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“I take it that’s a yes?”
Iris watched as Trystan and Chance conferred several feet from where she was seated. Chance had approached them a few moments ago, with an apologetic glance at Iris, before muttering a curt, We have a problem, at Trystan. They’d just finished breakfast and were estimated to land in about half an hour.
Whatever Chance was telling him had left a thunderous expression on Trystan’s face, and he raked his hand through his hair, before settling his palm in the nape of his neck as he glowered at the floor while Chance continued to speak in urgent undertones. Trystan was nodding curtly in response to the man’s words, and his shoulders heaved as he lifted his eyes to meet hers across the cabin. Alarmed, Iris went from a relaxed slouch to upright. He looked furious. She hadn’t seen him this pissed off since the early days of their acquaintance.
He shook his head and his lips formed a terse fuck, before he nodded once again, turning to say something to Chance, before making his way back to her. He sat down and refastened his seatbelt in grim silence, leaving her in suspense as he focused on that task.
“What’s wrong?” she finally asked, unable to stand the tension any longer, sharply aware of the fury coming off him in hot waves.
“Who did you tell that we were flying back today?”
“What? Nobody.” She was taken aback by his frigid voice. He hadn’t spoken to her in that tone in weeks, and the return of that iciness sent a shudder of dread down her spine.
“Nobody? Not even your parents?”
“Well, of course, my p-parents,” she spluttered, her nerves causing her to trip over her words. “But nobody else. W-what’s happening, Trystan? You’re frightening me.”
“The press somehow got wind of our arrival. They’re lying in wait at the airport.”
“Oh no,” she gasped, lifting a hand to her mouth. “How?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” he said. The snideness lurking beneath those words gave her pause and her hand dropped to her lap as she stared at him in hurt confusion.
“Wait, do you think I had something to do with this?”
He lifted his shoulders. “My people know better.”
“And my people are what? Greedy bastards who would sell me out for a story?”
He didn’t so much as flinch at her frigid question, meeting her eyes with his steady gaze.
“You’re not in touch with any of your dad’s pap cronies?”
“My dad is a caterer.”
“You know what I meant.”
“Go to hell, Trystan.” She fumbled with her seatbelt and, after managing to get it unbuckled, she pushed to her feet.
“Where are you going?” he asked, something close to panic in his voice.
“To sit with Luna and Chance. They’re better company.”
“Iris—” She held her palm up and halted whatever he’d been about to say.
“No. I’d rather not hear whatever insult you have lined up next and I have nothing else to say to you right now.”
Chapter Eighteen
Trystan sighed explosively, muttered a few choice expletives beneath his breath and grabbed Iris’s hand as she attempted to walk away.
“Let me go,” she commanded, her voice rigid with the pain she was ineptly trying to hide from him.
“Iris, I’m not used to trusting?—”
“Strangers?” She completed for him, tugging her hand out of his. “That’s what I am to you, right?”
He found himself at a loss as to how to respond to that and his brow furrowed as he stared at the angry woman standing in front of him, her arms folded defensively over her pert chest.
