Chapter 25 Tula
TULA
The plane's engines roared to life, and as it started moving, Tula's fingers dug into the leather armrests with so much force that she was surprised the material didn't tear.
"It's okay," Tony said beside her, sounding perfectly calm. "I promise, flying is safe. Much safer than driving."
"How?" Tula was certain he was lying to make her feel less scared. "How can launching thousands of feet in the air possibly be safer than sitting in a car that has its wheels on solid ground?"
"Statistics," Tony said, and there was that earnest quality in his voice that meant he was about to explain something with numbers. "You're more likely to die in a car accident than in a plane crash. Flying is actually the safest form of travel."
"That doesn't make sense nor does it make me feel any better." The plane began to move, rolling toward the runway, and Tula's stomach lurched. "We're not meant to fly or we would have been born with wings."
"We weren't born with wheels either, but you are perfectly fine with using them.
And by the way, we are still on the ground, so we are technically driving, not flying.
" He reached over and pried one of her hands from the armrest, lacing his fingers through hers.
"Just breathe. Look at me, not out the window. "
Tula wanted to pull her hand away, was planning to pull away from Tony entirely soon enough, but right now, with the plane accelerating down the runway and her heart going even faster, she needed something to hold on to.
The plane lifted, and her stomach dropped. She squeezed Tony's hand so hard that he winced.
"Sorry," she managed.
"It's fine. You can break my fingers if it helps."
Despite her panic, she smiled. That was her Tony. Always ready with a joke, even if he was in pain. His humor was probably his best feature, and she was sure there were many more, but the bottom line was that he was mortal. There was no future for them even if he was perfect in every way.
The plane climbed higher, the engine noise settling into a steady drone, and gradually Tula's death grip on Tony's hand eased. She risked a glance out the window and immediately regretted it. They were terrifyingly high, with nothing but air between them and the ground far below.
"Don't look," Tony advised. "Just focus on breathing. In and out. That's it."
She forced her gaze away from the window and tried to focus on the cabin instead.
The plane was nice, in the way that a luxury car was nice.
Wide, padded seats that reclined and could be turned around to face the two other seats, or turned into beds.
This wasn't how most humans traveled through the air.
She'd seen enough movies to know that this kind of luxury was reserved for wealthy businesspeople.
Shifting in her seat, she was acutely aware of the jeans digging into her hips and belly.
The button wouldn't close because of her pregnant stomach, so she'd left them undone, the zipper pulled up as far as it would go and the waistband gaping slightly.
The material was strange, too. Stiff. Restrictive.
Nothing like the soft, flowing fabrics she was used to.
"You look good," Tony said, following her gaze downward. "The jeans suit you."
"They're uncomfortable." She tugged at the waistband. "And they don't fit."
"They fit fine. Better than fine, actually. You look..." He paused, and when she glanced at him, his expression was heated. "You look hot."
Tula rolled her eyes. "I look pregnant and squeezed into pants that won't close."
"You look beautiful," Tony insisted. "Modern. American. Like you belong in the modern world instead of being frozen in time."
Ouch.
She didn't know how to respond to that. Part of her appreciated the compliment, but another part resented it. As if looking modern and American was somehow better than looking like herself. As if the gowns she'd worn for decades were lesser than these stiff, uncomfortable pants.
"Attention, everyone." Yamanu's voice carried from a few rows up.
Tula turned to see the Guardian standing in the aisle, one hand braced against the overhead compartment for balance.
"I know this is all very new and probably overwhelming, so let me explain what to expect.
We're looking at approximately twenty-six hours of flight time to Los Angeles.
We'll stop in Tokyo to refuel, but we are not getting off. We are staying on the plane."
Twenty-six hours. Dear Fates, how was she going to survive that?
"The good news is that this gives Amanda plenty of time to organize a proper wardrobe for all of you," Yamanu continued.
"By the time we land in the village, you'll have everything you need for a few days.
Once you are home, you can order things for yourself, but at least you will be covered until those items arrive. "
He'd said 'home,' and Tula tried to internalize that but failed. How could she think of a place she'd never seen before as home?
Because Wonder was there, and home was not a place but rather a feeling.
Across the aisle, Tamira leaned forward. "How are we going to pay for these things?"
"Don't worry about it. The Clan Mother has you covered. You will all get a spending allowance. Housing and utilities are free in the village."
Sarah groaned from a few rows back. "I hate pants. I love my gowns. They're comfortable. Silk is breathable and feels good against the skin. Does no one make them in America?"
Yamanu, who seemed to have infinite patience, flashed her a smile. "Long silk gowns are the Clan Mother's favorite style, and she has a seamstress who produces them for her. She would be happy to provide the woman with more orders."
"We should adapt to modern times," Liliat said. "Get used to wearing pants. We've lived like exhibits in a museum for long enough."
"But gowns are so comfortable and practical," Sarah protested. "Why fix something that's not broken?"
The conversation continued, but Tula tuned them out, her mind drifting to something far more pressing than wardrobe choices.
She needed to talk to Tony. She had to explain that what they'd had in the harem couldn't continue now that they were free. But how to do it without crushing him?
He loved her, in his own selfish way, and she was about to hurt him.
"You okay?" Tony asked, probably noticing the deep crease in her forehead. "You're not going to be sick, are you? There are bags in the seat pocket if you need them."
"I'm not nauseous." Well, maybe she was, but not for the reason he thought she was. Guilt was souring her stomach. "I'm just thinking about the future."
"About the baby?" His hand moved to rest lightly on her stomach, where their child grew. "We should talk about names. I was thinking—"
"Not now." She moved his hand away. "I'm not feeling so great."
Something in her tone must have warned him because his expression grew wary. "Okay. Later then."
When the plane leveled off, the seatbelt sign dinged off, and Yamanu made his way down the aisle offering drinks from the bar, praising the fully stocked cabinet of alcohol and mixers. Tony immediately requested whiskey, accepting the glass with gratitude.
Tula wished she could drink too. Wished she could have something to dull the sharp edges of anxiety and guilt.
But she didn't know if alcohol was safe for the baby.
It wasn't safe for human babies, and although she was immortal, the baby growing inside of her was human, and he would remain that way until puberty, when he would be induced by another immortal.
Her body processed alcohol rapidly, so it was most likely that none would reach the baby, but she wasn't taking any chances.
"Sure you don't want anything?" Tony asked, taking a sip of his whiskey. "Water? Juice?"
"Water would be good. Actually, can you mix some juice with water?"
"Coming up." He set his drink on the table and got up.
A moment later, he returned from the galley with a paper cup of cranberry juice mixed with water.
"Thank you." She accepted the cup. "This is perfect. Just what I wanted. Tart and sweet, but not too much."
Tony grinned. "I know what you like, sweetheart. Always."
If only that were true.
They sat in silence for a while, Tony drinking his whiskey and Tula sipping her diluted juice and watching the clouds drift past the window. When she got bored with the monotony, she turned to see what the others were doing.
Across the aisle, Tamira sat next to Elias, their hands linked on the armrest between them, looking at peace. They'd found something real in the harem, but Elias was human, so their relationship was just as doomed as Tula and Tony's.
Her other friends were either napping or watching entertainment on the provided tablets, and she considered doing the same. The movies they'd gotten to see in the harem were usually a few years old, and only those that had been approved for their viewing by their lord and master.
She wondered if he was still among the living, and if he was, whether he would survive the rest of the journey.
Hours passed. The sun set outside the windows, painting the clouds in shades of orange and purple before fading to darkness.
The cabin lights dimmed. Some of the ladies reclined their seats and tried to sleep.
Others continued watching entertainment on their tablets, the glow illuminating their faces in the dim cabin.
Tony got himself another whiskey from the bar. Then another. His eyes grew glassy, his movements slower and less coordinated.
"Maybe you should stop," Tula suggested.
"Maybe I should drink until I can't think anymore," he countered. "I know what you are gathering the courage to say, and I'd rather be drunk for that."
Tula's throat tightened. "Tony—"
"It's okay." He took another sip. "Well, it's not okay, but it is what it is. I'm not immortal."
"Perhaps we should wait until you are sober for this conversation."