Chapter 33 Sonya
SONYA
Everything happens so quickly, I don’t have time to second-guess it. In the lobby of my building, my doorman Farim helps me with my luggage. I promise him a burrito when I get back. He tells me to take my time, since he can’t remember the last time I’ve taken a vacation.
“It’s not a vacation, Farim. I’m not going to have any fun.
It’s about—” Balancing scales while taking a forced break from ballet because I’m backed into a corner and have no other choice…
and also, maybe, sort of the sight of Hughes’ misery blindsided and gutted me, and in that moment, I’d thought to myself I’d do anything to help him feel better.
Even if it means traveling internationally as if it’s no big deal, even though it’s a really big fucking deal.
I clear my throat. “Business,” I tell Farim, frowning. “It’s just business.”
My doorman snorts and gestures at the sleek stretch limo waiting outside to pick me up. “Try not to hate it too much.”
Hughes has booked a private jet to take us to Oslo. Since he’s busy finalizing last-minute arrangements, I don’t see him until I’ve already boarded and am buckled in my seat. How does he make an entrance?
The plane’s overhead speakers play the song, “Eye of the Tiger”.
Velvet curtains at the front of the plane swish apart and in strides a menace who has reverted back to his usual carefree self, sleeves rolled up and wearing a fitted blue sweater that matches the color of his eyes.
A thick watch gleams on his wrist. But that’s not all that’s thick.
When Hughes plops into the seat directly across from mine, his thighs take up a lot of surface area.
He rests his chin on his hands and grins. “Hey, Sonya! Fancy seeing you here.”
All I can do is stare. Some strange instinct that feels off prickles in the back of my head. At the same time, storm clouds begin to gather outside.
Eventually, Hughes scratches his temple and waves his hand in front of my face. With his massive wingspan, he’s able to cross half the distance between us without getting up.
“Sonya?”
“You okay?” I suck a deep breath in, and I feel my teeth gritting. Did I really blurt that out?
His grin doesn’t falter. If anything, Hughes’ mouth curves more. He also spreads his knees apart and slouches against the seat as if he’s a lazy, smug king relaxing on his throne. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
That strange instinct that feels so off?
It deepens. Are we not going to talk about how the last time we were together, he was freaking out about Jung?
I pull at the neckline of my hoodie. The sound of thunder rumbles in the air.
Gusty winds pick up speed, howling outside.
Hughes’ eyes dart to the window. A storm has come out of nowhere, and it’s getting worse.
The pilot makes an announcement, letting us know that they’ve checked, and it’s still safe to depart. We’re going to take off now.
From the corner of my eye, I think I see the hockey captain gulp. But then I’m not sure, because he starts talking animatedly.
“I wonder what everyone’s face is going to look like when they see us!
It’s going to be the greatest reunion ever with me, you, Kavi, Lokhov and Quinn.
But also don’t worry, I’ll leave the cover story about why we came together up to you.
Just tell me what to say.” He laughs. “Though if you are looking for inspiration, I suggest you work in something about kidnapping. You could tie me up, or I could tie you up, but fair warning, if you let me do that, I’ll have you begging for more.
Related but not, what are your thoughts on knots?
I like them. Knot a bad way to get all tangled up. ”
He’s talking too much and making way too many puns. Then again, it shouldn’t surprise me. You could put this man in a desolate cave and he’d find a way to entertain himself with his own jokes.
“Should we practice our cover story?” He keeps going. “I don’t want to show up and get tied into knots about it. Or!” he exclaims. “We could improv it. Knot knowing is half the fun!” he says with bouncing eyebrows.
The plane picks up speed. Turbulence rocks us back and forth. Hughes’ grin doesn’t move an inch. He’s excessively smirking at me, looking like he’s ready to launch into another monologue.
I frown, not able to get over this deep, inner, nagging feeling. “Do you not like flying?”
Hughes’ entire body tenses.
Something tells me I’m right, but I don’t get it. “Don’t you fly all the time?”
His grin dissolves.
“How could you have—? How did you—?” He shakes his head, his throat working. “Yeah, I’m always flying. But with the team. They… We get rowdy enough.”
That it distracts him is the unfinished part of that sentence. I watch him sneak another look out the window.
“Have you always hated flying?”
He jerks his attention back to me, the look in his eyes incredulous but also vulnerable as his eyebrows draw together. “I don’t understand. Are you worried about me?”
“No.”
Yes. Apparently, I’ve remained worried since I saw him read that text message off his phone about Jung and go pale. And now what? I can’t stop?
“No,” I repeat, because that can’t be it. I’m…curious…bored…something-something about balancing scales…
“Don’t worry,” Hughes insists, trying for a smile again. “I’m great, darling.”
He’s not. But it’s not like I haven’t pretended to be okay myself, so you would think I’d be fine with him doing it, too. Proud, even.
I understand that—but then the plane shudders. His expression doesn’t really change, except for the corners of his eyes. They tighten.
And suddenly I’m out of my seat.