Chapter 24
“Pacing won’t get us there any faster, you know.”
We’re approximately four hours into our flight to Scotland, and so far the main thing I’ve learned about private air travel is that once the novelty of being surrounded by so much luxury wears off — which took quite a while, to be fair — you’re still basically just trapped in a tin can, with nothing to do but think about what’s going to happen when you land.
I really don’t want to think about what’s going to happen when we land.
“I don’twantto get there any faster,” I tell Jett, throwing myself back down in the seat beside him. “I don’t want to get thereat all, remember?”
He nods without looking up from the script he’s reading on his iPad.
“And why is that again?” he says pointedly. “Remind me.”
I clamp my mouth shut stubbornly. Other than what I’ve already said about Mum, and how manipulative she can be, I haven’t told Jett anything about Scotland, and why I left, and I intend to keep it that way until… well, until we get to Heather Bay, I suppose, where everyone knows everyone else, and nothing stays secret for long.
Awesome.
I chew my thumbnail nervously as I stare out of the airplane window. The orderly grids of L.A. have long since given way to deserts that seemed to go on forever, before merging into the green and blue of the Eastern seaboard. Before long, we’ll be out over the Atlantic, and then we’ll be home.
Only I’m not really sure I can call it that anymore.
As I twist impatiently in my seat, Jett heaves a resigned sigh, and puts the iPad down.
“Tell me a story about Lexie,” he says, turning to face me. “We should probably get to know each other a bit better if we’re going to convince the folks who know you that this is for real. And it’s not like there’s anything else to do.”
I nod uncertainly as I glance around the cabin, which is empty but for the two of us. I had assumed that Asher — or at least Grace — would be accompanying us on this trip, but, much to my surprise, Jett insisted we go it alone, without even Leroy as security.
“I know the whole point of this trip is to be seen together in Scotland,” he said when Asher tried to insist on coming with us. “But I don’t want to turn up with an entourage. I’d rather not turn this into any more of a media circus than it already is, if it’s all the same to you, Asher.”
Asher had no choice but to capitulate. Which means it’s just me and my fake boyfriend, Jett. Who’s completely right when he says we should probably get to know a little more about each other if we’re going to have the slightest hope of convincing the good people of Heather Bay that we’re together.
So, no pressure, then.
“There’s really not much to tell,” I say, shrugging. “I’m pretty ordinary, really.”
Jett’s eyebrows raise in disbelief.
“Oh, I know that’s not true,” he says flirtatiously.
I hate the way he does that. Flirting wasn’t part of the deal. It’s an unfair advantage that I keep finding myself blindsided by: like yesterday, when he managed to talk me into this trip by pretending to care about me.
But he doesn’t. He’s just acting, like he always is, and I’m the sucker who falls for it every time.
“Whoa, that’s a Lady Macbeth look, if ever I saw one,” he says now, referring to the scowl that stole over my face at the thought of my how gullible I’ve been. “Something wicked this way comes, indeed.”
He’s been quoting lines from Macbeth ever since we took off. He really is taking this seriously. I just hope Justin Duval is impressed. I’d hate to think I’m putting myself through this for nothing.
“Unless you’re hoping to be cast as one of the witches, you’re learning the wrong lines,” I point out, hoping to change the subject. “And that line’s about Macbeth, not his wife.”
“Oh, I’m not learning lines,” he says smugly. “I know the whole thing off by heart already. I’m just reading it for fun now. And you’re deflecting. You do that a lot, I’ve noticed. So, come on, Lady M, tell me a story about you. Something you’ve never told anyone before. Tell me something you did when you were a kid.”
I look out the window as I consider this.
“When I was a little girl,” I say at last, “My mum used to enter me in pageants.”
“Beauty pageants? Lexie Steele was a child beauty queen?”
“I’ll try not to be offended by how surprised you are about that,” I say dryly. “But yes, beauty pageants. I did loads of them; even won a few, actually.”
