Chapter Forty-Two
Ailee
I never quite understood why people spent so much money on private jets until now. Josh’s plane is incredible. It has a separate bedroom, a shower, plus a vanity and a small closet where you can hang your clothes. The shower has the same set of toiletries as the ones at home, only in mini bottles.
Earlier, I might’ve fretted that we were from two separate worlds, but now I shove away the thought. After all, we’ve tentatively agreed to let our relationship run its natural course. Regardless of where we actually end up, I don’t want to stew in doubt and have regrets in the future.
Enjoy the moment. Trust in yourself—and Josh, too. Trust that things will work out.
The flight from Los Angeles to San Diego is too short for a nap, but the seats are wide and plush, the leather buttery soft under my skin.
I look around once again at the sparkling ivory interior with dark sage accents, taking it all in.
Josh slips a fat grape between my lips. I chew automatically, savoring the sweetness bursting in my mouth.
“I’ve never traveled this fancy before in my life,” I say.
He looks at me indulgently. “Get used to it. This is how you travel now.”
I smile, then stretch my legs in front of me. “Love it that the tips of my toes touch nothing.”
He laughs.
“I’m ready for tonight. Packed a couple of dresses and makeup.”
“For what?” he asks in genuine confusion.
“So I look pretty. I’m going to need to freshen up.” He gives me an odd look, but before he can say anything, I add, “I even listened to some famous arias and overtures from Fidelio.”
He smiles. “There’s no pop quiz at the end of the concert.”
“It was for my own edification,” I say primly. “Are Ares and Lareina coming?”
“No. She’s too busy prepping for her next art exhibition, so he’s skipping this one. To make up for it, she promised to donate a piece to the Pryce Family Foundation for their next charity auction,” Josh explains. “And Fiona and Bryce won’t be joining us, for obvious reasons.”
“She’s still nauseated.” I sigh in sympathy. “At least she’s okay in the morning.”
She whined through a group text: Why is morning sickness called morning sickness, even though I only want to throw up in the afternoon and evening now?
Lareina had the most lawyer’s-spouse-like response: You can start calling it non-morning sickness. It’s not like the name is legally protected with a trademark or anything.
“Once we land, a team Lareina organized will come and help you get ready for this evening’s performance. Something about hair and a facial and…stuff.” Josh makes a vague gesture.
I gaze at him with a hint of hesitation.
Ever since she started modeling, Katt has spent hours and hours to get ready for fancy events.
One time I asked Mom about getting my hair done with Katt’s stylist for the senior prom, and she laughed in disbelief.
“Why bother? You’ll never look that pretty even if you invest twice the energy and time. ”
That stung—probably more than it should have, given that I was just a teenager. I never asked again and managed to do what I could for myself. The idea of having a team of professionals to make me beautiful for the evening is exciting, but part of me is also afraid of being disappointed.
Don’t let her ruin it for you, I tell myself, refusing to let my doubts destroy the joy of being dolled up. I want to be beautiful on his arm, and like magic, Josh has arranged to make it happen with Lareina.
When we land, a sparkling white limo is waiting on the tarmac.
Holy moly. I’ve never been inside a limo before, not even for my prom.
Katt couldn’t go because of a photoshoot in Budapest, and my parents didn’t want to pay for such a “wasteful extravagance,” although what they really objected to was spending money on me.
My default mode clicks on: Don’t let people spend money on me that they don’t have to. It’s one I acquired from the old, familiar guilt about the medical costs of saving my life after I developed my seafood allergy.
Then I shake my head. Why shouldn’t money be spent on me? Why shouldn’t Josh splurge to make us happy? It isn’t a wasteful extravagance if it’s something he can afford and we both enjoy it. I’m worthy of the good things in life, too, dammit!
I take Josh’s hand. He gives me a curious look.
“Thank you.” I smile. “You planned everything perfectly.”
He smiles back, then presses a soft kiss on my forehead. “My pleasure.”
A uniformed chauffeur opens the door, and we climb in. Josh pulls out a bottle of Dom from a silver ice bucket.
“Did you ever work as a bartender?” I ask, admiring the expert way he pops the cork and pours two flutes.
He laughs. “No. Why?”
“You’re so good at opening the bottle, but at the same time I can’t picture you working part-time in school.”
He snorts with amusement. “I didn’t grow up as spoiled as you think. Granted, the family’s well off, but I was expected to do chores and get a part-time job in high school. Akiko said it’d be good for me to learn the value of honest work.”
“I always knew I liked her.”
“My boss was heartbroken when I quit. Apparently their sales plunged after I left.”
“Where did you work?”
“Starbucks.”
I chuckle softly. I can picture girls coming by to order drinks, hoping to chat with the handsome barista. Maybe even create their own meet-cute moment.
“To the most beautiful woman I know,” he says.
My face warms with pleasure. “To the most wonderful man I know.”
We clink glasses. I start to take a sip, then stop. The bubbly wine’s scent stings my nose like vinegar. But it’s Dom. How can that be? I try again, but—just can’t. I put the glass down, but Josh has already taken a sip of his.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“It just smells a little off to me.”
He raises the glass to his nose and sniffs. “Seems okay.”
I frown. “Weird. But it might just be my nerves.”
“Still nervous?”
“A little. I keep thinking I’m ready for tonight, but then feel a little scared when I think about what Lareina has planned for me. I just have no idea what’s going to be involved.”
He squeezes my hand comfortingly. “It’ll be something good. She swears you’ll get my money’s worth.”
My lips twitch. That’s something she’d say.
“And you’d better, because I want to spoil you rotten. You’ve been working hard, and I feel a little guilty that you go home and cook most days.” He frowns a little, and I run my fingertips along the furrowed spot soothingly.
“But I enjoy feeding you. You’re such an appreciative eater.
” I’m valued at work, but the efforts I’ve made in my personal life have either gone unnoticed or been belittled by my family.
He probably doesn’t understand what his genuine recognition and thanks do to me, but I simply adore the way his eyes light up with delight or how hot he is when he’s in the kitchen with his sleeves rolled to help clean up.
I brush my lips over his cheek, then smile when the tips of his ears redden.
“So what are you going to do? Join me?” As soon as the question is asked, I realize how ridiculous it sounds.
He already looks perfect. His hair is slicked back, revealing his smooth forehead.
His skin is absolutely flawless. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he’s wearing concealer—there isn’t a single blemish on his face.
“No.” He heaves a sigh like it’s the greatest tragedy ever. “I’ll be working.”
“On what?” As far as I know, his work calendar is clear for the weekend.
“Sandra has a lot of contracts, and she’s still very”—he shakes his head—“determined.”
“I feel bad for her agent.” The man sounded like he was in tears when he called the office.
“He’ll get his cut, just not as much as he would’ve liked. The rumor is that he was counting on the earnings and already splurged on a new boat he can’t really afford.”
I wince. “Ouch.” But the story isn’t really surprising.
Ever since I started working at Huxley & Webber, I’ve seen one too many celebs and “their people” make bad financial decisions.
I used to think that there was no way someone who made millions a year could struggle to pay their bills, but it happens all the time.
The limo stops in front of a stunningly beautiful building with golden fairy lights glowing along the walls.
One side of the structure is made entirely of polarized glass.
So. This is where the fairy godmother production happens to make me beautiful for the fancy event.
My belly flutters. Thinking of all the gorgeous women who used to grace Josh’s arms, I pray they make me at least that pretty, and that I won’t embarrass him at the opera.
“Enjoy.” He kisses me on the mouth, just as the driver opens the door for me.
I kiss him back. “See you soon.”