57: Flying High, Hearts Low

Quincy St. Martin

After a while, I realized that it’s the ~Jeopardy~ theme song. She is a weird cookie. Sweet but weird. We arrive at a small airport in forty-five minutes. The driver, who’s been driving fast like a maniac, brings us straight onto the tarmac where a small plane is waiting.

The other two SUVs stop next to ours and everybody clambers out. Caspian’s arm stays around my waist, keeping me firmly by his side when we’re out of the car.

“Sorry, ladies and gentlemen, it’s not the royal private jet. Had to charter the jet last minute. I hope it’s to your satisfaction,” announces Darius.

He’s holding a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc in one hand, his other arm wrapped around Penny’s shoulders.

“If it’s not, then tough!” adds Penny, giggling as the bunch of us make the short walk to the plane.

“You…” She points to Caspian. “Your Royal Highness, deal with it!”

Oh boy, I hope they’re not sloshed. I think the people in other SUVs were having a better time than we did during the drive here. Everyone else seems to be in a good mood.

Helen sashays past us with the swing of her hips. She flashes Caspian her irritating smile like they’re sharing a secret, and I want to kick her teeth in. I scowl up at him, but he seems to be immune to my death glares. He ushers me up into the plane with his hand firmly gripping my side. I’m so mad right now I could scream. But I don’t want to create a scene, especially if that Helen is watching.

Caspian steers me into a seat by the window, facing the front, away from everybody else. He buckles me up before he settles in the seat next to me. Not long after we take off, he undoes his seatbelt and promptly disappears into the cockpit, probably to talk to the captain and the co-pilot, who had introduced themselves to us before we took off.

I undo my own seatbelt and venture to the back where everyone is sitting in the lounge area.

There’s a bar at the back of the plane, complete with a bartender mixing the drinks.

I think the men, including Gideon Archer, are starting a game of poker not too far from the bar. Serena is sitting on Lazarus’s lap.

I’m not sure if she’s acting as his good luck charm or she’s actually playing.

“Hey, Quincy! Come, sit with us,” says Genesis, patting a space on a sofa between her and Penny.

As soon as I sit down, I regret it, because I’m facing Helen, who’s on the sofa opposite ours.

She’s sipping her drink quietly by herself, looking bored, but the moment she sees me, she perks up. A slow calculating smile forms on her bright red lips.

“Where’s Prince Caspian?” she asks. “Isn’t he going to join us?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer. She puts her glass down and struts to the front of the plane like she owns it and immediately disappears inside the cockpit. Both Genesis and Penny stare after her with narrowed eyes. Then both of them turn to look at me when I spring up from my seat. After a second, I sit back down and fold my arms over my chest defensively. My jaw feels stiff from grinding my molars together.

My first instinct was to go after her and beat her ass for trying to go after my man. But then my pride held me back. If he wants Helen, then he can have her. If he really wants me, he’s going to have to prove himself. I shouldn’t have to fight other women for him.

Personally, I’ve always believed that no woman should have to guard her man from other women twenty-four seven. That would be too exhausting. If he loves her, respects her, and values what they have, then he won’t hurt her and break her by messing with other people.

Both of them look at each other, and Penny stiffly picks up her drinks from the table beside her. She looks pissed off. I think she’d rather do some nut kicking.

“What’s your poison?” Genesis asks me, trying to sound cheerful. “Carlos is marvelous. He can mix anything.”

She tilts her head toward the bartender, who winks at us.

I study the drink she has in her hand, and Penny chimes in, “Genesis is having a Redheaded Slut, totally apropos if you ask me.”

“Well, nobody asked you,” sasses Genesis. “What’s so apropos about a redhead drinking a Redheaded Slut? We’re meant to be, and it’s delicious!”

Penny rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling mischievously. “I’m having Sex with the Captain.”

“You’d better not be,” warns a deep voice from the back. Darius.

Penny giggles into her glass. “Order up, buttercup!” she says to me. “Let’s see, there’s Bushwacker, Legspreader, Pop My Cherry, Hoochie Mama, Dirty Monkey, Fuzzy Balls, Death by Sex, Slippery Nipple, Tie Me to the Bedpost, Sex on the—”

“She’s not having any of those,” growls Caspian. He slips his hands under my elbows and pulls me to my feet.

Instead of being annoyed by his interruption, both Penny and Genesis look pleased.

“See you later, little devil.” Constantine raises his drink and winks at me as I’m being pulled away by Caspian.

Lazarus also raises his glass. The rest of them look at us with amusement while Penny and Genesis laugh. Little devil?

“I’m tired of you manhandling me,” I tell him. He just ignores me as he drags me back to our seats.

He lowers his tall frame into the seat by the window where I was sitting before and pulls me into his lap. I know he’s still very pissed off over something. I feel the heat of his anger in waves, and I try not to let it intimidate me. He wouldn’t hurt me. Would he?

I try to free myself, but his arms cage me in, so I sit stiffly with my arms folded over my chest. After a while, I start to get tired of sitting like that. My arms and my neck feel stiff. Eventually, I let myself fall into his embrace.

He lowers our seat into a reclining position and adjusts my body so that I’m lying more comfortably on top of him.

“I’m not yours,” I mutter against his chest.

“You keep telling yourself that, princess,” he says through gritted teeth as he pulls me closer into his body.

He brings his hand up underneath my knitted sweater to spread over my back as if to prove a point. The tip of his finger slips just underneath the lacy edge of my bra. The feel of his warm hand on my bare skin sends chills all over my body, and I shiver in response. I can’t stop my reaction to him.

I hate how I have no control over my own body. He owns me. Completely. We both know it.

Wordlessly, he lays his head back on the headrest and closes his eyes. After a while, his breathing becomes deep and even, his chest rising and falling steadily underneath my cheek.

The noise inside the cabin has died down. Everybody stopped talking a while ago. Everything is quiet except for the steady drone of the engine.

I lie still, listening to the beat of his heart. I peek up to look at him. He looks so young and harmless in his sleep. His hair is the color of spun gold.

It’s messy now. A few locks fall across his prominent eyebrows, and my fingers itch to touch them, to sweep them off of his forehead, to run them through my fingers.

His thick golden eyelashes are resting against the tops of his high cheekbones. There’s a light dusting of hair now over his sharp jawline.

My eyes trace his pink lips. The lower part fuller than the top. They are sharply carved, but I know how soft they can be. How good they feel against mine.

He’s so beautiful. So much prettier than I am. I sigh and settle my head gently on his chest.

I bring my hand up and trace across his chest with my finger. ~Quincy.~ I write my name over where his heart is beating.

I write it so that his heart feels it and beats it. I write it over and over again so he won’t ever forget me. ~I love you.~

His fingers dig sharply into my hip, and I stop moving. I stop breathing. But then he relaxes again, so I let my breath out and close my eyes.

Soon I let my finger move across his chest again, slowly. I let it write things that I don’t dare tell him when he’s awake.