“You’ve never seen a royal schedule around one of these functions, have you?” Griffin asked drily.
“God no.”
“I’ll be lucky if I have an hour to myself.”
“Fuck, that sounds miserable.”
It did. That was why Griffin preferred minimal fuss when he was on his own, and why he preferred being on his own as much as possible. It was why he ‘made do’ with one assistant versus his mother’s forty-six staff.
There was a soft knock at the door. “Ready to leave whenever you are, Mr. Verdi,” the attendant said.
Griffin ignored it and continued talking to Jonathan for a few minutes more. He was jealous as hell that his friend got to poke around in the marshes of Spain for the next few weeks while Griffin had to dress up in starchy suits, kiss babies, and have his blasted photo taken eight hundred times a day.
Reese should have been Viscount Montagne Verdi, not Griffin. Reese loved people. Griffin could barely tolerate them.
When he could put off the inevitable no longer, Griffin ended the call with Jonathan, put away his laptop, and left his private room. He nodded at the attendant at the far end of the plane and sat in his seat, rubbing his face. He was looking forward to this about as much as one would look forward to a tooth extraction, or perhaps a vasectomy. A colonoscopy? He pondered a list of horrific things that could possibly be less painful than a week-long royal wedding.
He buckled his seat belt, closed his eyes and leaned back, and the plane began to taxi forward. Griffin kept his eyes closed, relaxing, as the plane ascended into the air, the roar of the engines drowning out everything but his own thoughts. Eventually the sound of the engines leveled out, and Griffin became aware of a new noise.
Clicking.
He frowned, opening his eyes just in time to see the flight attendant lean over his chair. “Can I get you anything, Mr. Verdi?”
He shook his head. “I’m fine.”
She nodded and disappeared, and the clicking began again. He looked to his left. Nothing. Looked behind him.#p#分页标题#e#
And paused.
What on earth . . .
There was a woman behind him. A blonde. And she was knitting.
That was . . . odd.
This had to be Hunter’s assistant. Gretchen had texted him last night and told him that she’d send her over to meet him at his plane. To be perfectly honest, he’d been so wrapped up in his own misery that he hadn’t even given it much thought. It was just taken care of.
But this? This made him pause.
This woman was a mess. Her hair was a messy pile of white-blonde corkscrew curls that haloed her head in a frizzy nimbus, barely brushing her slim shoulders. She was lightly tanned, a sprinkle of freckles on her nose and cheeks. Her face was round and looked impossibly young . . . except for the knitting. And she had on what had to be the most sincerely godawful ugly suit he’d ever seen. It hung off her small frame like a shapeless sack, and he was pretty sure that shiny fabric was polyester. Dear Lord.
He’d asked for competent. Experienced. Gretchen had assured him that Hunter’s assistant was all these things.
Gretchen.
He’d bloody kill her when he got back.
“Just who are you?” Griffin barked out at the strange woman, furious. He was too polite to add the bloody hell that he wanted to that statement. This had to be a mistake.
She blinked slowly. Twice. As if it were difficult to do so. Long, white-blonde lashes skimmed her eyes and there was something peculiar about her gaze. Her eyes were extremely dark.
“Howdy,” she said in a husky Southern drawl that was so thick that it made him inwardly cringe. Small hands dropped the knitting into her lap and she stuck one out at him. “I’m Maylee Meriweather. That’s Maylee after both my Nana May and Pepaw Lee.”
He just stared. “Please tell me the words ‘Nana’ and ‘Pepaw’ did not just come out of your mouth.”
She tilted her head and blinked slowly again. Then she giggled, the sound musical and sweet and young. “You must be Mr. Gryffindor.”
“Griffin,” he gritted. Up in the front of the cabin, he heard the flight attendant smother a laugh, and he shot her an irritated look.
“I think I would be a Hufflepuff,” she said, her voice quite serious. “They seem to be the happiest ones. Quite homey, Hufflepuff.”
He stared at her a moment longer, and then looked over at the flight attendant. “Is she drunk?”
The attendant’s eyes widened. “I only gave her two drinks, sir.”
“Sounds like two too many,” he muttered. He turned back to the wild-haired blonde, who was blinking those owl-like eyes at him. “Are you drunk?”