Damn him and his reasoning.
He set a stack on a plate and carried it to the table for her. “A simple thank you wouldn’t kill you, wife,” he muttered as he shoved the maple syrup across the table.
Giggling, she wrapped her arms around his waist like she had earlier, and dropped kisses across his chest and over his heart. “I’m kidding,Sir.” She slid that one in for bonus points.
A satisfied growl emerged from his chest.
“Thank you. I mean it.”
He grunted in approval, then headed toward the hallway. “I’m going to shower quick, then we’ll go.”
Twenty-five minutes later, they were in the Taycan, cruising down the highway toward the airport. But when they arrived, they didn’t veer into the parkade for domestic flights. Instead, they peeled off a side ramp in the opposite direction of the main terminal.
“Aren’t we supposed to be going that way?” She pointed backward at the passing building.
“Change of flight plans,” Joel murmured, keeping his eyes on the road.
“Are you kidnapping me?”
A grin cracked his stupidly handsome, freshly shaven face. “Now that’s an idea.”
They pulled into the private parking area, and a car park attendant quickly appeared to take their cases out of the trunk. Joel was greeted with enthusiastic smiles and professional courtesy that one only acquired when they had a certain amount of zeros next to their reputation. And because she was with him, Lucy was treated in kind.
Soon they were walking down the tarmac to a jet with the Morgan logo painted on the tail. This was obviously the private jet Vanessa had been carted back from Vancouver in.
A young, friendly faced flight attendant greeted them as they climbed into the plane. “Good morning, Mr. Morgan. Good morning, Ms. Barone.” She welcomed them with a beaming smile.
Lucy didn’t bother speaking until she was buckled into a lush, cream-colored leather seat. “Okay, Moneybags. We’re going to have to talk about this.”
“Talk about what?” Joel asked, his voice neutral as he took his seat across from her.
“About the fact that we just boarded a plane with your name on it, and the entire staff knowsmyname.”
“You’re my wife, Lucy?—”
“Fiancée,” she hissed under her breath, leaning forward to catch his eye. No one knew they were married, and she didn’t want to advertise it now and be left explaining their unique history to the flight staff, or worse, paparazzi.
Joel met her in the middle and grasped her jaw, pinning her with a sharp gaze. “Wife.” The way he said it made it a done deal, and if they hadn’t been married already, she would have ascertained that he’d secured the deed with his tone alone. “I expect them to know your name. And as for this.” He gestured around them without breaking eye contact. His tone was faintly resigned when he said, “Get used to it. I had to.”
In so many ways, he was an unassuming billionaire, living in an older apartment above a bar in downtown Portland. He drove a luxury sports car, sure, but the rest of him was all subtle power, and she couldn’t help but feel he preferred it that way. Maybe there was more than one reason he’d opted to avoid San Francisco for the last little while. In Portland, he could be inconspicuous. Normal. Unassuming. Himself. There he definitely appeared well-off, but not obscenely wealthy. He could hide more easily, in his privacy.
But Lucy had a feeling, now that they were heading back to home turf, that was going to change.
“You can really afford anything, can’t you?” she asked, narrowing her gaze at him.
He met it, head on, something almost sorrowful passing through his eyes. “Not anything,” he replied.
She wanted to say so much more, but the flight attendant came over and instructed them about take-off procedures. Once they were in the air, she decided to let the topicdrop. It clearly wasn’t his favorite, and they’d had such a perfect morning, she didn’t want to ruin it.
So instead, she toed off her shoes, propped her feet on his lap, and asked him what party favors he wanted to give their wedding reception guests. A small frown folded his lips downward as he absently took one of her feet in hand and rubbed his thumb up her arch. Lucy did her level best to swallow the moan that rose in her throat, but damn, that felt good.
“Honestly, sometimes I wish we could elope,” he told her, and despite her scrutinizing his face for signs that he was trying to be funny, he came across as dead serious.
“You’re joking, right? That would defeat the entire purpose of this, not to mention Maria would have a fit.” Her brain could not conjure an image of her mother’s reaction if they had eloped. One reason she had dreaded sharing the truth four years ago was because she knew her mother would have a conniption when she learned they had a Vegas wedding.
Joel’s sigh was heavy, tired. “Yeah, you’re right. Wishful thinking.”
“You’ll find most thoughts are wishful when my mother is involved.” She eyed him cheekily. “Get used to it. I had to.”
