Vivienne's eyes widened, then softened with something that looked like wonder. "I love you too," she said simply. "Even when you accidentally assault me with alarm clocks."
Despite everything, I found myself choking back a laugh—a shaky, relieved sound that felt like pressure releasing from my chest.
"Too soon for jokes?" Vivienne asked with a small smile. "Though I should probably figure out how to explain this to my parents."
Reality crashed back in. Her parents. We were supposed to meet her parents today, and I'd given their daughter the start of what was sure to amount to a massive black eye.
"They're going to think I'm a monster," I said, the guilt returning in full force.
"They're going to think you're human," Vivienne corrected. "I'll tell them exactly what happened—that my boyfriend was trying to be sweet and let me sleep in, and accidentally fumbled my alarm clock. They'll probably find it endearing."
"Endearing?"
"My dad once gave my mom a concussion trying to kill a spider on the wall behind her head," Vivienne said matter-of-factly. "He swung a rolled-up magazine without looking and caught her right in the temple. She still teases him about it twenty years later."
The image was so absurd, so perfectly normal, that I felt another wave of relief. Accidents happened. Even to good people with good intentions.
"Are you sure you still want to go?" I asked. "We could postpone—"
"Absolutely not," Vivienne said firmly. "I'm not letting a bruise change our plans. Besides, it'll give my mother something to fuss over. She loves playing nurse."
I helped Vivienne get ready, watching carefully for signs of concussion or worsening injury. But aside from the spectacular bruising and a slight tenderness, she seemed fine. Better than fine—she seemed determined to treat this as a minor inconvenience rather than a catastrophe.
As we prepared to leave for the airport, our bags packed and the details handled, I found myself marveling at her resilience, her ability to comfort me even while she was the one who'd been hurt. She was extraordinary in ways I was still discovering.
"Ready?" Vivienne asked, shouldering her overnight bag and adjusting the light concealer she'd applied to minimize the bruising.
"Ready," I said, though I wasn't sure I'd ever be ready for the conversation with her parents about how I'd given their daughter a black eye on the morning we were supposed to meet.
But as we walked toward the door together, Vivienne's hand in mine, I realized that whatever came next, we'd face it together. Accidents and all.
24
Vivienne
The private jet experience had been nothing short of magical. From the moment we'd arrived at the small executive terminal—no lines, no security, just a quick walk across the tarmac to Julian's sleek aircraft—I'd felt like I was living someone else's life. The interior was cream leather and polished wood, with seats that reclined into beds and a flight attendant who served actual meals on real china.
"I could get used to this," I'd told Julian as we'd taken off exactly when we were ready, no gate delays or weather holds.
"That's the point," he'd replied with a smile, but there had been something in his eyes that suggested he was already planning to make sure I did get used to it.
Now, as we touched down at the small regional airport outside my hometown, I felt thoroughly spoiled. The landing was smooth, the service impeccable, and the convenience beyond anything I'd experienced. No wonder wealthy people seemed to move through the world with such ease—when logistics were this simple, everything else became manageable.
Julian's phone buzzed to life as we taxied to the terminal, and I watched his expression shift from relaxed contentment to focused concern as he read through his messages.
"What's wrong?" I asked, noting the furrow between his eyebrows.
"Emergency at one of my manufacturing partners," Julian said, still scrolling through messages. "The meeting I had scheduled for Saturday—they need to move it to right now. Video conference in about five minutes."
I felt a pang of disappointment, but also something that might have been relief. Meeting my parents was going to be complicated enough without having to explain Julian's bruised girlfriend situation in real time.
"How long do you think it'll take?" I asked.
"Maybe an hour?" Julian looked genuinely apologetic. "I'm sorry, this is terrible timing. Would you be okay with my driver dropping you off first? I can have him come back for me and I should be finished by the time he arrives."
"That's fine," I said, and meant it. "Actually, it might be better this way. I can explain the whole alarm clock incident without you having to watch my parents' reactions."
Julian's jaw tightened slightly. Even with all my reassurances, he was still carrying guilt about the accident.
