Page 26 of Love Lessons
And on and on, I just keep talking. My head starts to feel heavy, and at some point I lose my train of thought and lapse into silence. The seat begins to recline as if by magic, the footrest rising up to cradle my knees.
After that, I spend some quality time staring at the curved wooden ceiling of the jet, wondering how they were able to shape the panels so perfectly. “Wow, the craftsmanship,” I say slowly.
Somebody snickers. But I don’t care. I feel floaty and calm.
Later, I smell food, and a female voice offers champagne. I raise one finger off the arm rest in an attempt to get some, because champagne sounds nice.
“Oh no, you don’t,” says a male voice. “She’s cut off. But I would love a beer.”
I consider arguing but can’t summon the energy.
Eventually the cabin grows dark and quiet. Someone is snoring nearby, but I don’t mind the sound. It’s soothing. Everything is soothing and sleepy. As it should be.
* * *
Noises.Lights.
“Wakey, wakey, sleeping beauty,” says a hunky voice. “We’ve arrived in the fashion capital of the universe, according to a very long speech you gave right before you started drooling on yourself.”
Oooh. Fashion. That is totally my jam. Too bad I’m too sleepy to care right now.
“On your feet, countess.” Someone pokes my arm. “Let’s go. Step lively.”
Nope. Sorry. Go fish.
“Wow, she’s really out of it,” Charli’s voice says.
“I guess we’re gonna have to do this the hard way,” Neil agrees.
There’s a windy sigh. “You guys get her luggage. That’s the hardest job. I’ll handle the human cargo.”
A moment later I’m scooped up into gentle arms. My head comes to rest against a threadbare cotton T-shirt covering warm, solid muscle. I smell soap and cotton and spicy cologne.
It’s nice, so I loop my arms around a strong neck and sigh.
Then we begin to move.
* * *
I cometo consciousness on the leather seat of a limousine. When my eyes flutter open, I’m looking at Charli. She’s wearing a cute, little, red sundress I found for her at Saks, and a big smile.
“Look who’s joined us!” she says with a laugh. “Welcome to Italy. We’re an hour north of Milan already.”
“What?” I blink rapidly and try to clear my dry throat. “But what about customs? Don’t I have to show my passport?”
“Oh, you did,” Sylvie says with a giggle. “We helped.”
Four women are seated around me—Charli, Sylvie, Fiona, Aly. The others must be in another car. “I don’t remember getting into this car.”
“It went something like this,” Charli says, handing me her phone.
“Holy crap,” I yelp as I look at the photo. I’m standing in the airport, eyes half open, slumped against Ian Crikey. He’s holding me up while I rest my head against his broad shoulder. “I look like a zombie.”
“The whole experience was veryWeekend at Bernie’s,” Charli says with a nod. “You were a rag doll.”
“You must be very well rested, though,” Fiona says cheerfully.
I delete the photo and then check Charli’s camera roll for more. There aren’t any, thank God. Still, I drop my head into my hand and groan. “Why did it have to be Ian? He already thinks I’m a pain in the ass.”
