Chapter 1 – The Runaway Bride in Seat 14B
Sasha
"Can I have another glass please?"
I down the rest of the champagne and hand the now empty glass to the flight attendant.
"Of course, right away," she smiles, but I can see the judgment in her eyes.
This is my fourth drink after takeoff which was just twenty minutes ago. I should probably slow down, but drinking is the only thing keeping me from thinking about Brandon.
He was my soul mate for fuck's sake. At least I believed he was. And he was supposed to be seated next to me, with matching golden bands on our fingers, as we looked forward to a month in Rome.
But I'm alone. Pathetic. Drunk. And in my wedding dress.
I wasn't going to let it go to waste either.
I got a few strange looks at the airport and during boarding, but I don't care. They wouldn't understand anyway.
The dress, an off-shoulder A-line number with a high slit, is stunning and to complete the look, I did my makeup and pinned my hair in an elegant updo.
Erina and the girls thought that adding a veil would be a bit dramatic, so I left it out, but I still have my engagement ring on.
I just can't bring myself to take it off.
Maybe I'm not ready to admit to myself that it's really over.
"Here you go," the flight attendant hands me a flute of Champaign just in time. The depressing thoughts were starting to creep in.
Unlike the first four drinks, I take my time with this one, and busy myself with a magazine.
Big fucking mistake.
Right there on the second page is a picture of a couple at their wedding at the Aventine Hill at sunset. They are locked in an intense gaze and the groom has his hands wrapped around her waist and is leaning in as if aiming for a kiss.
The bride has a subtle smile and is hanging on to her lover as if he's the only thing holding her afloat. In the background is an outline of the city.
It's the perfect picture. Perfect couple. What I thought Brandon and I were. I could have had this.
But no.
Brandon ruined it. And Lord knows how long he had been cheating on me before.
The tears come out of nowhere and I start bawling. I mean, ugly crying, hiccupping, nose running, the whole shebang.
I can't stop. The tears just keep on coming.
"Everything alright?" A heavily accented voice asks beside me.
"Yeah," I sob into my hands.
A moment later, a white handkerchief appears at my peripheral.
"Thanks," I sniffle into it.
Momentarily, I'm struck by the rich woody, and spicy scent on it. It smells expensive and so good.
I wipe away the last of my snot and gather the courage to look up at my seatmate. I'm met with stormy green eyes looking at me with a curious gaze.
He's handsome.
No.
Hot. Definitely hot.
That's the only word I can think of as my eyes wash over his perfectly sculpted face, dark curly hair, and burly body fitted in a tailored dark suit.
"Are you okay Mr. De Luca?" the flight attendant interrupts my gawking.
Mr. De Luca doesn't take his eyes off me as he answers her and waves her off. The flight attendant looks at me, then at Mr. De Luca, then back at me with a look that I recognize all too well.
A warning glare.
I look down at Mr. De Luca's hands but there's no wedding band. What's her deal then? Girlfriend perhaps? Lover?
Whatever she is to him, she's made it clear that he's off-limits.
"Where's your groom?"
It takes me a moment to realize that he's talking to me.
"What?"
"Your groom? You are in a wedding dress?" He raises his thick brows in question.
"I'm alone."
The words escape my lips before I can stop them and the waterworks start again.
"I'm so sorry for your loss, Cara Mia," Mr. De Luca says with a heavy Italian accent.
"Brandon's not dead," I sob. "He's getting his dick sucked somewhere by our wedding planner."
He chuckles and then on seeing my deadpan expression, he stops.
"Sorry," he mutters and goes back to doing something on his laptop.
I finally get the tears to stop and it occurs to me how crazy I must look. Makeup ruined, smudged mascara. Just a hot fucking mess.
"I called off the wedding," I say abruptly.
I don't know why I do it. I suddenly have this urge to explain myself. I can't have this hot stranger think that I'm a nutcase for the entirety of our eight-hour flight.
Besides. I'll never see him again.
"What?" he turns to me.
"I caught him cheating and called off the wedding," I explain. "Now I'm going to our honeymoon in my wedding dress."
He smirks. Obviously amused by my tragic story. "Good for you."
I nod, and before I know it, more words are spewing from my mouth.
"I couldn't let everything go to waste. It was very expensive."
Mr. De Luca shuts his laptop and sighs. I can't tell whether he's annoyed, finds my story entertaining, or if he's about to tell me off.
He's looking at me as if he's trying to study me. It's unnerving, but I can't also help but look into his eyes.
They are stunning. Intense. Commanding. And so fucking sexy.
"Do you need anything, Sir?" the flight attendant comes around again.
"Coffee, please. Two coffees," he answers without looking at her again which earns him a scowl, and me, another dirty look.
"Right away Mr. De Luca," the attendant says and twirls away.
Not even a minute passes and she's back with the coffee. It took her forever to get me my champagne. Either she's madly in love with him or he's someone important.
I take a closer look at him, this time without the tears blinding my vision, and I realize that I overlooked a lot.
His suit is Armani, gold cuffs, an expensive-looking watch that probably costs more than everything I've owned in my life, and there's just something about him that screams money.
I continue to stare as I try to figure out if he's a celebrity, a politician, or a model. With those looks, he could be the latter.
On the other hand, he oozes this commanding presence. He must be an authoritative figure. I can picture him in a big office, giving off orders.
It suits him perfectly.
"How many sugars?" he asks, turning to face me.
It couldn't be more obvious that I'm checking him out.
However, he doesn't seem phased by it. Something tells me that he's used to it.
"Two," I clear my throat and try to look everywhere else but his face.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him stir my coffee. I note that he doesn't add sugar to his.
"Thanks," I mutter as I take the cup from him.
"Tell me about this Brady person."
Fuck! I should have kept my mouth shut.
"Brandon," I correct him.
"Right. The one getting his dick sucked," he smiles and sips his coffee.
"Forget about it."
"We have seven hours to go, Cara Mia and I could use a good story."
"It's a tragic story."
"All the better."
Against my better judgment, I find myself telling the sexy Mr. De Luca all about Brandon. How we met during our first year of college down to our first kiss, the proposal, and the wedding that never happened.
"And this Alyssa is a friend of yours?"
"Ugh! No." I roll my eyes. "She was just the wedding planner."
"Hmm."
"Yup. That's my tragic love story."
"It sounds like you really loved this Brady guy," Mr. De Luca comments.
I don't know if he's messing up Brandon's name on purpose. Days ago, I would have been offended, but now, it's kind of funny.
"I did," I admit. "But that's over now. I'm off to a fresh start."
He gives me a look that clearly says he doesn't believe me. I want to argue with him, but I know that I'd be lying to myself.
Brandon was my everything. It's going to take a while to get over him, but it does surely help talking to such a sexy man.
"What about you?"
"What about me?"
"What's your tragic love story?"
"I don't have one." He shrugs.
"Come on. Everyone does. Being cheated on? Dumped? Lied to?"
"Nope. None."
"I don't believe that," I argue.
"Sono proprio così fortunato Cara Mia."
I have no idea what he just said, but the words sound so sexy coming from his mouth, which I find myself fixated on seconds later.
He has these full, sensual, and well-defined lips. I bet he's a great kisser. Now I'm curious.
I'd want to know what he tastes like. His lips start moving, but I can't make out what he's saying.
Oh God! What the fuck is happening to me?
I'm supposed to be heartbroken, grieving my relationship but all I can think about is kissing this man next to me.
Snap out of it, Sasha!
"What's that?" I shake my head in an attempt to clear my thoughts.
"I said that I'm just lucky," he says with this smug grin on his face as if he knows exactly what I was thinking about.
"Oh."
I swallow hard. Why is it so hot all of a sudden?
"For what it's worth, you make a gorgeous bride. Bellissima," he winks.
It does something to me. I get this churning feeling in the pit of my stomach and my heart beats a little faster.
Suddenly, the plane jolts violently, sending a ripple of gasps through the cabin. The overhead compartments rattle, and the seatbelt sign flickers insistently.
For a minute, I think I'm going to die.
The captain announces that we are going through a bit of turbulence and asks us to fasten our seatbelts.
I suck in a deep breath and reach for the armrest to brace myself—except I miss and my hand lands on a firm and warm surface.
Mr. De Luca, looks at my hand, then at me, and raises a brow.
"Sorry," I apologize and yank my hand back. "I'm so sorry! I thought—"
Another jolt rocks through the plane and before I can stop myself, my hand shoots out again and lands on the same unintended target.
This time, Mr. De Luca doesn't act surprised, instead, he covers his hand with mine, holding me in place until the turbulence eases and the plane steadies.
"Thank God! That was scary," I say holding my free hand to my chest.
I'm relieved that I survived, but I'm also terribly aware of his hand on mine and the heat radiating off his thigh.
"Good thing I'm here to protect you," he teases.
Is he flirting with me? Am I reading too much into this? Why is my hand still on his thigh?
Not that I'm complaining, it's a great feeling, but any moment now it's bound to get awkward.
"Are you okay now?" he asks and gives my hand a little squeeze.
"Yeah, much better."
"Great."
He lets go of my hand and for a second, I feel a pang of sadness. In just a span of a few hours, I poured my heart out to him, felt all kinds of emotions, and got turned on.
Who is this man?