Amy
“Remember, you’re turning left at the top of the stairs,” Ivan says as we climb up toward the huge red and white airplane. I chuckle. He’s told me this five times already. “There’ll be a dark curtain pulled across, you have to tell…”
I stop on the metal stairs and turn to face him.
“What are you doing?” he says. People have ground to a halt behind him. I take his face between my hands, my lips locking on his.
“Ivan, I know I have to tell the air steward that I’m in first class. I know I have to turn left at the top of these stairs. And,” I pause, “I know they will hold a curtain open for me to walk through into the wonderful land of Oz.”
He scowls.
“You’re right behind me. I have no concerns about getting lost.”
“What’s the hold up?” a man at the bottom of the stairs shouts.
“Just telling my boyfriend how I can’t wait to suck his dick in our first-class seats,” I call back.
Ivan’s eyes pop open, and there is a gasp from the travelers waiting behind us. Without another word, I climb the remaining steps.
Previously, the thought of spending eleven and a half hours on a plane would be torture, but flying first class changes everything. After turning left and walking through the magic curtain, I’m brought to an abrupt standstill.
The cabin glows with quiet, obscene luxury. It’s breathtaking and overwhelming.
Ivan’s hand settles on the small of my back as he directs us to our respective seats. We each have our own private pod complete with a leather armchair, window, minibar, and privacy screen. I settle myself down, pop on my headphones, and enjoy the flight with all the delights on offer.
By the time we touch down in Thailand, I’m fully refreshed and buzzing with anticipation.
A gentleman in a suit is waiting for us in the arrivals lounge.
“Mr. Harley,” he says, extending his hand in greeting. “It’s a pleasure to have you with us, sir.” Ivan takes his hand and nods. “Unfortunately, we’ve had an incident at the villa. I’m certain you won’t be able to stay there. We will need to find you some alternative accommodation.”
Ivan’s eyes narrow. “When did this incident happen?” he asks curtly.
“While you were in the air, sir,” the man replies. “A housekeeper left a canister of cleaning product too close to a naked flame. It exploded and caused damage in the kitchen due to the fire spreading fast.”
“Was anyone hurt?” Ivan says, and something softens in my chest. For such an intense and direct person, sometimes he takes my breath away with his kindness.
I used to think he was a selfish and egotistical arsehole. He can still be both of those things, but deep down, under the armor, I know he has a heart of gold.
“No, sir.”
“Good. Well, let us get to the villa and we can sort alternative arrangements.” The gentleman nods and gestures for us to follow him.
Ivan takes my hand as we follow. His thumb strokes over my knuckle, natural and unconscious, borderline intimate.
A long black limo waits for us outside. Our escort opens the rear door and we climb in, before he gets in the driver’s seat himself. We sit in the back of the luxurious vehicle, our hands still intertwined.
The scenery flies by as we head toward an unknown destination. To my right, there’s an aquamarine ocean extending from the white sands, the sunshine glistening off its surface. Small wooden boats bob in the water near the tidal edge. On my left are rugged dark rocks interspersed with tall green trees. The contrast startling. It’s like something out of a travel brochure.
After thirty minutes, we pull up to a property surrounded by a high metal fence. Along the top, there’s barbed wire to fend off intruders.
Huge steel gates open as we approach, and we weave our way down a winding track edged with gigantic trees. At the bottom of the road stands a vast white villa, but the end of the house facing us is tinged black.
“It’s worse than I thought,” our driver says, almost to himself. Ivan and I sit silently in the back of the car, him still stroking the back of my knuckles.
The car stops with a soft rumble, right before the red-tiled steps that lead to the door.
“This is the kitchen,” the man says. “The windows are blown out, scorch marks everywhere. I’ll go investigate, sir.”
