Chapter Seven
I normally enjoyed the process of cashing out—the thrill of knowing just how much I’d won, of figuring out how much would be in my savings or investments after I paid taxes.
It was just a chore as I waited for the check and then hauled myself across town to deposit it at the bank.
Everything felt like it was taking energy I didn’t have. Each footstep was weighed down. Every muscle objected to any movement. The headache that had started to ebb came back with a vengeance.
As I waited for yet another coffee, I started looking for a flight home to Jersey. Whichever one was leaving soonest.
Then, I took a ride-share out to the airport, four hours early for my flight, but I had nowhere else to be.
I binge-ate junky airport food, took some ibuprofen, chugged some electrolytes, tried to nap through the noise and chaos around me.
Luckily for me, half my life was spent in airports or on planes. I could sleep just about anywhere.
Each time I jolted awake, there was a moment of blissful confusion. Then, of course, it all came flooding back, ratcheting up my anxiety until my sleep became fretful, full of weird dreams that left me feeling dizzy and frazzled when it was finally time to make it to my gate.
To get home quickly, I’d needed to settle for a middle seat in economy. No legroom, no shoulder room. No view.
And, well, I was between a husband and a wife—one with an infant, the other a toddler.
Neither was happy. And the parents did not want to switch seats with me.
The dad, because the toddler wanted the window.
The mom, because she needed to have easy access to the bathroom to change the baby, pump, or to walk up and down the aisles.
I tried not to be frustrated about noisy, unhappy kids on flights. Families needed to get somewhere too. Typically, I could stick an eye mask and some noise-canceling headphones, on and I was good to go.
But with the hangover, everything felt heightened. The sound of their little cries and shrieks felt like hot pokers through my skull. The light as the toddler pulled the shade up and down felt piercing. The constant brush of the parents’ arms on mine felt like sandpaper.
It wasn’t their fault that I was so miserable.
But, God, I felt so emotional, so overly sensitive, so over everything and everyone.
I put my sunglasses on and curled my arms in as tightly as possible.
I focused on my breath, on keeping my eyes squeezed shut, because I was pretty sure if I opened them, the stupid, useless tears would start flowing. Then the infant and I would both be losing our shit.
“Excuse me, miss?” a friendly voice that could only belong to a flight attendant called. “Miss?” she tried again when I figured she might be speaking to the mom.
Steeling myself for an interaction I didn’t want, I pulled my sunglasses down.
“Yes?”
“Miss, we have a seat available for you in first class. If you would like to move, you can bring your things right this way.”
She moved back as she said it, like she knew there was no way someone in my seat would turn down a first-class seat.
She wasn’t wrong.
I typically didn’t spring for first class.
I made a very nice living. But I knew I wasn’t going to want to gamble professionally forever. So I tried not to spend lavishly if it didn’t make sense to. And first-class seats were almost always unnecessary.
I hadn’t even looked at them when I’d booked my seat.
But just this once, I was happy for an upgrade, for space, for the ability to stretch out.
I got to my feet, grabbed my bag from under my seat, then followed the flight attendant as the dad automatically set the toddler in my abandoned seat.
I was happy for them.
But more so, for me.
A complimentary upgrade was a rare and beautiful thing. Especially while having the worst day of your life.
The curtain parted, and there I was.
In a sea of pods.
The seats were only configured in sections of two on each side of the aisle with these rounded plastic pods that lent a certain sense of privacy, and so much space between that I had to assume that the seats laid back almost into beds.
Finally, something was working in my favor.
That is, until the flight attendant waved to my seat.
I turned.
And there he was.
“You can’t be fucking serious,” I snapped, loud enough for a couple of passengers to glance back, brows raised. “Okay. I refuse this upgrade.”
An upgrade that was clearly not complimentary. Harrison had arranged and paid for it. So I had to sit next to him.
“Layna,” Harrison said in that same slightly frustrated, but mostly reasonable voice. “Would you really rather suffer through that middle seat and crying for the next five and a half hours?”
My nerves felt fried just from twenty minutes of it.
“These seats lay back. You get a nice blanket, socks, earplugs, eye mask, moisturizer, lip balm…”
“Fine,” I grumbled.
Then just like that, Harrison was out of his seat, taking my bag from me, and placing it in the overhead bin.
Every inch of his body brushed mine in the process.
My breath caught.
Every nerve ending seemed to zero in on him. I was suddenly hyperaware of his spicy cologne, of his body heat, of how he’d felt touching me, inside of me, the night before.
“Your head still hurts,” he said once his task was finished and he looked down at me. His hand moved out, tucking some of my hair behind my ear.
It wasn’t a question.
But I was too distracted by the way my skin seemed to shiver at the light touch to realize.
“Yeah.”
“Do you want the window seat?” he asked, gesturing to the seat he’d been in.
“Yes.” I bit back the gratitude on my tongue and sank into my new seat, almost moaning at the difference in comfort.
I could hear Harrison speaking to the flight attendant, but was too busy digging around in the gift bag to find my fluffy socks and eye mask to pay attention to what he was saying.
But then a big blue blanket was draped over me and I looked up to see him watching me with a look in his eyes I could only call… tender.
I knew I needed to keep my guard up around this man who refused to divorce me. But just right then, just when I was feeling so beat and vulnerable, I let him be soft with me.
“Thanks.”
“We’re about to take off. After that, you can put your legs up.”
I gave him a nod as I looked around our little pod area.
“Can I ask you something?” I asked, not quite looking at him.
“Of course.”
“How much did this cost?”
“The seat?”
“Yeah.”
“Not much. Three grand.”
Only a guy worth millions or billions would say three grand was ‘not much.’
“Why pay that much for me?”
“Because my wife flies comfortably.”
Damn him.
Why did he have to remind me of that?
And, perhaps the better question, why did my heart do a weird little squeeze at his words?
“I won’t be your wife for long,” I told him as he tightened his belt, then reached across to secure mine while the flight attendant came over the PA system to make sure everyone was belted and in the upright position.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Harrison said, shrugging as he gave my belt another tug.
He was close.
Way, way too close.
Then my memory was flashing back to my bed, to his hands, his lips, his tongue, his…
Harrison’s chin ducked, his blue eyes on me. “It wasn’t all bad, was it?” he asked, reading my mind.
Then he turned forward before I could respond.
I focused on the dying light out the window as we taxied and took off.
Once we were free to, Harrison reached over to lay my seat down without asking and passed me a neck pillow that he must have requested.
“You’re cold,” he said when his fingers brushed mine.
“My body is all out of whack today.”
I curled up slightly on my side, choosing not to think about why I curled toward him rather than the side of the plane.
Within five minutes of mentioning I was cold, another blanket was draped over me.
This time, maybe thinking I was already asleep, his hand lingered after, resting on my arm on top of the blankets.
I chose not to think about why I didn’t push him away.
Or why I didn’t sleep.
Why I stayed awake, acutely aware of his nearness, of his casual touch, of the stupid rings on my finger.
“Sweetheart,” his voice called, soft, tentative, some time later. “Layna.”
My lids fluttered open to look up at him.
“I ordered you food,” he explained. “Do you want to eat? It might help…”
“What did you order?” I asked, seeing the flight attendant making her way toward us.
“Choices were limited. And since you already had a burger today, I got you a pork sandwich. And the cheese platter.”
His hand finally moved from my arm, moving up to brush some of my hair from my face again.
This time, the little shiver? It wasn’t just internal.
I saw the recognition and the pleasure that built because of it, so I quickly folded my seat up.
“For the record, I can always go for a burger. But a pork sandwich sounds good too.”
He’d also ordered me a water, a diet cola, and… “Tea?”
“Every time I’ve seen you today, you’ve had a different coffee cup in your hand,” he said, lips tipped up slightly. “I think your body would appreciate a break so you can sleep.”
“I can drink a whole pot of coffee and go right to sleep. But tea is okay too.”
Then, well, we ate.
And without anything else to do, I watched the movie he’d put on his TV.
As much as I hated to admit it, it was the best I felt all day.
Once the food was cleared, I stretched back out. This time, I managed to actually fall asleep.
Something roused me a bit at one point, and I could have sworn I felt Harrison’s fingers sifting through my hair.
But when I finally woke up for landing, I figured that was probably part of my many dreams about the guy.
“Feeling better?” Harrison asked, glancing up from his phone to look at me.
“Think my headache is finally gone.”
I still felt dried out, but flying always did that to me. So flying after a big night of drinking was just adding insult to injury.
After a couple of days, I would feel fully reset and then… I didn’t know. Try to move forward and act like I wasn’t married to someone I barely even knew? What other choice did I have? I was going to need to wait for a court date now.
Before I could even get myself out from under my blankets, Harrison had already rounded up my goody bag and my overhead luggage and had it ready for me.
“I can take it,” I said, reaching for them.
“Sure you can,” he agreed, but took a step back and ushered me to step out in front of him.
Normally, I would have been charmed by his manners. But since I was determined to be angry with my new husband, I chose to be annoyed by it.
“No need,” he said when, after I’d gotten my luggage, I pulled up my phone to look for a ride share. “I ordered you a car service to take you wherever you are going.”
“My own car?” I asked.
He shot me a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yes. I have a separate car.”
Well.
I guess it was okay then.
And it wasn’t like I had to worry that he’d have my home address. I didn’t have one.
“Okay then,” I said, falling into step with him as we wove through the crowds in the airport to make our way outside to our cars.
I guess I should have expected the luxury SUV that was waiting for me (in front of a nearly identical one for him). Still, it was impressive.
The driver was discreet and immediately took charge of the luggage, leaving me to stand there on the sidewalk awkwardly with Harrison.
He reached for the backseat door and held it open for me.
With nothing else to do, I climbed in.
“Hey, Harrison?”
“Yeah?” he asked, body tensing, like he knew what I was about to say.
“Just sign the divorce papers.”
With that, I grabbed and pulled the door shut.
When my driver climbed in and pulled away, Harrison was still standing there on the sidewalk, watching us drive off.
That weird little tug in my chest?
Yeah, I went ahead and ignored that.