Page 11 of Ache for You (Slow Burn 3)
“Please step away from the counter, miss.”
I become aware of all the people in the gate waiting area, staring at me, at the same time I become aware of the security guard eyeing me from his post beside the boarding door.
My anger turns to panic. Shit. This can’t be happening! My voice wavering and my eyes filling with tears, I say, “Please. I’m begging you. I haven’t seen my father in five years. He’s the only family I have left. I have to be there for him. I have to get on this flight. If he dies and I’m not there, I’ll never forgive myself.”
The gate agent opens her mouth to shut me down, but a voice behind me says, “The lady can have my seat.”
I don’t have to turn around to know who it is. I’d recognize that panty-melting accent anywhere.
Plus, the gate agent looks as if she’s been electrocuted.
“Oh, s-sir, that’s very kind of you. Are you sure?” She glances at me and frowns, clearly thinking I don’t deserve to even stand in Euro Hunk’s general vicinity, let alone be the recipient of this magnanimous gesture.
“I’m sure.”
He moves into view, coming around my left side to stand next to me. His arm brushes my shoulder, sending a rash of goose bumps cascading down my spine.
“Let me see if I can arrange it. We do allow transfers in some cases. May I have your boarding pass, please?”
Gazing down at me with a small smile, he pulls a boarding pass from the inside pocket of his overcoat and hands it to the gate agent, all without glancing away from my face.
In a strangled voice, I ask, “You’re on this flight?”
He inclines his head in a kingly nod.
“You’re not a paparazzi?”
“A paparazzo,” he corrects. “Not the last time I checked.”
I turn to face him fully. “And, um, the count thing—”
“Marchese.” His eyes are bright with laughter. “No, it’s not a cheese.”
I put a hand over my chest and breathe, “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”
“Sir,” chirps the gate agent.
Our gazes hold for a moment that feels like an eternity until he looks away from me and turns his attention to her. “Yes?”
“This is a first-class ticket.”
I look at her in shock. She stares back at me with her brows lifted, like We both know you don’t deserve first class, sister.
“Yes, it is,” says Euro Hunk firmly. “Is there a problem?”
She looks at me, then back at him, then plasters a big fake smile on her face. “Not at all, sir. Your identification, please?”
He fishes a passport from another pocket of his coat and hands it over.
“Madam, may I have your boarding pass and identification again, please?” The gate agent smiles sweetly at me.
Unbelievable. I’ve been promoted to “madam.”
In total disbelief, I watch the gate agent tap away on her keyboard, changing the reservations so I can get on the flight. I turn to find Euro Hunk gazing at me with that same laserlike intensity he had when I glanced up from my sketch pad and caught him staring.
I say, “I can’t let you do this.”
“Of course you can.”
