Page 71 of The Sexy Ex's Brother
She gets out of the car and I follow. The warm breeze kisses her hair, lifting it around her shoulders. She glances back at me, and for a second, I forget how to walk.
The stairs roll up to the plane as we approach. A flight attendant in navy greets us at the base. “Good evening, Mr. Wilson. Miss.”
“Evening, Alyssa,” I say.
Ivy turns to me. “You know the staff by name?”
“They’ve flown me enough times. You’ll like her.”
The captain appears at the door, offering a polite nod. “We’re ready when you are, sir. Smooth skies ahead.”
I nod and gesture for Ivy to go first. She climbs the stairs slowly, looking around like she doesn’t quite believe any of this is happening. I follow, eyes locked on her the whole way.
Inside, the cabin is softly lit, sleek and quiet. Two cream leather seats face each other across a small table with a chilled bottle of champagne resting in a silver bucket between them.
“Wow,” she breathes.
I step in behind her and place a hand at her lower back. She turns. Her mouth meets mine before she answers. It’s not a deep kiss, just a press of lips, soft and slow, but it unravels something in me anyway.
She pulls back slightly. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not giving up.”
I lift her hand, kiss her palm. “Never even thought about it.”
The plane lifts twenty minutes later. We sip champagne while the lights of the city shrink to glittering pinpricks. She watches out the window, one hand still tangled with mine.
At cruising altitude, Alyssa brings over a tray with a light dinner. Ivy eyes the silver lids with mock suspicion, then shoots me a look across the table.
"Last chance to tell me," she says, lifting a brow.
"Nope," I reply, popping a grape in my mouth. "Not even close."
She leans forward, playful. "Do I get three more guesses?"
I shake my head, grinning. "You burned through your guesses before we even left."
"Unfair. I was distracted by the shock of finding out my fiancé is a billionaire magician with access to my passport."
"And yet, you still said yes," I say, gently nudging her foot under the table. Hungry?”
Ivy inspects the silver lids with curiosity.
“What is this?”
“Grilled halibut or mushroom risotto,” Alyssa says with a smile. “Mr. Wilson requested options.”
She grins. “You really did plan everything.”
“I had a feeling you’d be starving.”
We eat, side by side, laughter threading between bites. She tells me about the mural she’s been painting, the commission she turned down last week, the playlist she made the night she left, one she hasn’t been able to listen to since. I listen. I ask questions. I tuck stray strands of hair behind her ear like it’s something I’ve always done.
After dinner, the cabin dims. Ivy curls up beside me on the wide leather bench, her legs tucked beneath her, head against my chest.
“I can’t believe this is real,” she murmurs.
