5. Becca
Becca
M orning arrives too quickly. I'm awake when my alarm goes off, having given up on sleep around 4:30. I shower, blow-dry my hair, and apply light makeup—just enough to look polished but not overdone.
At 6:55, my phone pings with a text:
Driver outside.
Five minutes early. I grab my suitcase and give Mr. Darcy one last cuddle.
"Be good," I tell him. "I'll bring you back something nice."
Downstairs, a sleek black SUV waits at the curb. The driver, a tall man in a suit, takes my bag.
"Good morning, Ms. Jamison," he says. "We'll be collecting Mr. Hanson next."
"Oh." I hadn't realized we'd be picked up separately. "Thank you."
The car is luxurious, with buttery leather seats and bottles of water in a cooler. As we navigate through early morning Manhattan traffic, I text Jack:
On my way to pick you up.
No response. Typical.
Twenty minutes later, we pull up outside Jack's Tribeca apartment building. The driver calls, and we wait. And wait. Five minutes pass, then ten.
Finally, Jack emerges, looking rumpled and irritated. He slides into the seat beside me.
"Morning," he mumbles, not looking at me.
"Good morning," I say brightly, leaning in for a kiss. Jack turns his head slightly so I catch the corner of his mouth. He smells like stale alcohol and cologne.
"Late night?" I ask, trying to keep my tone light.
"Something like that." He pulls out his phone, immediately absorbed in whatever's on the screen.
I swallow my disappointment. This isn't how our romantic getaway is supposed to start. But it's early, and Jack's never been a morning person. Things will improve once we're in Mexico.
"I didn't know we were taking a private jet," I say, trying to engage him.
Jack glances up, frowning. "Yeah, Clive's idea. Showing off as usual."
"I think it's nice of him to arrange it," I counter.
Jack snorts. "Nice isn't in Clive's vocabulary. Everything's a power play with him."
The rest of the ride passes in uncomfortable silence. Jack taps away at his phone while I stare out the window, watching the city give way to suburbs as we head toward New Jersey.
Teterboro Airport is small but exclusive, catering to private aircraft. The driver pulls directly onto the tarmac, stopping near a sleek white jet with "Bishop Securities" emblazoned.
"Wait till you see the inside," Jack says, finally perking up. "Top of the line everything."
At least he's talking to me now. I follow him toward the plane, where a flight attendant in a crisp uniform waits at the bottom of the stairs.
"Good morning, Mr. Hanson, Ms. Jamison. Welcome aboard."
The plane's interior is breathtaking—all cream leather and polished wood. It's more like a flying living room than an aircraft, with comfortable seating arranged in conversational groups rather than rows.
"Becca! Jack! You made it." Kay approaches, looking impossibly fresh in white linen pants and a silk blouse. She air-kisses my cheeks. "Isn't this exciting?"
"It's beautiful," I say, genuinely impressed.
"Wait till you see the villa," she continues, steering me toward a seat. "Absolute paradise. I had the most wonderful times there."
Jack heads straight for the bar at the back. "Anyone want a drink?"
"It's 7:30 in the morning," I say.
"Bloody Mary time," he replies with a shrug, already pouring.
Kay pats my hand. "Vacation rules, darling."
I scan the cabin, noticing for the first time that we're not alone. Clive sits in a corner seat, engrossed in something on his tablet. He looks up as if sensing my gaze, and our eyes meet briefly. He nods in acknowledgment, then returns to his work.
"Don't mind him," Kay says, following my gaze. "Always working. Some things never change, even in divorce."
The flight attendant approaches. "We'll be taking off shortly. Please make yourselves comfortable."
I settle into one of the plush cream leather seats, trying not to stare at Clive or think about how much this private flight must cost. The cabin gleams with subtle, tasteful wealth that makes even my parents' Upper East Side apartment seem middle class by comparison.
"Coffee, Ms. Jamison?" The flight attendant appears at my side with a silver tray.
"Yes, please. Just cream."
She pours from a carafe into a real porcelain cup—not plastic or paper like on commercial flights. Jack returns with his Bloody Mary, already half-empty, and drops into the seat across from me rather than beside me.
"Sleep well?" I ask, trying again for conversation.
He shrugs. "Not really. Mark's bachelor party ran late."
"Mark? Your college roommate?"
"Yeah." He takes another gulp of his drink. "Last-minute thing."
That explains the canceled dinner and the hangover attitude. I try not to feel hurt that Jack would prioritize a last-minute bachelor party over our last evening together before our trip.
The engines start with a gentle hum, and the flight attendant asks us to buckle up for takeoff. As we taxi down the runway, I catch Clive watching me over the top of his tablet. Our eyes meet for a brief moment before he looks away, but something in his gaze warms my cheeks.
Once airborne, Kay sits beside me, her expensive floral perfume enveloping us both. "So, Rebecca, Jack tells me you've been busy with wedding season."
"It's been non-stop," I nod. "Yesterday was my fourteenth wedding since May."
"Always the planner, never the bride?" She says it with a smile, but there's an edge to her words that makes me wince internally.
"For now," I reply, keeping my tone light. "Though I've picked up some excellent ideas for when the time comes."
Kay's eyes flicker toward Jack, who's now scrolling through his phone, oblivious to our conversation. "I'm sure you have."
The flight attendant appears again. "Breakfast will be served shortly. We have a frittata with fresh fruit or smoked salmon with bagels."
Before I can answer, Clive's deep voice cuts in from across the cabin. "Rebecca is allergic to salmon. I've arranged for the chef to prepare an alternative."
"The frittata sounds perfect, thank you," I say, shooting a grateful smile toward Clive. He nods once, then returns to his tablet.
Jack looks up, frowning. "Since when are you allergic to salmon?"
"Since birth," I reply, trying to keep the hurt from my voice. "I've told you several times."
He waves a dismissive hand, and I pretend not to care.
"First time on a private jet?" Clive stands beside me, one hand braced against the overhead compartment. Up close, his presence is even more imposing than I remembered—tall and solid, with those startlingly blue eyes that seem to see right through me.
"Is it that obvious?" I ask, feeling suddenly self-conscious.
His mouth curves into a slight smile. "You have that look of wonder most people lose after their twentieth flight."
"I hope that never happens to me," I admit. "Losing the wonder, I mean."
Something flickers across his face—approval, maybe?—before he nods. "The view's better from the left side if you're interested. We'll be flying over the coast soon."
"Thanks for the tip."
He hesitates longer, wanting to say something else, then returns to his seat. I watch him go, wondering what it must be like to own a plane like this, command a global empire, and move through the world with such easy confidence.
Jack doesn't notice our exchange, too busy texting someone with rapid-fire thumbs. Kay, however, slides into the seat across from me with knowing eyes.
"He's much more pleasant now that we're divorced," she says in a stage whisper, nodding toward Clive. "Marriage made him insufferable."
I laugh awkwardly, unsure how to respond. "The plane is amazing."
"One of three," she says with practiced casualness. "The others are larger, but this one's my favorite. More intimate." She leans closer. "So, are you excited about this weekend?"
"Very," I say, unable to keep the enthusiasm from my voice. "The villa looks incredible from the photos."
"Oh, it is. But I meant about..." She glances meaningfully at Jack, then back at me, raising her perfectly shaped eyebrows.
My heart skips. "About...?"
Kay gives me a knowing smile. "Let's just say I feel this weekend will be very special for you and Jack." She pats my hand. "A mother knows these things."
I try to contain my excitement, but it bubbles up like champagne. So it is happening. Jack is going to propose. Kay wouldn't hint at it unless she knew something.
"I don't want to get my hopes up," I say, but my voice betrays me.
Kay winks. "Some hopes are worth having, darling."
The flight attendant arrives with our breakfast, saving me from further conversation. The frittata is delicious—fluffy eggs, roasted vegetables and goat cheese, fresh berries, and warm croissants. I eat slowly, savoring each bite, while Jack barely touches his food, still nursing his Bloody Mary.
"Not hungry?" I ask him.
He grimaces. "Stomach's off."
"Hangover," Kay mouths at me over her coffee cup.
I steal glances at Clive throughout the meal. He eats methodically while reviewing documents, occasionally making notes in the margins. There's something fascinating about watching him work—the intensity, the focus. Once, he looks up and catches me staring. I quickly drop my gaze to my plate, embarrassed.
After breakfast, I move to the left side of the plane as Clive suggested. He was right—the view is spectacular. The endless blue ocean stretches beneath us, occasionally broken by islands resembling emerald jewels set in turquoise.
I'm so captivated that I don't notice Clive approaching until he speaks.
"Worth the move?" His voice is low, meant just for me.
I look up, startled. "Definitely. Thank you for the recommendation."
He gestures to the empty seat beside me. "May I?"
"Of course."
He sits, maintaining a respectful distance. "First time to Cozumel?"
"Yes. First time to Mexico, actually."
"You're in for a treat. It's a special place." He pauses, his eyes on the horizon. "I've traveled extensively for work, but few places match the Yucatán for natural beauty."
"I've heard the snorkeling is amazing."
"It is. The Mesoamerican Reef is second only to the Great Barrier Reef in Australia." His expression softens slightly. "I remember my first time seeing it. I was about your age, on a business trip that I extended into a vacation. The colors underwater... they stay with you."
It's the most personal thing he's ever shared with me, and I want to hear more.
"How did you find your villa?" I ask.
"Pure chance. I was looking for investment properties and stumbled upon Casa Azul during a tough time in my life." He glances toward Kay, who's now chatting animatedly with Jack across the cabin. "It became my sanctuary," Clive adds, his voice dropping lower. "Sometimes we need places that are just ours."
I nod, understanding completely. "I have a reading nook in my apartment that serves that purpose. Nowhere near as glamorous as a Mexican villa, but it's mine."
He smiles—a real one that reaches his eyes and transforms his face. "Size doesn't matter. It's the feeling of peace that counts."
From across the cabin, Jack calls out, "Bec! Come here. Mom is talking about tomorrow's plans."
I feel annoyed at being summoned like a pet, but I smile apologetically at Clive. "Duty calls."
"Of course." He stands as I do—an old-world courtesy that Jack has never displayed. "Enjoy the rest of the flight, Rebecca."
Rebecca. Not Becca. When he says my full name, it sounds right.
Kay gives me a knowing look as I cross back to Jack's side. "Clive giving you the full Cozumel sales pitch? He's practically the island's unofficial ambassador."
"Just talking about snorkeling," I reply, settling beside Jack, who drapes his arm around me possessively.
"We're going deep-sea fishing tomorrow," Jack announces. "Mom's arranged it with some local bigwig."
"Oh." I try to hide my disappointment. "I was hoping to snorkel at the reef."
Jack rolls his eyes. "You can do that anytime. This is a connection that can help my career."
I want to point out that I can't, in fact, snorkel at the second-largest reef in the world "anytime," but I swallow the words. This weekend is about us moving forward. I won't ruin it by starting an argument.
"Sounds fun," I lie, leaning into him.
The rest of the flight passes quickly. When we land, the heat hits me like a wall as we descend the stairs to the tarmac. The air smells of salt and tropical flowers, and I feel excited despite my disappointment about tomorrow's plans.
A sleek black SUV waits for us, the driver holding a sign with "BISHOP" printed in bold letters. Clive directs the loading of our luggage while Kay fusses with her hat and sunglasses.
"Becca, you're with us," Jack says, guiding me toward a second vehicle I hadn't noticed—a convertible with another driver.
I glance back at Clive, who gives me a brief nod before turning to speak with his driver. As we pull away, I watch him in the side mirror until he disappears from view.
What's the hell wrong with me?