Instead she very politely asked the flight attendant for a Perrier with lime and saltine crackers when she had a chance.
I tapped my finger on the handrest. The flight attendant brought Grace her snack. She very neatly took one of the saltines out of the little packet.
“Afraid of flying?” I finally asked her.
“Hm? No,” Grace said, taking a sip of her water. “I’ve done over a hundred solo skydiving jumps.”
My jaw dropped. “You skydive?”
“Not for fun,” she clarified. “I have had an inordinate number of brides want to do either engagement shoots, bridal portraits, or trash-the-dress photos while skydiving. One bride had her whole wedding ceremony while skydiving, and someone had to photograph the whole shebang.”
“Wow,” I said, taken aback. “And here I thought you were going to be super impressed by my plane.”
“Oh!” Grace cried, wiping off her hands. “No, of course! Your plane is super cute! I love it!”
“What the—this is a very expensive custom private jet,” I sputtered. “It is not cute.”
Grace gave me a wide-eyed look over her glass of water.
“It’s a Gulfstream,” she said. “It’s small. You don’t even have a shower. It’s a cute little plane. Fancy but little. Like a Pomeranian.”
She burst out laughing at my expression.
“I’m sorry!” she said, gasping. “It is a nice plane. I can tell you’re very proud of it.”
“I’m offended,” I said, a smile playing around my lips. “You know, other women are very impressed with my plane.”
“Are they?” she drawled, eating another cracker. “To be fair, it’s bigger than your dick, so it has that going for it.”
“I’m about ready to have them turn this plane around, and we can pick up my 747,” I said, crossing my arms.
* * *
Grace was still snickeringabout the plane situation when we walked into my historic townhome in the Georgetown neighborhood of Washington, DC. The butler took our bags while Grace gazed around with the awe that had been sorely lacking in the plane.
“This is amazing! This house must be from the eighteen eighties at least.”
“Eighteen sixties,” I said. “It also has all the original gas lighting.”
“It’s beautiful,” Grace breathed, carefully inspecting all the fixtures.
She turned to me with a grin. “This would make an amazing wedding venue.”
“Only for my wedding,” I joked.
Her face fell.
“Or, I mean,” I backtracked, “you could get married here, too, you know, when you meet the right guy.”
Even though the thought of her marrying anyone else except for me, being with anyone else except for me, made me want to punch a hole in the wall.
“Right,” she said and cleared her throat.
“I have some dresses for you,” I said, hoping to break the tension. I placed my hand on the small of her back and guided her up the grand staircase.
“And here I thought you had whisked me away for one-on-one time of debauchery and wild sex.”
“That comes later,” I said, my voice dropping. “And I do plan on ripping you out of whatever dress you pick, so don’t get too attached to it.”
