Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Isla
“Absolutely not.” The longer I can go without him touching me, the better. “And as you said, we have a plane to catch.”
“Certain things are worth the delay.” He reaches for a strand of my hair, and I drop my hands to my sides as I take an immediate step back from the heat radiating off him.
Then thankfully he turns away to open a second drawer. “I’ll pack,” I mutter, needing something—anything—to anchor me. “Just…give me a minute. Please.”
He doesn’t move. Instead, he folds his arms and waits.
His presence is a shadow at my back.
I hear Brennan’s heavier steps in the hallway, a quiet counterpoint to Dorian’s stillness. My apartment feels smaller than ever, suffocating under their weight.
Calypso pads in, her tail flicking, green eyes narrowing at Dorian.
“Smart kitty,” I murmur as I crouch to scratch her chin.
Purring, she leans into me. “You’ re coming with me, princess,” I promise, more to myself than her. She’s my piece of normal, and there’s no way I’d leave her behind.
“Take your time,” Dorian says, sarcasm dripping from his tone.
With a sigh, I grab my secondhand suitcase from under my bed.
“We’ll be shopping for luggage as well.”
Glaring, I toss the battered relic on the comforter. “This is completely serviceable.”
This time, he doesn’t argue. Doesn’t need to. After all, we both know it will be an eyesore compared to his bags.
Dorian dumps my bra and undies inside before tossing in a pair of jeans. “Dresses?”
“Honestly I can handle this.”
He raises an eyebrow.
Feeling overwhelmed and slightly defeated, I say, “Closet.”
He flips through the hangers and selects nothing.
My cheeks burn from humiliation.
“What else do you need?”
“Cat food,” I respond quickly. Maybe that will get him out of my bedroom and allow me some breathing space.
“Already grabbed some cans,” Brennan says, joining us. “Along with a package of treats and the toys that were scattered around.”
His thoughtfulness melts my heart. “There’s also a container of kibble in the pantry. I like to keep that out at night for her.”
“No problem. I’ll get it.”
“Where’s her carrier?” Dorian asks.
I point to the lavender-colored pile of fabric in the closet near where Dorian is standing. “That’s it.”
“This?” He scoops it up and considers it. “Looks like a pillowcase or a backpack.”
“It’s kind of a mix between the two.” Because she got so stressed at being confined in a metal crate, my vet recommended I try this type, so I splurged on it. “It keeps her head free and allows some movement.”
“Does it work?” Brennan asks.
“No matter what, she’s not a fan of being confined.” I shrug. Maybe me and Calypso have that in common. “But she likes it better than a more traditional one, and I’m able to carry her close to me, which soothes her.”
“Kind of a sling? Over the shoulder?” Brennan asks.
“Yes.” But I’ve only had her in it for short trips around town, not an entire flight. How she’ll do is anyone’s guess.
“Clever idea. Always room for innovation.”
Jolting me, Dorian heads toward my bathroom. “Wait! Where are you going?”
“To pack your toiletries.”
Jesus. Is there no end to his bossiness? “I’ll handle it.” My voice is high and sharp.
“Make it snappy.”
Yet we’d seemingly have all the time in the world for him to fuck me if I was agreeable.
Brennan kneels, his movements slow and deliberate, and coaxes Calypso closer with a low whistle. She hesitates, then pads over, sniffing his fingers before rubbing her cheek against them.
Who would have ever guessed that a man who punched the wall last night would be so gentle with a rescue cat?
He figures out the mechanics of zipping her into the carrier much faster than I did.
When Calypso is packed up, she squirms, letting out an indignant meow, but he cinches the drawstring gently, leaving her head peeking out. I can’t help but grin. She looks like a disgruntled monarch in a cotton pouch.
“There.” He stands, the carrier dangling from his hand. Calypso’s eyes glow with uncertainty. “She’s ready. ”
“Kibble,” I remind him. “If we hope to get any sleep tonight.”
Dorian tips his head to one side. “What do you mean?”
“She’ll meow if she doesn’t have kibble available at three a.m.”
“Are you serious?”
I grin, thinking of her interrupting his beauty sleep. “If that doesn’t work, she’ll walk on your face.”
“Good God.”
“Kibble,” Brennan agrees. “Stat.”
“And litter!” I call after him as he leaves the room with Calypso.
“I’ll arrange for that to be taken care of,” Dorian contradicts.
No hotels that I know of handle that. But I’m not a billionaire accustomed to having my every wish fulfilled.
Thankfully he follows Brennan from the room, allowing me to close my eyes and release a deep breath, scattering my pent-up frustration.
Aware of the richness of Dorian’s voice as he talks on the phone, I hastily pack my toiletries, makeup, and vitamins.
Once I’ve dumped them in the suitcase, I add a couple of books, my journal, and my favorite pen. Then I scowl. Since the piece of luggage is less than half full, taking it seems ridiculous.
Annoyed at Dorian all over again, I dump out my belongings and transfer them to the duffel that I take to the gym.
“Better choice,” Dorian approves when I join the men in the living room.
He extends a hand to take the bag from me. “Don’t argue.” He cuts off my protest before I can even form the words. “Yes, I know you’re fully capable of carrying it and the cat, but I’m not going to let you.”
“If you insist.” Since the duffel is bulky and awkward, there’s no harm in letting him win when it suits my purposes and he’s actually being helpful.
After grabbing my phone charger and a couple of protein bars from the kitchen, I let them know I’m ready to go.
As if unsure of what’s going on, Calypso lets out a plaintive cry. “You’re okay,” I soothe her. But the truth is, I don’t know that everything will be all right.
Then I smile at Brennan. “Thank you for everything. But she’ll do better if I take her.”
Always the gentleman, he helps me adjust the carrier’s strap before picking up a bagful of the items he gathered for our four-legged companion before opening the front door.
As I leave my apartment, I glance wistfully over my shoulder. If I ever have the chance to come back, no doubt it will only be to pack a few things.
Maybe sensing my mood, Calypso meows again, and I stroke her head as I murmur some more nonsensical promises.
When we’re inside the car, I settle her on my lap, but she’s vocal in her opinion of the whole thing.
“How about a treat?” Brennan suggests, reaching into the bag and pulling out a couple of the nuggets.
“Good idea.” I place the cat on the console between me and Dorian, and Brennan drops one in front of her.
She bites into the crunchiness, and a piece skitters sideways, landing on Dorian’s pants.
Nervous about his reaction, I stiffen.
He simply picks it and places the delectable in front of her again. Without even glancing in his direction, she gobbles it up.
While she’s chewing, he strokes the top of her head.
The man is a constant marvel.
Calypso manages to get more goodies from Brennan, and by the time we reach the airport, she’s settled, and I hate to bother her again.
On the tarmac, a jet is waiting for us. It’s gleaming, with silver winking in the sun. The sleek craft screams money and power—Dorian’s world, the same kind I walked away from when I decided to go to college.
Though I have traveled first class for most of my life and am accustomed to having a private lounge to wait in, skipping lines and the boarding process entirely is pure luxury.
Our luggage is taken care of. My duffle is definitely an eyesore compared to the designer names on the other bags. I understand why he wants to take me shopping. Even if I don’t care one way or the other, he needs to keep up appearances.
Of course, the rebel inside me wonders if I should continue to use my bag, just to make a statement.
Shoving the thought aside, I follow Dorian up the steps and inside the plane’s cabin.
Holding back my gasp requires all my self-control. The interior is breathtaking luxury with butter-soft leather seats and gleaming wood and metal accents, with a faint citrus tang hanging in the air.
The flight attendant welcomes us aboard, shaking Dorian’s hand, then smiling at me. “It’s a pleasure to have you with us for the first time, Mrs. Vale.”
As always, hearing my new name startles me a little. After thanking him, I add, “Please call me Isla.”
Immediately he looks to Dorian, who shakes his head. He’s so dictatorial that he gets to decide what I want to be called?
Just how much of me does he want to possess?
As we continue on, there’s a set of four luxurious seats facing each other, the same as our limo. I’m seeing a pattern. “Choose whichever one you’d prefer,” Dorian encourages .
“Really? You don’t mind?” When my family had traveled together, Margaux always claimed the window because she was the oldest. Through the flights, she’d obsessively take pictures of clouds and cities beneath us.
Then when she’d had enough, she’d lower the shade and take a nap, meaning I couldn’t look outside at all.
Without waiting for his answer, I slide into the far seat and am immediately enveloped by comfort. Flying first class had always seemed luxurious to me, but it can’t compare to this.
Dorian sits next to me, and Brennan drops down across from us.
Once I am comfortable, I settle Calypso on my lap and stroke her head reassuringly. Though she’s not crying, her eyes are wide, and she’s looking around as if she’d like to find a place to hide. “We’ll get through this.” It’s a lie I’m telling us both.
“Cocktails?” the attendant asks as he stows a backpack in the overhead compartment.
Both men look at me. Might as well. I have a protein bar with me, and taking the edge off my nerves might not be a bad idea. “A mimosa, please. Easy on the orange juice.”
“Absolutely.” Committing my drink to memory, he looks at Dorian. “The usual, Mr. Vale?”
He nods. “With beef broth.”
“Of course. And for you Mr. West?”
“Same. Extra Creole mustard.”
“Very good.”
Creole mustard? In a drink?
When we’re alone, I ask, “What did you order?”
“Our version of a Bloody Mary,” Dorian responds.
“Both of you?”
When he nods, I go on, “And the beef broth? ”
“Dorian tweaked the regular recipe for months.” Brennan shrugs. “He even figured out how much to reduce the broth.”
“Control freak much?” What madness made me say that? We’ve mostly been getting along this morning, but I don’t seem to be able to resist.
He lifts an eyebrow. “You haven’t begun to find out.”
Since I have a cat in my lap, Dorian reaches across me to fasten my safety belt.
At his touch, my entire body tingles as if electricity has arced through me, and my breath catches. God, I wish he didn’t have this kind of effect on me.
Calypso meows in protest, but she doesn’t bother moving.
“Need anything else?”
For you to keep some distance between us. “I’m good.”
With a wicked grin, he sits back, and I exhale my gratitude for the reprieve.
I’m not sure I like the considerate part of his personality. It would be easier to hate him completely if he was always an asshole.
A few minutes later, the attendant returns. My mimosa is served in a champagne flute that’s engraved with the initials VI. For Vale Imports, I assume. Which would mean this is Dorian’s private plane and not a charter or something he’s borrowed.
As for the Bloody Marys… I’ve seen less food on a buffet.
The glasses are rimmed with some kind of salt, and they’re overstuffed with garnishes: olives, shrimp, bacon, and what appears to be andouille sausage.
“That’s quite a feat of engineering.” Even from where I’m sitting, I can smell the spiciness of the cocktail.
“You’re welcome to try it.”
“I’m not sure I’m that brave.”
Once our beverages are tucked into place with napkins beneath them, Brennan breaks off a piece of bacon for Calypso. “May I give it to her?”
“You’re going to spoil her.”
“She deserves it. Like you.”
After a cautious sniff, she devours the treat.
“Is there anything you need?” the flight attendant asks.
Surprisingly Dorian looks to me for confirmation before shaking his head.
“In that case, we’ll be underway in just a few minutes.”
Neither of my men seem concerned about rules or regulations, beyond fastening our safety belts, and they don’t ask me to put Calypso under my seat.
As we taxi, I take another sip before tucking my drink into its holder where it’s safe.
In a shockingly short amount of time, we’re airborne.
Minutes later, Dorian takes down the backpack and pulls out his computer and starts to work while Brennan scrolls on his phone.
I guess I should be grateful I’ve been left to my own devices, but now I wish I had brought a book aboard instead of stuffing them in my duffel.
But the moment the airplane levels out, the flight attendant returns, offering breakfast sandwiches.
From a long list, I opt for a ham-and-cheese croissant. And if I was honest with myself, I’d admit I could get accustomed to this kind of pampering.
Both men choose English muffin sandwiches with triple meat.
I’m stunned that my meal is served on fine china, along with a bowl of plump, fresh berries.
They both decline a second cocktail but request coffee. Though I’d prefer to have another drink, I decide to play it safe and follow their lead. After all, I can only guess what Dorian has in mind for our honeymoon .
A few minutes later, Dorian’s phone rings and he turns his head to the side as he answers it. “Ah! My darling Giselle. How very lovely to hear from you.”
What the hell? Until this moment, it hadn’t occurred to me that Dorian has other women in his life. And no doubt it should have. After all, I’ve seen plenty of pictures of him with other women.
Am I expected to tolerate him cheating, even while we’re on our honeymoon?
How much worse can this nightmare get?