"Right here, monsieur," Luc says, indicating the seat next to me. Well, not really next to me. It's actually across a foot-wide console area that separates the pairs of roomy seats.
"There aren't any more normal seats?" a deep, gravelly voice asks.
"Well, you could have your old seat in economy, but perhaps you...and your leg...would feel more comfortable here," Luc suggests.
The man grunts. "Thank you. You're probably right."
"Don't thank me, thank your compatriot here," Luc says, turning to smile at me. I blush. I was hoping to remain anonymous. "I can put your crutches out of the way until we land. And I'll be right back with your complimentary champagne, monsieur."
"I didn't order any—" the man begins, but Luc is already off. "Thank you," the man says to me quietly. I look up and into his unsettlingly bright green eyes for the first time as he towers over me. His thick beard crawls up to just under his cheekbones, and his gaze bores right through me. His hair is dark brown, shaggy, and seriously in need of a cut. His lips are thick and set firmly in his strongly set jaw. His face would almost be too perfect if it weren't for the jagged scar that reaches across his right temple almost to his eye, and extends under his hair in the other direction. I remind myself to breathe. "You didn't have to do that," he says, turning to sit down. He lowers himself carefully and arranges his right leg straight out in front of him. I feel gratified to see that he has enough space to stretch it out completely.
"I...it was no problem."
"I don't like charity."
"Alright, I'll send you a bill," I reply lightly, a bit surprised but understanding where he's coming from. No one likes to be seen as a charity case.
He glances at me sharply, and I think I can see the crease of a smile line by his eyes. "You order me that champagne, too?"
"No, that's complimentary. Comes with your first class ticket."
"Then how come you're not drinking it?" he asks, nodding at the orange juice in my right hand.
"How observant. I don't drink. Or I won't. From today on. Not including the wee hours of this morning, I guess. I'm counting that as last night."
"Sounds like you've really turned over a new leaf."
I cock my head at him, trying to ascertain if he's joking or not. His voice is so low, his delivery so dry, that it's tough to tell. "You'd really clean up at the poker table, you know that?"
"I've been told that, yes," he replies.
"Your champagne," Luc says, presenting him with a glass.
"I actually can't...this medication I'm on..." the stranger says quietly.
"Ah, of course. My mistake. What would the gentleman like?"
"What do you have?"
"Everything," I answer for Luc. "Trust me, you're going to like first class."
Chapter Two
I stare at him out of the corner of my eye as he pockets the Givenchy products from the toiletries bag that Air France provides. He looks up and catches me staring.
"Sorry," I say, turning to look out the window as the buildings around Paris pull away as the plane rapidly ascends.
"I thought my mom would like them," he explains over the engine. "My sister's too much of a tomboy."
"How old is she?"
"Nineteen last month."
"When was the last time you saw her?"
"Why?"
"Well, for girls, eighteen, nineteen...that's when you start to really become a woman. Sorry. I mean, I'm sure she'll always be your little sister. So?"
"Um, I saw her for a couple weeks almost a year ago. Or last month, actually. It's been about a month." I raise my eyebrows at him. "She saw me a month or so ago. That's what they told me. I wasn't awake yet."
I blush. "Sorry. That was rude of me."
"No. Most people would have asked me a lot more questions by now. Other questions. Not about my sister."
"I always wished I had a sister. Would have been nice to have another woman in the house." I pause. "That's the moment when most people start asking me questions." He just smiles like the sphinx. "My brother's two years older than me. He's great, but...you know..."
"A boy."
"Exactly." The plane levels out and the engines quiet. At the front of the cabin, Luc hands out lunch menus.
"Going home for a visit? Or for good?"
I sigh. "I don't know. 'For good' sounds so final. But I guess that's what I'm doing. Trying to make a fresh start of it, that kind of thing."
"No drinking."
"No drinking, no—" I stop. I almost revealed my no-more-men policy, but I'm giving myself until after this plane ride to enact it. Thankfully, Luc stops at our row and hands us the menus. "I'll take the steak salad, please."