone immediately comes out the door and gets our bags onto a trolley and another takes Teddy’s car.
“Where—” I start to ask where they’re taking his car and our things, but he’s already taking my hand and guiding me inside.
“Hello, Mr. McCallister,” a lady greets, dressed primly in a navy pencil skirt and matching top. “Right this way.”
We’re quickly escorted through private security, our bags are checked, and the next thing I know we’re being taken outside onto the tarmac and led to a large jet.
“This isn’t normal, is it?” I whisper under my breath to Teddy, not wanting the well-dressed lady leading us to the plane to hear my stupidity.
He laughs. “To me it is, but no it’s not.” He gives my hand a reassuring squeeze, and I lean into him. When we get to the stairs leading onto the plane, he motions for me to go first.
I start up them and turn back to look at him. “You just want to look at my ass, don’t you?”
He grins like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “You know me well.”
I shake my head but continue the trek into the plane.
“Champagne, Ms. Hughes?” The stewardess holds a tray with two glasses on it.
“Uh … sure.” She smiles as I take the glass. Moving into the cabin, I wait for Teddy, overwhelmed by the empty plane and all the seat choices.
Teddy’s right behind me and my body relaxes when I feel the warm press of his hand against my lower back. In his other hand he clasps the other champagne flute. “Take your pick, darlin’,” he drawls, allowing me to pick where we sit.
“No, you.” I don’t like the pressure of having to choose.
“All right.” He steps around me and picks a place. “You want the window seat or?”
“Not window.” I shake my head vehemently. The idea of watching the world rush away from me at super speed isn’t appealing.
He doesn’t laugh at my fear, instead he takes the seat, and I plant my butt in the one beside him. Despite not caring for champagne, I drink the entire glass in one swallow, the bubbles dancing down my throat to my belly.
Teddy eyes me with a raised brow. “You good?”
“Absolutely.”
Suffice to say, I was not good.
In fact, I was absolutely terrified. I’d been nervous to get on a plane for the first time, but I honestly thought I’d be fine. But no, I hate it. I immediately start to feel dizzy and sick, despite this being what I’m certain is the smoothest flight known to man. I think the sickness is coming from my fear, not the flight, but logic is lost on me.
I whimper, practically climbing into Teddy’s lap as soon as we’re allowed to take our belts off.
“Van,” he murmurs my name in a soothing voice, stroking his fingers through my hair. “What can I do to help?”
My fingers tighten in the soft fabric of his shirt. “Don’t let me go. That’ll help.”
He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t mock me. He holds me tighter, and I’ll forever be appreciative of that fact. I’m also thankful we’re on a private jet, not for the luxury of it but because it means no one else, except for the staff, witnesses my breakdown.
Still slowly gliding his fingers through my hair, Teddy begins to tell me random stories about himself and his friends, trying to distract me from my mental spiral.
At some point I manage to extract myself from the monkey hold I had on him and situate myself back in my seat. But I keep a tight hold on his hand while working to breathe in through my mouth and out through my nose.
My eyes are closed, but I sense the presence of someone else and then the stewardess whispers something to Teddy. I’m so lost in my spiral that my brain can’t process what either of them says, but a few minutes later I startle when a cool rag is pressed to my forehead, and I blink my eyes open.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like I might throw up.” I close my eyes at the admission, partly because the room started spinning again and from embarrassment.
“You’re not going to throw up.”
“You say that now, but you won’t be laughing when it ends up in your lap.” I stifle a whimper. “I thought flying would be fun.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
I hate to tell him, but I don’t think that’s true. Don’t want to dash his dreams, however.
“Maybe it would help if I laid down.”
“There’s a bed in the back.”
I crack one eye open. “A bed? In a plane?
“I mean, if you weren’t sick, we could join the mile high club easy.” I can’t manage to smile, but I am amused. “But the bed is for actual sleeping—don’t get me wrong, I’m sure fornication has taken place in it since it’s used by many associates, but when you’re on a long flight to other countries, a bed is a much more preferable option to sleep in than a chair, though these do recline,” he rambles.