Still he says nothing. I study him as he feigns sleep, the way his black hair falls forward over his white forehead, the inky black of his lashes, the aquiline run of his nose. My darling devil is still a stunner, despite the terrible suit, and now I have him for the rest of my life, thanks to Don Augustino Morelli, old enemy of my Pops and possible killer of my Mom.
Funny the way things work out, isn’t it?
Luca is clutching so hard at the seat that his knuckles are white and bony. “So, husband,” I say, sipping at my Cristal. “Not a fan of flying?”
His eyes slit open and he gives me a glare, or as much as he can from half-closed eyes. “I’ve never flown before,” he admits at last.
My eyebrows shoot up. “For realsies?”
His face goes dark. “We didn’t all grow up with a rich daddy,” he says.
“Where were your parents?” I ask, letting the dad-jibe go by. I wouldn’t be in this situation at all if it weren’t for my rich daddy. I still can’t make up my mind if that’s a good or bad thing. “At the wedding, I mean. Only Brother Frank was there. Where was the impressive extended family you Italians all seem to have?”
He looks out the window. We’re starting to taxi now, and the seatbelt sign comes on. “Dead,” he says briefly. “All dead. It’s just me and Frank now.”
“Well, shit,” I say. “Now I feel like an asshole.”
He says nothing, but his fingers look like they’re about to bend backwards on the arms of the seat. The pilot announces that we’re about to take off, tells us the flying time and the weather in Florida, blah blah. Neither of us are listening.
I flick open my safety belt and dive at Luca. “Hold me,” I say, curling up on him like a kid.
“Get the fuck back in your seat!” he barks, but I just laugh.
“Better hold onto me, baby, or your new bride might break his neck on take-off.”
He realizes I’m serious, that I’m not moving; his arms go around me, fast and tight. “You’re crazy,” he says. “I mean, certifiable.”
I just grin. The plane is rushing now, and I love this part, the take-off, when you leave your stomach behind and your soul soars up into the clouds. I close my eyes to feel it, nestling into my new husband’s neck, breathing in the scent of his soap and his shampoo and his—what is that, fucking Old Spice? Jesus. This guy needs an education.
He’s holding on to me like he’s drowning, and I can feel his heart banging away in his chest under my hand. He really doesn’t like flying, or else maybe it’s me; maybe being this close to me is reminding him of the last time we were this close. Fuck, I hope it’s me.
The plane is starting to level out now, and his arms loosen just the tiniest amount, enough so I can breathe. I nose my way up his cheek and kiss his temple. “Nothing to it,” I say. “Now it’s just us and the sky.”
“Don’t know if I like the sound of that,” he mutters. But he doesn’t pull away.
I wonder how time has changed him. I read once that the cells in our body gets totally replaced every seven years, so he’s still got a few that I’ve touched before. Now I’ll get to know all those new cells, too.
“Relax, babes,” I chuckle. “Have some bubbles, make out with me. Celebrate. You totally saved my ass.” At that, he pushes me gently until I’m forced to slide onto the thick arm of the chair rather than his lap. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“There will be no making out,” he says.
“What? Why not?” I pout. Seriously. This fucking guy.
“This is a business arrangement, that’s all.” He leans on his right elbow, chin in hand, and stares moodily out at the clouds.
Before I can say anything else, the hostess appears again. “How are we doing, gentlemen?” she asks brightly. “Would we like some fresh fruits, some croissants, perhaps?”
Luca waves an irritated hand. Her smile doesn’t waver, but it does get a little tighter.
“Nervous flyer,” I say to her quietly.
“Ohh,” she whispers back, her eyes going wide. “Can I get him a Xanax, or—”
“Jessica, honey, that would be fantabulous,” I tell her.
At that, Luca’s head whips back around. “No. No drugs.”
“It’s just a Xanny, baby,” I say. “For me,” I add. “You can stay freaked if you want to.”
“No drugs,” he says again, and he’s looking at Jessica, not me.
“Understood, sir,” she says immediately, unsmiling, and goes back to wherever she came from, pulling the privacy curtain across.
“What,” I say, “the actual fuck was that?”
Luca gives me the once-over, and I don’t like what I see in his eyes. “I don’t know how I can possibly make myself clearer. The drugs stop. Now. I don’t want an addict I have to clean up after.”
I put a hand on my chest like I’m mortally offended. “Baby, I always clean up after myself.”
Luca unclips his seat belt and stands up, towering over me where I still sit on the arm of the chair. “I don’t want an addict, and I don’t want your mouth flapping constantly. So just sit down and shut up. I don’t want to hear a word out of you until we’re in Florida.”
I stick out my lower lip. “I thought we were gonna join the mile high club.”
He stares at me like he can’t believe I’m still talking, and then throws his hands up. “I get it, now. Tino’s hoping I’ll suicide before we even get back from Florida.”
I stand up, too, because I’m sick of his shit, and the candies I took before we left for the airport are starting to wear off. “Listen, Georgie, don’t try to pretend like this is some fucking punishment for you. We both know we’re meant to be. We’re fucking fated, man; don’t you
