“For most of my life, it’s felt safest to be somewhere else.”
His smile is wistful and only graces a small fraction of his mouth. “Then I guess I should have married you long, long ago.”
“That would be problematic on a number of levels, since I’m only twenty-fournow.”
He leans forward and lets his lips brush my forehead. “Safe travels, fake wife.”
“Safe travels, fake husband.”
He walks toward his gate, and I head toward mine.
But just before I’m out of view, I turn back to look at him.
He’s in line. Watching me walk away.
Bex
There’s a significant increase in“incidents” on flights where people in coach have to walk through the first-class cabin to get to their seats. I’ve never totally understood this phenomenon until the moment I see Caden, the little punk, sitting there in his private pod with his fucking feet proppedup.
I sort of want to start an incident of my own, because I’m irritated by the amount of privilege that accompanies being Scott King’s worthless son.
“It’s a roomy seat,” he says. “You can join me if you don’t mind snuggling.”
“I’m good,” I reply as I walk past.
I reach my seat. Theo’s not here to help with my bag and no one else offers. The boorish man in the seat beside mine has already stolen the armrest and kicked off his shoes—leaving them inmyspace. I use my foot to knock them back where they belong, don my headphones, and immediately begin wishing I were back in Capri.
I already miss LJ’s jokes, friendly Giovanna there to teach me how to humiliate Theo in Italian while she blows out my hair,Katrina with her crush on Lars, and Paula with her good-natured eye-rolling.
But of course what I miss far more than any of those things is, weirdly, my husband. I miss meeting him in hotel lobbies—him, unaware he’s drawing every female’s gaze, always scowling as he stares at his phone—and I miss the way that his eyes would lighten a little when he finally looked up. I miss how his hand would touch the small of my back to guide me through the streets and how he would always refill my water and my wine before he refilled his own. The way he wouldn’t let anyone else put sunscreen on my shoulders or climb Monte Solaro withme.
What I miss is the experience of having someone take care of me, even if it’s fake, and seem to embrace all the parts of myself I’ve kept hidden.
No, notsomeone.Theo. Lovely, stern, kind, funny Theo.
And I sort of suspect he’s on his plane, somewhere close, missing me too.
• • •
When we land ten hours later, I still haven’t slept, and Caden is right by my side again when I get to baggage claim, which does not improve my mood.
“So how long is Theo staying in London?” he asks as the bags start to drop.
I shuffle a few inches away, my gaze on the bags as I answer. “He’ll be in the New Jersey office in a week.”
“That’s a long time apart,” he snickers. “Won’t he miss hiswife?”
“He’s got to get caught up on work,” I say, my eyes narrowing as I finally look his way. “And I believe that’s not something we should be discussing in public. NDA and all.”
He shrugs. “No one knows who you are yet.”
He lunges forward to grab a big Louis Vuitton suitcase—because of course this asshole has a suitcase worth as much as my first car—and pulls it over to where I stand.
“I’m out of here,” he says. “But if you get lonely in New Jersey, I can help you out, if you know what I mean.”
I freeze. “I have no idea what you mean.”
Actually, I’m pretty sure Ido.
