Page 14 of An Inconvenient Marriage
Forwhatseemedtobe the hundredth time, I stole a glance at the aloof man seated opposite me. An espresso in one hand and a newspaper in his lap. He had one Armani-clad leg crossed over the other, and a shiny shoe repeatedly stabbed the air. Rows of creases marred his forehead while his gaze remained focused on whatever he was reading.
Clearly, he was comfortable flying. I, on the other hand, was not.
Gripping the handles of the luxurious seat, I pushed my body deeper into the expensive leather and focused on calming my breathing.One… two… three… Deep breath in,slow breath out. And again… one… two…
I needed to think of anything other than the many things that could cause a metal bird to fall out of the sky. Squeezing my eyes shut, I dropped my head back and filled my mind with positive thoughts.
A future that was mine. One where I was designing clothes in my own little place. Maybe I could even open a boutique in a small town somewhere far away from the city.
“Can I get you anything, Mrs. de la Fuente?”
The soft voice of the flight attendant drew me from my happy thoughts and had my brain going in an entirely different direction.
Mrs. de la Fuente.Iwas Mrs. de la Fuente. My thumb found the simple band nestled between my pinkie and middle finger, rubbing slow circles over the metal. I was married to a man who made no secret of the fact he did not hold me in high regard.
Zacharias de la Fuente.
It was a name everyone knew. The Spaniard who’d come from less than nothing to make a fortune for himself as the owner of Clear Fountain Casinos.
He’d spoken of my reputation, buthisalso preceded him.
Unlike in my case, the press had nothing but good things to say. There was not a man or woman who didn’t speak highly of him. No jilted lovers or wronged business partners. The man appeared to be a saint.
“Mrs. de la Fuente?” the flight attendant nudged.
Shaking my head, I let out a soft, “No, thank you.”
When she left us with a polite smile, my gaze shifted to the tiny window. My stomach twisted and turned. Only this time it had nothing to do with my fear of flying and everything to do with the weight of Zach’s scrutinizing gaze on me, burning me to my very core.
Squeezing my lids together, I leaned back against the seat again.
“My plane’s not up to your standards?”
The rich baritone of his voice forced me to open my eyes and focus on him. The newspaper lay abandoned on the seat beside him, and his empty cup had been taken away. Muscled arms were folded in front of his chest—which I now knew was well defined and chiseled—his foot was still stabbing the air, but the movement seemed impatient rather than relaxed.
“I’m sorry, what?”
Zach’s bouncing leg stilled, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. “You have declined everything my staff has offered you, and your face is green with disgust.”
I sighed. He was right, I was very close to throwing up, or possibly passing out. But not because I disliked his fancy plane. It was nerves, a whole lot of nerves.
“Your plane is fine, Zach. I’m just not hungry or thirsty.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but I spoke again before he could utter a word.
“You still haven’t told me where we’re going.”
Those sinfully plump lips pulled into a thin line, and he delivered his answer dryly. “You will find out soon enough.”
And just like that, our brief conversation was over and he picked up his paper again.
I couldn’t help but stare. Yesterday I’d thought the man was an asshole, that he treated everyone else the way he’d treated me. Not even five minutes into our flight, I’d realized how wrong I’d been.
He knew his staff by name. He’d asked about their families, about their lives. He was professional and yet friendly. But with me he was curt and dismissive. Like I was a black stain he couldn’t get off his white shirt.
For reasons I had no time to figure out, it unnerved me that he saw me like that.
“I can feel your eyes on me,wife.”
