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I fling the ball down the lane, and when it knocks every single pin down, I spin to find Grace clapping and approaching me.

She wraps her arms around me and whispers, “St. Lucia, here we come.”

Chapter

Eighteen

GRACE

I’ve never flown on a private airplane before. Sure, my family is well off, but we are more like “I can upgrade to first class whenever I want” well off, not “we own our own plane and can charter it whenever we see fit” well off.

But Preston’s family is, and right now, I’m sitting in a cream leather recliner that’s nicer than the furniture in my own house, and I’m thousands of feet high in the sky.

I rub my hands over the fabric of the chair, taking in the second recliner next to me, the couch to my right, and the table with chairs around it just past the couch. There is even a bedroom in the back.

A girl could become addicted to traveling on a plane like this. There’s no touching elbows with a stranger, plenty of leg room, the plane smells clean, and don’t even get me started on the bathroom. It’s not crazy fancy, but two people could fit in it.

What even is this life right now? Do people fly like this all the time?

The stewardess approaches me with what appears to be a soda on a tray in her hand. Next to it looks like chocolate.

I didn’t order anything.

“A brownie and a Shirley Temple ollie pop over ice, requested for you by Mr. King,” she says.

I can’t even fake the grin on my face right now. I peek around her, where Preston is on the phone. He’s using an earpiece, and his fingers are typing quickly over the laptop in front of him.

He’s been working since he woke up this morning. I want to tell him to find a way to actually relax, but I’m not one to talk when it comes to work, and I think our destination with the people we are about to be surrounded by have him on edge.

I don’t blame him. That’s the exact reason I was so willing to come. Being at the lodge and having reporters come in all the time … I needed a break.

I just wish that Preston could get one, too.

The stewardess, Nancy, per her name tag, reaches to the side of my chair, pulls up a table, and then swivels it in my direction to position it next to me.

Damn. That was fancy.

“Please let me know if you need anything else, Miss Richford.”

“Please call me Grace, and I will, thank you.”

She brings Preston a drink next, and he thanks her mid-phone call, then he, too, gets right back to work.

I brought my laptop with me, and as much as I feel like I should check my messages or calendars or emails, anything really, I want to actually do my best to take an actual break over the next five days.

Five days.

It seems so long when I think of work, and it seems so short when I think of actually taking time off.

I sip my soda and look out the window at the clouds, then a tingling feeling washes over me as if I’m being watched.

I glance at Preston and find his attention fully on me.

The expression on his face is void of any emotion, but he just keeps staring. He’s so focused, I almost think he's in a trance.

I’ve been pretty vocal with my feelings on all of this fake engagement stuff. Preston has barely said a word. It’s like he’s not even fazed by it, and maybe that’s a good thing. One of us has to be levelheaded. We can’t both be hot and cold over it, because we clearly can’t control our emotions.

The people in the books I read make it seem so easy.