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I’ve never been on a jet before. Never flown before. It’s all new and exciting, and all of my frustrations and suspicions take a backseat as I follow Salvatore up the steps and into the interior of the jet, which smells of leather and lemon-scented cleaner, and the soft scent of flowers.
The interior of the jet is lovely. The seats are all smooth beige leather, with plenty of legroom, and burnished wooden tables between some of them. Along the wood-paneled walls, in intervals, are recessed vases with peonies and roses.
“Are the flowers for me?” I look at Salvatore innocently. I expect him to say no, that the jet is always decorated this way, and then he’ll feel bad that I thought it was something more than it is. After all, this is supposed to be our honeymoon. But he just turns and looks at me, his expression still impassive. There’s no flicker of emotion on his face, as if he’s keeping his walls up just as strongly as I am.
“Of course,” he says, startling me. “Normally, the jet is fairly austere. But this is our honeymoon, Gia. It should be a remarkable experience for you. Trust me, there’s more to come.” He pauses. “I noticed the flowers in your wedding bouquet. I asked the staff to decorate with those.”
His tone is stiff, almost formal. But when he lays his broad hand on the small of my back, urging me forward to our seats, his skin feels hot through the thin layer of my dress. My pulse picks up again, and I swallow hard.
I feel more confused than ever.
Salvatore takes me towards the back of the jet, and sinks into one soft leather seat as I sit opposite him. There’s a soft grey cashmere throw folded on the seat next to me, and I see, to my surprise, that there’s a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket, two flutes waiting for us. Salvatore reaches for the bottle, popping the cork smoothly as I hear the low roar of the jet engines. In my peripheral vision, I can see his security settling in on the other end of the plane, more of them than I initially thought. No one is going to bother us on our honeymoon, that’s for sure. I feel sorry for anyone who tries.
“To our time away,” he says, pouring champagne into the flutes and handing me one. “You’ll love it, Gia.”
“Where are we going?” I tuck my legs under me, taking a small sip of the champagne.
“I think it’s better as a surprise.” Salvatore leans back in his chair. “It won’t be all that long before we’re there.”
I can’t read him very well—I don’t know him well enough yet. I’m not sure if he’s enjoying this being a surprise for me, or if it’s just an easy way to avoid having to have a conversation. My suspicions from this morning well up again, and I glance at him, taking another sip of the champagne.
“Where were you last night?” I repeat my question from this morning, and Salvatore lets out a sharp breath.
“Can we enjoy this, Gia? Or do I need to account for where I am at all times with you?”
My heart thuds against my ribs. Why do I care so much? I don’t really have an answer for that, but suddenly, I want to demand that he tell me what’s going on.
“Were you with someone else? Is that why you don’t want to tell me?”
Salvatore raises an eyebrow, a small smirk on the corner of his mouth. As if he’s amused by the question. “Are you jealous?”
Now I’m getting angry. I press my lips together, glaring at him. “I’m your wife. I have the right?—”
“You don’t, actually.” Salvatore finishes his champagne, pouring another glass, this time with the focus usually reserved for actual liquor. As if he needs a drink to continue this conversation. “You’re naive, Gia, but I think you’re well aware that husbands in our world don’t usually need to be accountable to their wives for what they do when they’re not home.”
“So you weren’t home last night.”
Salvatore fixes me with one of those long-suffering stares that I’m beginning to become irritatingly accustomed to. “I was,” he says finally. “I was in my office, working. Is that enough for you?”
I swallow hard. I could have found out just by knocking on his door, as I’d suspected, but the truth is that I was avoiding him last night, too. “Okay.” I finish my champagne and pour myself another glass, too. “You could have just said that from the start.”
“And you could have not tried to start a fight.” Salvatore reaches for his tablet, raising an eyebrow. “Is there anything else you’d like to argue about, Gia, or can I get some work done until lunch?”
I frown at him, but his attention has already diverted to his tablet. I have a feeling my initial suspicions were correct. He’s mollifying me with the honeymoon, making his life easier by taking me far from the Bratva and Pyotr until the situation can be handled, and he’ll simply ignore me as much as possible for the duration of our stay wherever it is that we’re going.
After all, that’s been what he’s wanted since the wedding. To stash me somewhere and keep me out of the way so that he can keep going on with his life.
But I wanted a husband. A partner. A lover. That’s what I was promised with Pyotr—what Pyotr and I promised each other.
It only deepens my resolve to make Salvatore regret taking that away from me, especially if he has no intention of providing it instead.
That frustration is tempered by excitement, as the jet takes off. I’m on the edge of my seat as we ascend into the air, my heart hammering with nervous enjoyment. I catch Salvatore watching me with what looks like amusement from over the top of his tablet, but even that can’t dampen the fun that I’m having.
He comments on it when lunch is served—grilled chicken salads with gorgonzola and a berry vinaigrette, along with more champagne. “You’re excited for this, aren’t you? I hadn’t expected you to be so thrilled about our honeymoon. Or being alone with me for so long.”
“That’s not why I’m excited.” It comes out before I have a chance to think about it, my automatic biting reply, and I’m startled to see what looks like hurt cross his face for a split second. It’s so fast that I’m not entirely sure it’s really what I saw, but it seemed like it hurt his feelings.
My stomach unexpectedly twists, which brings me up short. I’ve enjoyed hurting Salvatore’s feelings up to this point, tormenting him, and making everything as difficult as possible for him. I had planned to continue that. But I don’t feel pleasure or gratification when I see that look on his face.
