Chapter 13
Francesca
I wanted to change before we left.
But Nick wouldn't allow it. He maintained that, “Time was of the essence.” And we had to leave immediately to avoid a—situation.
I wasn't sure what kind of situation he was referring to. But I didn't really want to find out either.
Giselle encouraged me to wear the dress on the plane even though I had huge reservations about that.
For one thing, it was her dress. And for another, I didn't want to ruin it.
Even if we were only going a short way, that didn't mean I couldn't do irreparable harm to this beautiful gown that she had spent hours making.
And when I expressed my concern about the safety and integrity of her dress—all she said was, “Oh, honey. It'll be fine. Besides, it's your wedding night. You should wear it.” Then she rushed off to deal with the kids.
Anyway, that was how we got to now, where I was currently sitting beside my—husband.
Whoa.
That was—weird.
To think of Stefan as my husband.
Even if it was fake. It was still—crazy.
“Do you think I have time to change?”
Stefan buckled his seat belt and looked at me. “What?” He seemed distracted.
“Do you think we'll be taking off right away? Or do I have time to go and change? I don't know what Eve packed for me, but I'm betting there will be something more comfortable than this to wear inside that suitcase.” I waved my hands down my body quickly and waited for him to answer.
“No time,” he said, reaching across me to grab the seat belt.
I set my hands on his and stopped him. “It’ll take me like a minute. Can't you ask them to wait?”
He was so close. I could smell his warm, spicy cologne.
It was making my head all spinny and floaty—and giving me—ideas.
“No,” he answered back and clicked my buckle in place. Then he sat back in his seat.
“Stefan. It'll take me—”
His head turned to me. “You're keeping the dress on, Francesca,” he said through gritted teeth. “Until I take it off you.” His eyes bore into mine. “Understand?”
I was pretty sure I understood what he meant. At least I thought I did. Because at the moment, there was a movie playing in my mind about exactly how Stefan was going to take this wedding dress off me. And let me tell you—it was a really, really, really good movie.
“Yeah, that's what I thought,” he said and stretched out his legs in front of him.
I didn't say another thing until a few minutes later when the airplane started moving. My hand instinctively grabbed onto Stefan's arm like my life depended on it.
“Are you a nervous flyer?” His hand landed on mine and held it. “You should have told me. I could have grabbed some pills from Giselle or Eve.”
His lips were moving, but I couldn't understand a word he was saying. This ginormous hunk of metal was soon going to be soaring through the sky—ready to plummet to the earth at any moment.
“Chesca? Hey,” Stefan's voice finally penetrated the panic in my brain. “Chesca. What's going on? Look at me.” I felt his hands on my head, and then he turned me to face him. “Hey.” His voice was calm yet also worried. “Tell me what's going on in your beautiful head.”
I tried to swallow, but my throat was too dry. So, I coughed and choked instead.
“Jesus.” Stefan let go of me and undid his seat belt.
Before I knew it, he was walking to the back of the plane.
And that was when I completely lost my mind.
“Stop! Don't go! Come back! It's moving!” I yelled at the top of my lungs.
Because I was freaking terrified. I envisioned Stefan being thrown from side to side, crashing against the walls of the plane as we bobbed and weaved through the air.
Stefan opened a cabinet at the back, and then something that looked like a fridge. He strode back quickly with drinks in his hands. The plane was still moving, though. And then I realized I was out and out sobbing.
Stefan sat back down beside me.
“Oh, my gosh. Do up your belt before you die!” I screamed at him and yanked the cold cans out of his hands.
He did what I asked. Thank goodness. “Give me those.” He grabbed the drinks out of my hands and put one of them in the drink holder in front of us. Very cautiously, he opened one can of cola.
The cola popped and fizzed as he opened it. “Here, take a sip.” He held it to my lips, and I did what he said. Mostly because I didn't know what else to do.
A few sips later, I said, “Why did you get up? You could have died while we were taking off.”
Stefan let out a reluctant chuckle. “We haven't taken off yet.” He gave me a quizzical look. “The plane's just taxiing to our spot in line.”
His explanation calmed me greatly. And then I started feeling really, really, really stupid. “Oh. I didn't know that.” I grabbed the drink from his hand and downed half of it.
“Give me a minute. I'll be right back.” He undid his seat belt and walked around me again. This time—I didn't scream like a weirdo. Even though I definitely wanted to.
Instead, I sat back, clutching my drink while I shut my eyes.
A short time later, I heard the clinking of glasses, and I opened my eyes. Stefan was back. With two shot glasses and a bottle of amber liquor.
“Do me a favor?” he asked, raising his full hands.
“Do up my seat belt for me? I wouldn't want to plunge to my death while I pour.” His voice was teasing—and yes, it put me slightly at ease.
But it still made me want to slug him. I set my drink beside the other can and did his belt up as fast as I could.
Because, yes. I was worried he might just plunge to his death.
“Thank you. All safe now,” he said, and cracked open the bottle. It said whiskey on it, and I immediately scrunched my nose up. I wasn't a fan. And I was sure he was going to offer me some.
Sure enough, he poured two shot glasses and gave me one. He clinked them together. “Cheers,” he said, then added, “wife.”
That word stopped my heart.
Completely.
Wife.
I was someone's—
Wife.
“Thanks, but no thanks. I don't want this.” I held it up for him to take.
He shook his head. “Drink it.”
I rolled my eyes. “I don't want it.”
He laughed. “Yeah, but you need it.”
I frowned at him. “I do not.”
His eyes scanned my face over and over again. “Yeah, you do.” He moved my hand with the shot glass to my lips. “Bottoms up, Chesca. Trust me. You'll feel better after.” His finger touched the bottom of the glass and tipped it slowly.
This was not a fight I was going to win. And it was one shot. What harm could one shot do?
So, I drank it back at the same time he did.
“Ah, yuck,” I sputtered as the alcohol burned down my throat, making it difficult to breathe. “That stuff is gross.”
Stefan handed me the cola, and I downed the rest of it. “It's the expensive shit. It's not gross,” Stefan said. Then, he refilled his shot glass and downed another.
“How can you drink that stuff?”
He took my glass from me and said, “Easily. Very easily.” After he set everything down, he removed the empty can from me and stuffed it into the cupholder.
Then he grabbed my hand. “Are you always this hysterical when you fly?”
My jaw dropped open, and I scowled at him. “I'm not hysterical.”
His eyebrows nearly flew off his face. “Yeah, you are.”
I huffed and rolled my eyes. “I am not,” I said, sounding childish even to my ears.
Stefan chuckled quietly. He turned more fully to me. “I'm serious.” His eyes looked over every inch of my face before he spoke again, “Are you always like this when you fly?”
Oh, gosh.
The calm way he spoke to me.
The warmth in his tone.
Oh, gosh.
I swallowed hard over the dry lump in my throat. “I don't know. I've never, um, flown before.”
Stefan's head tilted, and his mouth opened slightly. Like he was waiting for me to tell him I was only kidding. That I'd flown all over the world.
“You've never been on an airplane?” He didn't ask it in a condescending, snobby way or anything. Even so, it still made me feel stupid. And poor. And inexperienced.
“No,” I said with a small shake of my head. I wished he would just drop this.
He closed his mouth and nodded. “I see.” He pushed back into his seat. “That explains a lot, then.” He cleared his throat. “A lot of first times for you tonight.”
Heat surged directly between my thighs—making me clench deep down inside.
Holy.
Cow.
Did he just say—that?
I mean, yes, we'd gotten married. But it was a fake marriage. There was no reason to consummate a fake marriage. Even though Nick had instructed us to do just that. It wasn't like we actually had to do it. Right?
I wanted very much to change the subject. So, I said, “We could barely make ends meet as it was. Buying plane tickets wasn't big on my list of to-dos.”
His head snapped toward me. “Yeah, I guess it wouldn't be.” He swallowed and sighed while squeezing my hand. “I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I hope I didn't make you feel—bad.”
Gosh.
Nice Stefan was so freaking—nice.
“It's not a big deal. Really.” He jerked his head toward the front of the plane.
“We wait in line until it's our turn. And then the airplane starts down the runway and we take off.
There's some pressure as we ascend into the air. But after that—” His eyes dropped to my lips.
“It's all smooth sailing.” He picked up my hand and kissed the back of it.
That sent shocks directly between my legs.
“Do you need another shot?” he asked, letting go of my hand. He picked up the whiskey again and started pouring into one of the glasses.
I smiled and said, “No. Do you?”
Stefan twisted the cap tightly on the bottle and put it away. Then he gazed at me briefly. “Oh, I definitely do.” Then he tossed back the entire shot in one go.