Chapter 24
BEN
After getting the update from Max that Grace is boarding another flight to Vegas, I get my ass into gear.
There’s no way she’s going back there without me.
Not knowing what I do after meeting that asshat photographer.
Max seems invested in finding out more about this guy, so I’m trying to keep my eyes trained on my job. Well, and Grace.
It’s unavoidable now. There’s no use fighting it.
Nothing about this makes sense. That sweet girl is the farthest from an attention-seeker of anyone I’ve ever met.
She certainly doesn’t carry herself like a model.
The ones I’ve dated were full of themselves.
Hell, they would’ve bragged about doing a magazine spread like that before I had a chance to stumble on it.
Yet Grace seems to be focused on everyone but herself.
Once I have all of her flight details, I elicit Max’s help one more time. With a few clever strokes on his keyboard he manages to have Grace’s seat upgraded. So she’s seated next to me in first class.
I can barely contain my amazement at Grace’s shock, finding me here. I’ve become so possessive about this girl I’m not even bothering to hide my antics. Isn’t it obvious this is a setup?
Can’t she see how ridiculous I’ve become?
“How is this possible?” She laughs. Yet the sound is hollow. Not the lively young woman I’ve come to know. There’s a nervousness to her tone. Is it because she’s afraid I’ll figure out why she’s headed back to Vegas, or is she that averse to spending time with me?
Doesn’t matter. Hurt feelings aside, there’s no way I’m letting her do this alone anymore. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s fate?”
Grace seems to fumble with her bag as she settles in beside me. Something is definitely off. I pray it’s her circumstance, not her seatmate.
“Wow. These seats are nice,” she stammers. “I’ve never been in first class before. Did you get upgraded too?”
“No.” I can’t keep lying to her. And whether it’s lies by omission or not, it’s still a lie.
“I usually fly first class, Grace.” I want to tell her I have enough for whatever she needs.
She doesn’t have to consider doing anything she doesn’t want to do.
I’ll take care of her. No questions asked.
Whatever that entails. Jesus. What has happened to me? She’s turned me into a love sick sap.
Prepare yourself, Ben. Because if this is what Grace wants, you need to find a way to support her or walk away. No more acting like some caped crusader, swooping in to save her. Loving someone means you let them have the freedom to go after what they want.
Even if it’s not what you want.
After the breakup with Chanel, and the superficial harpies I’d dated back home, I’d avoided women for fear they were all interested in only one thing. But for this girl, I’d give her anything she wanted, if only she’d let me in.
Grace doesn’t seem as chipper as I’d expect after getting bumped to first class. Her smile is polite, but reserved. And her usual playful tone sounds flat. And those eyes. Those luminous eyes are now lifeless, her lids puffy, and a little red around the rims.
My jaw clenches. Allergies, I decide. She must have a cold. It has to be something like that. Because if that asshole made her cry, I will hunt him down and bury him beneath the Vegas strip. I take a slow breath, close my eyes, and count to three before releasing it through my nose.
Get yourself together before you become completely unhinged, you maniac.
Peering out of the corner of my eye, I assess whether she’s watching me fall apart, only to discover her eyes seem anywhere but on me.
I attempt small talk, the kind that floats politely above everything we’re not saying.
We talk about the weather, the flight time.
Whether she’s been back to Vegas since I last saw her.
As I said, small talk. Because I’m well aware she hasn’t.
Yet, all the while, my mind is screaming. Why are you going back there? Do you have another gig lined up? Is this really your world now?
None of this feels right. Sure, I haven’t been the best judge of women.
But there was never once I doubted this girl’s integrity.
Not once. And nothing about this situation is aligned with the sweet woman beside me.
Add to it how shady that dickhead, Victor, was when I met him, and everything about this feels wrong.
My palms itch to cup her face and beg her to run away with me. To forget whatever she has planned and let me take care of her. But I need to slow my roll or risk scaring her off for good.
The flight attendant sets down our lunch trays, neat little rows of sliced meats, cheese, salad, bread, and yogurt. I barely register mine for watching her. She starts to peel back the yogurt lid, angling it toward herself.
Without thinking, I reach out and gently place my hand over hers.
Grace stills. Her wide eyes flick over to meet mine, and that indescribable thing is back again. That quiet, electric pull on my heart from months ago. The one that hasn’t loosened its grip on my heart since the moment she and that paw print covered tank top stepped into my world.
Fuck. My heart is pounding against my sternum.
This can’t be one-sided. It just can’t be.
I grit my teeth. “Open it away from you,” I say softly.
“If you peel it facing toward yourself, the cabin pressure can make it erupt…” I nod toward her chest, instantly wishing I’d kept my gaze on her face. “All over your clothes.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks bloom with that familiar blush.
The same gentle, surprised color she wore the night we danced and laughed and pretended we were engaged.
When I pretended I wasn’t already falling for her.
The sweet rosy expression filled with wonder that only burned brighter when she came on my tongue.
I have to adjust myself under my napkin. Shit, man, keep it together.
She gives me a small smile, uncertain, and achingly familiar before peeling the yogurt away from her this time. “Thanks,” she murmurs.
I nod, but my heart is pounding like I’m bracing for a storm. Because the truth is, whatever she’s walking back into in Vegas… I have a feeling I’m about to tear it apart with my bare hands.
A little while later, our trays are cleared, and Grace slowly curls onto her side, turning away from me.
It shouldn’t hurt like this. I’m thirty-four years old for Christ’s sake. But it does. Like pieces of my heart being torn off within my chest, as if someone is whittling away at it with a dull knife.
This is my cue. Just let it go, Ben. She isn’t interested.
She’s a nice girl who has her own life. Whether you’ve fallen hard for her or not, you have no right to judge her.
Be there from a distance if you want to support her, but she’s an adult who can make her own choices. Get your head out of your ass.
You’re just feeling rejected that her choices don’t include you.
I’ve made it abundantly clear I have money, comfort, options, and she still doesn’t want me. No more wondering if she’d only want me for what I could give her. No second-guessing motives. After you return home, you need to move on.
My lunch churns like acid in my belly. The heartburn causing me to shift in my seat.
Yet, I’m still tempted to ring for the flight attendant and ask for a scotch.
Okay, two. And part of me wants to turn toward Grace and demand answers.
Ask her why she’s going back there. I want to shake some sense into her, tell her she deserves better than the world she’s stepping into.
That while she is worthy of appearing on magazine covers, they should be of the Sports Illustrated or Victoria’s Secret variety.
Vogue even. Not these cheap skin mags that are dimming her radiant light.
I want to scream that she deserves someone who’ll guard her like something precious.
Because she is.
Hell. When did I become so pathetic?
The rest of the flight stretches on in heavy silence. Her back remains to me. My eyes fixed on the ceiling, unmoving, while my mind spirals.
I can’t help wondering if my brother would’ve known what to say.
If Devon would’ve swept in with his charm and protected her before she ever stood in front of a camera, before any of this could touch her life.
The thought guts me. Hell, I’d rather see her with someone else, even my egotistical brother, if it would protect her from walking into situations that don’t honor who she is.
I’m jolted into consciousness as the wheels finally kiss the runway. The cabin stirs, and we silently gather our things. I force myself to keep my distance, staying far enough behind her to pretend I’m not watching her every step.
I will not follow her.
I will not follow her.
I will not follow her.
As we reach baggage claim, the doors slide open to the bright chaos of taxis, shuttles, and rideshares. I nearly accept this is it. That Max will have to reach out if she’s in trouble, while I sulk in the shadows.
But then she slows. And stops. Her shoulders fold inward, her hands come up to her face, and her body begins to shake.
My breath catches in the back of my throat. What is happening? Without thinking, I’m by her side in an instant, pulling her whimpering form against me. “Shhh. Shhh. It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
She continues to sob, eventually trying but failing on multiple occasions to speak.
I lead her over to a couple of chairs in the corner of baggage claim, removed from the majority of travelers who are surrounding the luggage carousel. Pushing her hair back behind her ears, I swipe at the tears streaking down her face. “Better?”
She shakes her head.