“But—”
I silence her with a kiss. “Trust me, wife.”
Downstairs, we find Susan waiting with Onyx in her arms. The cat squirms free when he sees Alina, bounding toward her with surprising agility for an animal that usually limps.
“Be good for Susan,” Alina tells him, scratching behind his ears as he purrs loudly. “I’ll miss you.”
“He’ll be fine,” Susan assures her with a warm smile. “You two enjoy yourselves.”
I check my watch—a habit, not a necessity—and guide Alina toward the front door. “Our ride is waiting.”
Outside, a sleek black limousine idles in the driveway. My driver stands beside it, opening the door as we approach. He nods respectfully, his eyes carefully avoiding Alina as she slides into the vehicle.
“Everything’s arranged, boss,” he informs me quietly.
“Perfect.” I clap him on the shoulder before joining Alina in the back of the limo.
As we pull away from the mansion, she presses against my side, excitement radiating from her. “Will you tell me where we’re going now?”
I drape my arm across her shoulders, pulling her closer. “Away.”
“Away?” she frowns. “That’s all I get? ‘Away’?”
“For now.” I can’t help but enjoy her frustration, the way her brow furrows and her lips purse when she’s trying to solve a puzzle.
“Florida? The Bahamas? Antarctica? Japan? The moon?” She pokes my side. “Give me a hint.”
I capture her hand, bringing it to my lips. “Patience, Mrs. Brewer-Russo.”
“You’re impossible,” she huffs, but there’s no real irritation in her voice. Just excitement.
The vehicle glides to a stop on the private airstrip where the Russo family jet waits. I watch Alina’s eyes widen, her lips parting in surprise as she takes in the aircraft.
Her reaction feeds a primal need inside me. I want to provide, to impress, to show her that being mine means access to a world she’s never known.
“That’s yours?” she breathes, fingers pressed against the glass like a child at an aquarium.
“Ours,” I correct her, enjoying the way she blinks at the possessive pronoun. “It belongs to the Russo family.”
The driver opens my door, and I slide out, extending my hand to help Alina from the vehicle. The late-March wind whips across the tarmac, carrying the scent of jet fuel and impending rain.
I place my hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the aircraft where a uniformed attendant waits at the bottom of the steps.
“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Russo,” he greets us with practiced deference, his eyes carefully avoiding direct contact with mine. Smart man. “Everything is prepared for your journey.”
I feel Alina tense slightly beside me at the formality, the reminder of who—what—I am. But she says nothing, simply grips my hand tighter as we ascend the steps.
Inside the cabin, her tension dissolves into awe. The jet’s interior is a study in understated luxury—plush leather seats, polished walnut tables, chrome accents gleaming under soft lighting.
At the far end, a fully stocked bar shines with the promise of top-shelf liquor and crystal glassware.
“This is…” she trails off, running her fingertips over the butter-soft leather of the nearest seat.
“Take any seat you want,” I tell her, watching as she moves further into the cabin, exploring with childlike wonder.
She chooses a plush chair by the window, sinking into it with a small sound of pleasure that stirs my cock. I’m about to take the seat opposite her when she starts speaking.
“I’ve never flown before,” she confesses quietly, her fingers twisting together in her lap. “I’ve never even been to an airport.”
