AllFreeNovel
Share Us
But now I’m angry at myself for missing my chance.
‘You know not to leave the apartment, right?’ I force enthusiasm into my voice as I hustle around a man with five suitcases stacked on a luggage cart. ‘Be a good girl while you wait for Mommy to wake up.’
‘I know.’ Her exasperation makes me smile. ‘I’m watching Cinderella.’
I bite back a laugh. Even when trying to act older than her six years, her all-time favorite movie is still Disney’s Cinderella. She’s stayed loyal to the classic though it lacks the vibrancy of the current animation styles or the abundance of catchy tunes new releases have.
‘Good.’ I look wistfully at the shorter pre-check line as I pass it on the way to general security. ‘When I get back, I’ll come straight over and you can show me your new buildings.’ And then I’ll figure out what’s going on with Kayla.
Mary cheers. She and I both love Lego. They’re expensive, but Mary doesn’t mind building then rebuilding the same set over and over again.
I double down on my promise for a building play date and hang up before showing my ticket to security.
‘Wrong line, ma’am.’ The woman in navy with the TSA badge points to the entrance of a line further down. ‘You go there.’
I frown at my ticket and then where she’d pointed to. ‘I can?’ It’s a much shorter snake to the metal detectors.
‘Yes, that’s the first-class line.’
‘Oh.’ I hadn’t really looked at my ticket except to make sure my name was correct and check the gate number. But I should’ve known that Chase and Bell would’ve upgraded their wedding party. A thrill shoots through me.
I’ve been so worried about Mary and Kayla and all the bridesmaid’s tasks that I haven’t allowed myself to get too excited. But knowing that my first ever plane ride is going to be in first class sets me over the edge.
‘Alice!’ George, his loafers slapping fast over the polished floor, waves at me with one hand while rolling a monogrammed designer bag behind him in the other. ‘Thank God I’m not late.’ He throws the security guard a smile and waves me forward toward the first-class line.
I guess he already knew we’d been upgraded. Actually, knowing George, he was probably the one who suggested/demanded/booked it.
‘I had trouble deciding what encapsulated wardrobe to bring.’ He glances at my duffle bag slung around my chest. ‘Did you check luggage?’ His expression making it clear that if I hadn’t, I am woefully under-packed.
‘Um, no.’ A second ago I was quite pleased with my strategic weekend packing. This being my first vacation I’d googled biggest vacation pitfalls, and nearly every article said packing too much or too little.
I packed my toiletries, a swimsuit and a nicer than T-shirt top as well as an old, oversized Moore holiday shirt that PR handed out a few years ago for the plane ride back. I’m wearing a comfortable pair of sneakers along with a T-shirt and sweatshirt as I heard airplanes can be cold. The jeans I have on are my nice jeans that I plan on wearing to the bachelorette party tonight.
But now, under George’s judgmental scrutiny, I feel like the carefully selected clothes, all wrapped around my flip-flops and flats, are woefully inadequate.
George distracts me from worrying with his ideas for entertainment while in Vegas until we reach the conveyor belt.
‘Give me a hand, will you?’ He tugs his trousers up at the knee before squatting down by his carry-on.
‘Sure.’ I reach for the handle to lift while he embraces the bag around the middle. ‘Ooof.’
Though the proper size for a carry-on, I nearly collapse under its weight, even with George deadlifting it onto the conveyor belt.
I can lift my duffle with one hand.
We pass a group of TSA agents on our way to the gate, one gesturing wildly, the others nearly collapsing with laughter.
‘I’ve never seen TSA agents so lively.’ George slows his roll to give the laughing officers one last look before regaining our speed-walking pace toward our gate. ‘I bet something good happened. Like those funny stories I read online about people smuggling stuff on the plane by stuffing it in their—’
I stop so abruptly at the sight of Thomas Moore standing stoically in front of the gangway that George’s suitcase runs into the back of my heels.
‘Oh, sorry!’ George pulls his luggage back. ‘But why did you—’
I don’t even register the sting. ‘What is he doing here?’
George, brow glistening from the effort of pulling his luggage, follows my outstretched arm to where I’m pointing. ‘Huh. I have no idea why the bossmen are here.’ Ignorant of my apprehension, he wields his way to the brothers through the crowd to the first-class pre-boarding lane. ‘I thought you were both taking the early morning flight.’
‘We were,’ Thomas answers, not bothering to look behind him at George.
