Page 56 of The Pakhan's Arranged Bride
It’s late afternoon when Benedikt pulls onto the runway at the airport. His has a private jet waiting for us. We climb out of the car and men hurry to take our luggage from the trunk to the jet.
I stand in the bright sun, staring up at the jet. It’s massive.
The white summer dress I’m wearing catches in the warm breeze and lifts around my legs. I push it down and lift my sunglasses off my eyes and onto the top of my head.
Benedikt arrives behind me, slipping his arm around my waist.
“It’s going to be great to get away. We never even had a honeymoon,” he teases.
Of course, we didn’t have a honeymoon. It wasn’t a real marriage.
I’ve been annoyed all afternoon at being forced to go away. But at some point on the drive here, I decided that I should just let go of all of the worry and try to enjoy myself.
It’s been ages since I went on vacation and just relaxed. Since Miron came into my life—I can’t even remember the last time I relaxed.
I’m going to Seattle whether I want to or not, so I might as well make the most of it.
During the short two-and-a-half-hour flight, Benedikt keeps the champagne flowing and spoils me with caviar and a chocolate tasting.
By the time we get to Seattle, I am tipsy and smiling and fully invested in allowing myself to have fun.
The plane lands and Benedikt has our luggage sent to the hotel, but instead of going straight there, he pushes me into a limo, climbing in the back with me, and we head towards a luxurious dinner at the top of Sky View Observatory.
“But—it’s an observatory, not a restaurant,” I protest as we drive there, looking out the window and taking in the beautiful city sights.
“It depends on who you know and how many strings you can pull,” Benedikt muses, slipping his arm around me and pulling me closer.
My first instinct is to protest, but I push it aside. I’m on holiday.Relax. Enjoy yourself.
So I give in and lean into him instead.
This causes a wide smile to break out over his face, and in turn, that makes me smile, too. “It’s beautiful here, very different from Las Vegas.”
“Seattle is one of the most populated cities in America, but somehow Vegas still seems noisier and wilder,” he agrees.
I giggle. “True.”
I’ve been to Seattle a few times in my life, and I’ve even been to the Sky View Observatory. But when I came here, it was full of tourists and noisy and crowded.
This evening it’s empty.
As we walk towards the entrance, a man smiles at us, bowing to Benedikt. “Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Karamazov,” he says warmly, pushing the door open for us.
“Do they know you here?” I ask, confused.
“Only since I called to book the entire place this morning,” he winks at me.
“You did what?” I ask, shocked.
He takes my hand and leads me into the elevator that will take us to the top of the tower.
On the ride up, he refuses to answer any of my curious questions, his eyes glittering with mischief, excited for the surprise.
On the viewing deck of Sky View Tower, high above the city, with the most magnificent views of Seattle, Benedikt has arranged a private dinner for us.
As we step out of the elevator, he leads me towards a single white table, candles flickering in a soft breeze, champagne waiting on ice, waiters standing nearby wearing black and white tuxedos.
My heart clenches tight in my chest and butterflies dance in my stomach.
