- RORY -
There’s obviously one primary reason Dex chose a private jet with a bedroom—or two bedrooms—and I’m not about to listen to anything intimate happening between him and my sister.
"Is there a movie or sothing we can watch?" I ask, ditching the pastry that I was eating to placate my sister and Dex. "Like, with headphones?"
"Aren’t you going to finish eating that?" Luciano asks in turn.
"No. I already said I’m not hungry." I take a sip of the hot tea to find that it’s already turned tepid.
"But you were just saying how good it is."
My eyes flit his way and find him looking confused as his hand passes back and forth in the air like he’s retracing the conversation Raya and I had. Why is he so worried about it?
"It’s fine," I shrug. "I an, it is delicious. But I mostly just wanted to make them happy. I could tell Dex was worried I was going to cause a problem. That reminds , by the way: you do not need to order for . I’m perfectly capable of ordering for myself. And I don’t appreciate you telling what is and is not acceptable. Last I checked, you’re not my father."
"Thank god for that," he chuckles, one eyebrow angling suggestively.
If I expected Luciano to argue with and use that mysteriously authoritative baritone to his advantage, apparently I was wrong. It’s not happening. He appears amused by my little rant more than anything.
"I’m serious," I deadpan, not thinking of anything else to say that will bolster how serious I really am.
"So am I."
Would it be weird if I tell him to put his eyebrow back down into a normal resting state? Because it’s still arched like he’s thinking dark and devious things, and it’s very distracting. He would probably love if I brought attention to it, though. Instead, I look away and take another sip of the room temperature tea.
Without warning, the ceiling begins retracting to give way to the clear blue sky again, and I forget all about Luciano’s sexy eyebrow.
"How is this even safe?" I mutter, vaguely aware of how I’ve drawn my legs and arms closer into myself, prepared to form my own sad little cocoon of protection until this is over.
"It’s a miracle of aviation," Luci sighs. Rather than sounding awestruck or amused, I detect an edge of annoyance in his voice. "Carrie?"
The young, perky flight attendant appears, smiling wide. "Yes?"
"Is there a movie available for us to watch?"
"Of course!"
Carrie is way too enthusiastic. Sure, she’s probably making loads of money on this gig and is required to be as helpful and pleasant as humanly possible tens of thousands of feet in the air, but her smile and perfect... everything... is grating on the darkness that wants to swallow back up while I’m not under Dex and Raya’s attention.
Once Carrie moves the food to a nearby table, a small flat screen television rises in front of us out of the mysterious depths of our own table. I’m grudgingly impressed when she hands us sleek state-of-art headphones. Luciano puts them on and shifts the ear cups past his ears just enough that he can still hear .
"What do you want to watch?" He asks, taking the remote and beginning to scan the options.
When I hear the faintest moan from the room behind us, I cringe and slap my own headphones on. Carrie has disappeared back toward the front of the plane, apparently giving all of the passengers on this aircraft privacy.
How is this happening? It’s still morning! We’ve barely even taken off. And how did I manage to stay in the sa house as those two for a month without hearing any of their prophesied sexual encounters before this? At least on the ground, I would have had the option to go outside or sothing. There’s no going outside here.
A stray curious thought weaves itself through my mind about whether Raya dreamt about this. Maybe I’ll ask her about it later. Even though she never told any details of her dreams, I would think sex on a plane with no ceiling would have been sothing she’d ntion. If it weren’t a scenario I was currently living through, I definitely would have pegged that one as pure fantasy. And I would have laughed like a schoolgirl.
God, I pray our rooms are far away from each other when we arrive at... wherever the hell we’re going.
"Anything," I tell Luciano when he looks at , remote poised in the air. My voice is probably too loud since I haven’t bothered to leave any room around these headphones for hearing.
Title after title passes on the screen. Instead of waiting to see what he’s going to choose, I close my eyes. This is the best option. I don’t have to see the disturbingly exposed sky. I don’t have to hear the passionate love that my sister is engaged in with her future husband. Maybe I can just fall asleep. It’s not like I slept much last night anyway.
A few minutes later, a lody cos over the headphones followed by a woman’s soothing voice singing in what sounds like Gaelic. When I open my eyes, it’s to find a beautifully animated movie with soft, dreamy colors.
"What is this?" I don’t hear my own voice and realize I’m not going to hear the answer either, so I drop the headphones to my shoulders and turn to look at the strikingly handso mafiosi with an ankle crossed over his leg, reclined in his seat with his headphones on. But rather than watching the screen in front of us, his nearly black eyes are trained on .
"Did you say sothing, sweetheart?" He asks, lifting the headphones away.
"What is this?" I repeat, feeling the small lump of emotion in my throat at the term of endearnt he has chosen for without any hint of irony or teasing. It just rolls off of his tongue like it’s natural.
It’s because Luciano is a player. That’s why. He obviously calls won pet nas all the ti.
Don’t be fooled, Rory. You’re not any different. You’re just another conquest... a difficult one this ti. An impossible one.
Luciano probably tells all kinds of won that he will keep them safe, too. And saves them from monsters. And sends them dozens and dozens and dozens of flowers before settling on one strange, perfect taphor of a cactus that is almost impossible to care for.
"Uh..." He points the remote at the T.V. again and squints when the information is displayed in small white text along the top. "Song of the Sea."
I look back at the screen and watch a mother and child play out a tender mont while she attempts to sing the little boy to sleep. Why did Luciano choose this out of all the things? I know I saw plenty of action films scrolling by.
"It looked peaceful. Do you not like it?"
When I don’t answer and only stare, he goes on.
"I thought it would be easier to rest your eyes to. The flight will go fast, don’t worry."
I nod, not able to co up with anything at all to say because my chest and throat suddenly feel very tight.
"Do you still want to know where we’re going, dolcezza?" He asks, his voice dipping low in that deep, sultry baritone from earlier. But this ti it is... patient. And soft.
"Yes," I say... equally soft. Like I’m confessing a secret.
"Costa Rica."
He smiles, replaces his headphones, and crosses his arms over his chest—pushing further back into his chair and closing his eyes like he intends to sleep as well.
I inhale deeply with a small smile and then blow a heavy breath out. "Costa Rica," I repeat on a whisper and then replace my headphones, too. For so reason, that makes feel a lot better.
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