20. Lourdes
Lourdes
“The jet is ready, boss,” the driver says.
“Your private jet?” I lift my head from Ares’s chest. “To where?”
“Santorini,” he answers casually, taking out his phone and typing numbers into a keypad deftly with his big thumbs. “Greece. I have a home there. An estate.”
“That’s so far away.” I could barely deal with the distance between New York and Chicago.
“Lourdes,” Ares says my name gently. “You’re safe with me.”
I have no doubt he will keep me protected after what I just witnessed.
A light flashes across my face, distracting me. I look up and read signs for the airport overhead. The driver keys into a parking lot with a private hangar. A Bombardier jet waits, sleek and silver. I’d heard about the jet. Saw photos in his office. In person, it’s…overwhelming.
This is all a symbol of just how dangerous my situation has become.
The Bentley pulls right up to a set of lowering airstairs. Men like Ares Zervas don’t stand in airport lines.
“My passport,” I blurt, my sensible brain on delay. “I didn’t grab it.”
“You don’t need your physical passport with me,” Ares says, signaling for the driver to open the door. “I have full clearance to get you into Greece.”
“What if something happens to you there and I have to get home on my own?”
He narrows his eyes on me. “Nothing will happen to me.”
Even if I could get away from Ares, I wouldn’t.
Not with David and his friends out there hunting me.
I’m worried I won’t be able to figure out how to get to Sandrine with this threat over my head.
Ares is trying to shower me with protection.
For now, I have to shut up and let him. As soon as I’m safely in Greece, I’ll reconfigure my plan to move Sandrine.
He helps me from the car, and we walk up the airstairs, his hands on my waist from behind me as if I might fall.
Inside, the cabin is quiet luxury. Granite tables. Low lighting. Fine carpet. And cream leather seats, much like the Bentley.
Ares helps me into one of the captain’s chairs and settles into another one across from me.
The pilot greets him, and they converse in Greek. A man comes from the back, dressed like a flight attendant, and Ares says something to him in Greek as well.
Then one of his guards appears with my suitcase.
I think about the boxes left behind in my closet.
Is the rent even paid? Right now, it’s my life or some mementos.
If David returns there, although Ares hinted that he’s hurt pretty badly, will he trash the place and destroy all I have left from my dad?
I can’t think about that now.
The jet door closes with a whoosh. The attendant locks us in, and then he disappears to a galley behind the cockpit. There’s no welcome message, no safety briefing, no telling me where lifejackets are.
The engines hum, and the attendant tells Ares we are clear for take-off. Next, we’re racing down a runway, picking up speed until the ground falls away.
During our climb into the sky, Ares removes his tie while keeping his gaze locked on mine the whole time.
When we level off, he reaches across the table. “Do you feel all right? Do you need Dramamine?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I feel fine.”
The attendant places a sparkling glass tumbler on the table and pours me a generous splash of whiskey.
“Drink.” Ares nudges the glass toward me.
I stare at it for a few seconds and then look up at Ares. “Can you ask me a little nicer? You've been ordering me around all night.”
He tilts his head. “It will calm you down, I promise.” The concern in his tone throws me more than the command did. “You’ve been through something traumatic tonight. Let me take care of you until you feel like your old self.”
“I don’t think I’ll feel like my old self waking up on a Greek mafia king’s estate.” My voice comes out weaker than I like. “If you’re going for catatonic, I’ll be your perfect captive.”
“Guest,” he corrects.
I lift the glass but catch him watching me over the rim. “You’re not having any whiskey?”
“No. Drink.”
My fingers tighten around the glass. “You’re so arrogant.”
“I most certainly am.” He studies me and asks, “When did you eat last?”
I have to think about it. “I had something light earlier when I got home from work.”
“You ate alone?”
“David was out.” I take a sip and put the glass down. “According to you, he went to your club with a woman and spent my money.”
Ares holds back his reaction to that.
“You’re exhausted,” he finally says after a moment. “On your feet.”
I don’t move right away. My body feels a step behind everything.
“I said I’m fine.” I hold his gaze for half a breath longer than necessary.
“And I said, on your feet.” He holds out his hand. “Please. It’s what’s best for you.”
Shoulders slumped, I stand and wobble. I am exhausted. I was asleep before all this happened.
“I want you to get some rest.” Ares steers me to the rear of the cabin.
Past rows of seats and a few sofas is a cream-textured wall with raised molding. But then Ares presses on a panel, and it slides to the right.
My brain lags a second when I see the bed. It looks like a queen-size, and is made up with luxury linens and lots of pillows. I should be thrilled to sleep in a place so nice, but I immediately imagine Ares in this bed with another woman.
The spark of jealousy hits me deep and harsh.
“I’m getting proper clothes for you in Santorini. It’s warm there this time of year, but for now, you can wear this.” From a closet, he takes out a blush-colored silk sleep shirt and matching lounge pants.
I cringe, thinking I have to wear another woman’s pajamas as well. But then I see tags. These are new.
“Thank you.” I take them from him.
“The bathroom is stocked with enough necessities for you to be comfortable for one night. Toothbrush, lotions, cleaning wipes. The shower has soap and shampoo. And I believe there is a hairdryer in the vanity.”
“You keep this stocked for all the women you bring on here?”
He stands to his full height. “You’re jealous?”
Ares already confessed his feelings, words he could never take back. I guess I am obtuse, like he said earlier in the car.
It should be okay to admit how I feel. “Yeah, I am.”
Grinning, he leans in and says, “My cousin Lucia, the one from the restaurant, and her sister use this plane.”
“Oh.” I swallow, feeling stupid.
I remember the hostess who was rude to me at his cousin’s restaurant. The one who told me Ares would use me and toss me aside. I would say being flown to Santorini on his jet in the middle of the night is a far cry from being tossed aside.
“I love that you’re jealous.” He presses his lips to my forehead and then steps back. “Get changed and meet me on the sofa right outside the door when you’re ready. Take your time.”
I nod and watch the door close. When it clicks shut, reality hits me all at once. My legs don’t feel steady. I press my hands flat against the wall until they do.
I want to be strong and act like I have some power in this situation. But I don’t.
I remove my sweater and jeans, but stop to look at the sleep clothes for an extra second before putting them on.
The soft nightgown slides across my skin, and my brain melts at the feel of soft silk on my arms. It comes to just above my knees. I glance at the mirror and am shocked that I don’t look more wrecked.
I slide the door open, and Ares is waiting for me. No jacket, no tie, white shirt with the top buttons undone. His shirt is molded against a perfect male body, and the raw silk stretches across enormous biceps.
He catches me staring. “Are you comfortable?” he asks.
“Quite.” I absentmindedly run my hands up the sleeve of the night shirt. “Where are you sleeping?”
“This sofa opens up.” He waves a hand at it.
He’s well over six-feet tall, and this is his plane. He’s a grown man who’s made his feelings for me crystal clear. If he wanted to sleep in that bed with me, he would do it and not give me a choice.
But he’s giving me his bed and letting me sleep alone.
Moving my eyes to the window over the sofa, I ask, “Where are we?”
“About eight hours away from Greece.” He moves closer to me and speaks low. “You’re safe. I promise.”
“I know,” I say, nodding. “Part of me knows anyway.”
“The part that matters.” He reaches for me and strokes my hair. “Try to get some sleep.
“Good night, Ares.” I kiss his cheek and step back.
He softly grips my shoulders. “Tomorrow, I may not give you an option to move away.”
A shared breath is released between us. I don’t doubt that. But he lets me go.
“I may not want to move away,” I whisper and close the door behind me.
Staring at the narrow bedroom, there’s no chair to sit in to get grounded. I have no choice but to slip into the bed. And oh God, it’s ridiculously comfortable.
My body sinks into the mattress before my mind catches up. I tell myself to stay alert. Just for a minute. But against every instinct I have, I fall into a deep sleep.