Chapter 14
Francesca
Just like Stefan said—the takeoff was a little—dicey. Kind of like being on a fair ride.
Without the stomach-churning descents. I wondered if landing would be terrible. Would my stomach lurch? Would I feel like I was falling?
I guess I'd find out soon enough. What goes up must come down. And we were definitely in the air already.
Stefan unbuckled his seat belt. And then he undid mine.
I gasped and panicked—and clipped it right back into place. “What are you doing?” I asked incredulously. “Why would you do that?” I snapped at him. “Sheesh. That's dumb.”
Stefan wasn't mad, though.
No.
He started laughing. “I'm sorry,” he said with a smile on his face.
“Really. I'm sorry. It's okay. We can take these off. See?” He pointed to a light at the front of the airplane.
“If that's off, we're good to go. It's not like being in a car.” His hand slid to my seat belt. “I promise. You'll be fine.”
For some reason—I decided to trust him on this. I didn't think he'd bring me onto his plane only to try and kill me by undoing my seat belt.
“Fine.” I lifted my hands away and allowed him to unbuckle me.
He stood and offered his hand. “Come. I'll feed you.”
I wasn't going to lie.
Food sounded pretty good. After everything that had happened in the last day—and night—eating hadn't been a big priority. And while Eve's lasagna had been tasty—that was a while ago.
Reluctantly, I slipped my hand into his.
He helped me up. I started walking, but it was more than cumbersome with this dress.
“Hold on,” I said, leaning down to pick up the long skirt.
Needless to say, it was more than a little impossible to do.
Especially in such a confined space. “Gah,” I said and gave up with a flourish.
“Let me go change since it's safe to move around.” I set my hand on Stefan's arm and tried to walk around him.
Earlier, he'd taken his luggage—and mine—or more like whatever Giselle and Eve had packed me—and dropped it somewhere in the back room.
I'd been too terrified to go exploring when I'd first boarded.
But I assumed there was a bathroom back here somewhere that I could change.
“Not yet,” he said instantly. His eyes traveled down my body, giving me shivers. “Not yet.” He bent down and gathered my skirt into his arms just enough so that I could walk down to the back of the plane. There were a couple of couches here and what looked like a TV.
“Sit.” Stefan dropped my skirt and nodded at the back couch. “I'll warm something up for us.”
I wanted to tell him this was ridiculous. I needed to change out of this fabulous dress before I ended up ripping something. Instead, I took a deep breath and decided to do what he said. So—I sat down on the cushy leather couch and waited.
While Stefan was busy at the back pressing buttons and opening and closing cabinets, I took in my surroundings. I bit my lip to stop giggling.
No, I'd never been on an airplane before. But I'd bet none of the commercial planes were like this. Not if they were modeled after the ones I'd seen on TV and in movies.
Stefan's plane was luxurious. My fingers caressed the soft, buttery leather. These couches and seats alone must have cost a bundle. Everything in here gleamed and shined.
A delicious smell floated over to me, and I inhaled deeply. “That smells good. What is it?”
Stefan answered, “Spaghetti and meat sauce.”
I laughed and shook my head. “I'm not eating that. Is there a sandwich or something?”
Stefan poked his head around to look at me. “Why not? It's great. I know you eat this. You made it for me many times.”
Memories of me cooking for him in my crappy apartment came flooding back. He remembered. Stefan remembered me cooking for him. And he remembered what I made.
It wasn't like I had the best ingredients at home to cook with.
Obviously, I was and always will be grateful to the various food banks that I had to use.
I tried my best to use them sparingly. Never abusing my privileges and always using up every last morsel of food.
But sometimes—there wasn't a whole lot of variety.
Especially by the time I could show up—or more like by the time my crappy brown car allowed me to show up.
Many times, my car would crap out right in the middle of a long line, making it even more difficult to get the food that I needed.
Suddenly, a feeling of embarrassment settled over me. Looking around at this plane—Stefan's plane—
His very, very, very expensive plane.
And I remembered the crappy food I'd fed him.
Oh, my gosh.
I was mortified. What must he think about me? About my—financial situation?
“Francesca? What's wrong?” Stefan's voice brought me out of my current thoughts.
I blinked and said, “I'm fine. But I don't think Giselle will appreciate getting this dress back with meat sauce stains all over it.”
He laughed and went back to what he was doing. “She won't give a fuck. Besides,” he pushed a button and opened another cabinet, “we won't spill.”
A moment later, he walked to me with a heaping plate of spaghetti and meat sauce.
All I saw was a huge disaster in the making.
He sat down beside me, and I noticed that he'd removed his tie and had undone a few buttons.
His chest showed through his open shirt, making me want to reach out and touch him there.
It had been so long since I'd laid my hands on Stefan.
I barely remembered how his skin felt under my palms.
“Open,” he said, holding a fork filled with spaghetti and meat sauce. Yes, he'd twirled it, so it wasn't a dripping mess. But that didn't mean it wasn't going to suddenly decide to slop all over Giselle's dress.
“You eat. I'm okay,” I lied and moved away. Maybe I could sneak into the back and make a sandwich after I changed. There was no way I was going to eat freaking spaghetti right now.
“Francesca,” Stefan's voice held an edge to it now, “open.” He held the fork up to my mouth.
“Good grief,” I whispered and opened. I wasn't going to wait for that sauce to start dripping on me.
As soon as I closed my lips around the fork, I shut my eyes and moaned, “Oh, yum.” I chewed, enjoying the spicy, meaty taste over the buttery noodles.
“Did Eve make this?” I asked as the thought occurred to me.
The noodles tasted a lot better than the boxed kind.
And they had a similar texture to the lasagna I had earlier that she made.
Stefan smiled and shoved a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth. “Yep,” he said over his mouthful.
“It's the best pasta I've ever tasted. I'm going to have to ask her for the recipe.”
Stefan's eyes rose to mine. “Yours is better, Chesca.”
I wasn't sure why it mattered that he thought that. Or that he said it—even if he didn't really believe it.
Just the fact that he'd said it warmed my heart almost as much as that wonderful sauce had.
“You're lying. Eve's is better.”
Stefan frowned slightly and said, “Open,” as he offered me more. Which of course—I took. “Eve is an excellent cook. And baker. But you're miles ahead of her.”
His words made me laugh as I chewed. Because he was really lying, now.
Wow.
“Yes, my homemade pasta is okay. But it's nothing compared to this.” I pointed at the plate in his hands. “And everything I cooked or baked came from a dollar store or a food bank.” I rolled my eyes and continued. “Not exactly the quality products Eve has to work with.”
Stefan ate another forkful and swallowed. “Exactly. And look what you did with it.”
He twirled more spaghetti and held it up for me. “I can't wait to see what you make me when we get home. With all the fresh ingredients.” He smiled and shook his head. “You're going to love it there.”
Home?
What was he talking about?
“I thought you lived an hour away from Carlo and Giselle? Did we really need to take an airplane there?”
Stefan sat back and laughed. As in—he laughed so hard he was in danger of spilling his plate.
“What's so funny?” I asked, reaching out to help steady the plate in his hand.
His eyes locked onto mine. “You are. We aren't flying to my place in Chicago, Chesca.” His eyes flashed with nothing short of joy.
At what—I didn't know.
“Where are we going, then?” I asked, feeling more confused than ever.
“We're flying home.” He offered me another swirled forkful of spaghetti. “To Italy.”
WHAT in the ITALY is Stefan talking about???