Chapter 22 #2
“But wherever you’re taking me, it better be warm and sunny. You owe me a vacation on a private island somewhere,” I remind him.
The ghost of a smile floats on his lips, and I’m not sure how to interpret it. Ultimately, the destination doesn’t entirely matter. Not as long as we’re together.
“So, the plan starts now?” Andrea asks as I help her get into my car.
“Yes.”
We’ve both warned everyone who matters that we’ll be off-grid for a few days, so she can get her rest. No one will worry until we’re ready to contact them again. By then, we’ll be hidden and safe, ready to start the charade that’ll keep us away from our world.
“Are we stopping by your place to pack?” Andrea wonders.
“I already packed everything you’ll need.”
“A bunch of bikini bottoms?”
The only reason I don’t grin at her further attempt at guessing where we’re going is because I realize how disappointed she’ll be by our destination. I picked something safe and unpredictable, not a dream vacation somewhere warm. Especially since her condition doesn’t allow her to fly yet.
I wait for the black SUV of hired security to pass, and then I pull out of my parking spot, allowing the second SUV to follow us.
If it all goes according to plan, we’ll soon be rid of our security detail.
We’re the safest when it’s only the two of us.
I don’t trust anyone else. A million dollars can change a life, and many people would take that chance.
Andrea doesn’t speak much, her seat reclined for her comfort, but her eyes read the signs we pass. Eventually, she realizes we’re heading toward the airport, and a smile grows on her lips.
“Can I see the plane tickets?” she asks, convinced she’s cracked it.
“Not yet.”
“Ugh, so secretive.”
“You’ll know soon enough,” I say, laying a hand over her thigh.
Once we arrive, I turn to the long-stay parking lot while the SUVs continue toward the airport, as instructed. I find the spot I booked and reverse into it before cutting off the ignition.
“What now?” Andrea asks.
I reach into the glove compartment and take out the large craft envelope I slipped in there earlier this morning. From it, I retrieve two plane tickets, which I hand to Andrea. “I fucking knew it,” she says with excitement. “Belize, here we come!”
“The company’s log will show that we got on that plane and landed in Belize, but we won’t.”
Her joy dies instantly, eyes looking up at me with equal parts betrayal and confusion. “Wait, where are we going then?”
“The opposite direction.”
“But that’s … north.”
“Exactly.”
She thinks about it for a second, and then it clicks. “Canada?! You’re taking me to fucking Canada?!”
I confirm with a dry nod.
“Ah, fuck, it’s even colder there.”
“I’ll keep you warm.”
That, to my surprise, isn’t enough to buy her forgiveness. She stares at me with a miffed look and asks, “How are we going there?”
I motion at the window on her side, to the car parked right beside us. She lifts her head enough to see, and her eyebrows twist when she recognizes it. “Is that my car?”
“Yes. I changed the plates and registered them under another name. But we’ll switch to a better one at the border. If it can last that long,” I add, glaring at the rolling coffin. It’s the only flaw in my plan, but the beat-up Ford will offer us the perfect cover.
“Are we sure we can’t use these?” she insists, waving the plane tickets in her hand.
“You can’t swim in the sea yet, and you need to avoid the sun on your scar,” I remind her. “We’ll see once you’re fully healed.”
She sighs, defeated, and I lean in to offer her a small, apologetic kiss on her temple.
I can feel her eyes on me as I load the suitcases I prepared into her car, and when I return to help her out, her scowl hasn’t dimmed.
As carefully as I can, I help her out of her seat and lead her to the passenger side of the old Ford.
With her guidance, I adjust the seat to be as comfortable as possible for her, and close the door to head to my side, locking my car behind me.
“There are a few more things in there,” I say once I’m in, opening the craft envelope again. As I suspected, the sight of two foreign passports piques her interest. “This one’s yours,” I explain, handing her the dark blue one.
“So, I’m Canadian? I’ll need to work on my accent. Aboot. Eh? I’m soorry.”
“Let’s hope we don’t encounter anyone,” I mumble, more to myself than to her.
She still hears it, though, and gives my arm a feeble smack.
Side-eyeing me, she opens her passport before looking down at it.
Her eyebrows rise when she sees the picture there.
It’s her, but not entirely. It resembles her enough to pass, but not enough to be linked to her actual person in case it ends up being checked by the authorities.
Her surprise increases when she sees the name I picked for her. “I’m … Alexandra Wilson?”
I nod, now feeling silly for my decision. In my defense, the pressure of organizing all this in as little time as possible allowed little time for thinking things through.
“That’s hilarious. I love it,” she approves. Curious to see the names I’ve picked for myself, she grabs the second passport from my hand.
“British? Isn’t that risky? If you think my Canadian accent is bad, boy, do I have some news for you, buddy.”
“Whatever makes you think I can’t pass for a proper Englishman?” I ask with a perfect upper-class English accent—a useless skill I developed as a child.
After a moment of stupor, she picks up her jaw and says, “Your mom. You picked it up from your mom, right?”
“I did. She hated when I used it, though, so I eventually stopped.”
“Well, if it helps fix whatever trauma she gave you, I really, really love hearing it. We are a hundred percent using it for roleplay at some point. God, you sound hot. Even hotter than usual.”
Her attention returns to the passport before I can answer, and she reads my name there. “Andrew Wilson … You’re so cheesy, I swear,” she snorts before her amusement fades. “Wait, it’s the same surname. Please, don’t tell me we’re supposed to be related.”
“We’re not.”
The possible scenarios loop in her head for a couple of seconds, and then she gets it. Or I think she does because she looks at me with a conflicted expression on her face. “Lex …” she starts, her throat so tight she stops to swallow.
“I know, freckles. We’ll do it right one day, I promise.” From the envelope, I take out three rings. Two wedding bands and a rather standard engagement ring with a solitary diamond on gold. “But for now, this is who we need to be.”
I hand her the two rings she’ll need to wear, and as I’m about to slip mine on, she stops me. “Wait, no!”
She straightens up with a grimace, turning toward me and extending her hand, demanding the ring I’m holding. I comply, and after a few moments of thinking, she says, “This will be garbage because I’m winging it, but bear with me, okay?” I nod, unsure where this is going.
“I never … I never thought I’d live a great love story,” she starts, more emotional than she was moments ago.
“My entire existence was average until you entered my life and showed me my worth in so many ways, again and again. You’ve given me and my boring little life the greatest love story I could have fathomed.
I love you like I didn’t think was even possible.
There’s nothing I want more than to spend the rest of my life with you, as your wife, your best friend, your lover, your confidant …
You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, baby, and claiming you as my husband will be the smartest move I’ve ever made. You are my forever, Alexan—Andrew.”
I can’t hold back a small chuckle at her correction, and my heart still hammers in my chest. Her words rang true, and I know she meant every single one of them, no matter the situation. When she motions toward my left hand, I extend it toward her and watch her slip the gold band on my ring finger.
The sight of it does something to me, something profound and powerful. When I bought those rings, I didn’t think too much of it. But seeing it like this … I long for it to become real, to become her husband, to be tied to her forever.
I take the smaller rings from her and, holding the one with the diamond, I ask, “Would you make me the luckiest man on this planet and become my wife, freckles?”
She nods, wiping away an emotional tear.
Presenting her hand the best she can with the sling, she watches as I slip it on her.
The ring looks good on the slim finger, and seeing it is even more powerful than the wedding band on mine.
It’s not as personal as her grandma’s, but I didn’t want to tarnish its meaning with pretenses.
When the time is right, when we’re out of this mess, I’ll ask again, for real.
Not that I didn’t mean it moments before.
As she did, I give myself a quick moment to think of what to say, which vows to profess. I can’t believe we’re doing this in a rush, stuck in her small, uncomfortable car. But I see why it had to be this way, instead of the bland and impersonal moment I’d envisioned.
“Falling in love with you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done,” I say. “As I got to know you, it became inevitable. There’s nothing in you that isn’t lovable, and I was helpless to resist you and your qualities, flaws, and quirks.”
“I’m flawless,” she cuts in with a sniff.
“You are, my love. And even a lifetime won’t be enough to satiate my need for you, my desire to learn more, to be with you, to give you everything you deserve.
You gave life to an entire side of me I didn’t know existed, one I wasn’t supposed to find, one I didn’t even want.
And now, I can’t think of a greater accomplishment, a greater goal, than to become your loving husband. ”
She’s fully crying now, probably barely able to see as I slip the ring on her finger, to settle it next to the first one.
“Your vows were so much better than mine,” she croaks. “I demand a redo.”