“Watch this,” Luka says with childish delight. He presses a button and a huge flat screen television slowly descends from the ceiling a few feet in front of us.
“Impressive,” I admit.
“You could live on this thing for a month and never feel deprived,” Luka says. “Though I’m glad we’re only on board for a few hours. Let’s get you comfortable.”
He positions the television back into place, then shows me how to operate the buttons on the reclining chair. It gently falls into a chaise position and I’m in heaven.
We settle in and the flight attendant brings out feather pillows and lap blankets. Luka settles in next to me as we take off, and once we’ve reached altitude, Miranda brings out a round of drinks. I’m not sure if I should drink more after the multiple flutes of champagne I had at the reception. Seemingly to sense my hesitation, Luka takes both tumblers and hands one to me.
“We won’t get to Paris until the wee hours of the morning. You’ll sleep it off by then.”
I want to make a quip about preferring to work it off, but Miranda is still standing there. The huge bed in the other room calls to me. I’m not scared of flying, but I’ve never been on a flight this long, and never this late in the day. As the adrenaline of the wedding begins to recede, fatigue creeps in more and more. My body feels heavy and light at the same time, my mind tired yet buzzing, and I don’t make it halfway through my whiskey sour before I lean into Luka.
“I think I’m about to have a post-wedding crash. I’d better lie down.”
He starts to get up. “Of course. It’s been a long day.”
“I want you with me,” I tell him.
His eyebrows go up playfully. God, I love his face. He taps the tip of my nose before taking my hand and helping me to my feet. “Are you going to behave yourself?”
We move to the doorway and go through, Luka softly shutting the door behind us. I spin into his arms and loop my hands around his neck. He’s never turned me away before, but I’m getting the clear impression that wedding night sex is not on his radar.
I kiss him softly. “Is it bad if I don’t want to behave?”
He groans deep against my mouth before kissing me slow and easy. “I want our wedding night to be special.”
“Luka—” The protest dies on my lips as his expression grows serious.
“Can I be honest with you?”
“Of course.”
He fiddles with a strand of my hair, raising tingles all over my scalp. Leaning into his touch, I close my eyes at the pleasant sensation.
“This isn’t my usual MO. You know that. I take what I want and don’t think twice about it. But the truth is…it’s different for me this time. I want our wedding night to be amazing.”
My legs go weak at the sincerity in his voice. He actually cares about this, about me, and is doing the one thing he knows will elevate our union beyond the sham it’s founded on. He’s showing me the most vulnerable part of himself, and I’m not sure how to react.
“I have to say…I love that idea,” I murmur.
I smile at him and he kisses me again and leads me to the bed. We lie down on top of the covers, facing each other, and the last thing I remember is how lazy and relaxed I feel.
“Brooklyn. It’s time to wake up.”
I blink to the sound of Luka calling my name. He’s looking down at me, his hair disheveled, eyes heavy with sleep. Realization seeps in and my pulse ticks up excitedly.
“We’re here? In Paris?” I push myself up to a sitting position.
“Just about to land.”
Slipping out of the bed, I pat at my hair, finding that my curls have gone limp in my sleep. Luka chuckles and makes quick work of helping me remove the bobby pins so I can pull it back into a loose ponytail. Then he leans back and looks me up and down with a slow smile.
“Beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
We take a few more minutes to get ready. Butterflies swirl in my middle. I’ve never been to Paris, and I’ve never felt as close to a man as I do to Luka right now.
