Starfire(47)

“Move in…?”

Vern winked at me. “One step at a time, Miss Monroe.”

He moved back toward the cockpit again, asking if I was ready to fly. I gave him two thumbs up and a big grin.

Off we went.

Taking off from a lake was certainly interesting. The acceleration feels not unlike being on a regular runway, once you get going. Soaring up over lush trees was terrifying yet magical, over the roar of the engine. I was so struck by the beauty of the surrounding countryside, plus the miracle of flight, that a pair of fat, wet tears ran down my cheeks.

The plane had six passenger seats, and I’d picked the middle one on the right-hand side without any deliberation. Now that we were soaring, I realized it was my usual position when going on outings with my family. For a moment, I imagined my parents in the front row and Kyle beside me. They would love this. What was I thinking? I should have invited them along… except it would have meant explaining everything to them.

My father would make that judgmental face and say that a fake wedding was so like me, because I was “prone to whimsy.” My mother would probably ask a million intrusive questions and try to pimp me to Dalton for more money and jewelry. Kyle would run around and try to press buttons in the cockpit.

I shuddered at the thought. Maybe it was for the best I made this first trip without them.

~

The flight was just under three hours, and we landed at a private air strip outside San Francisco. I’d snoozed for most of the trip and kicked myself for missing all the scenery.

Vern had spoken to me over the intercom to assure me that the plane had wheels that popped out of the floats, so we were safe to land on a regular runway.

“I knew that,” I said. (I hadn’t known that.)

The engine roared as we descended.

Vern set the plane down like a sleeping baby in a cradle. I shit you not, the man knew how to land a plane. Whatever Dalton was paying him, it wasn’t enough.

We stepped out of the plane and our feet clanged on the way down the metal steps. As soon as we touched solid ground, I turned and hugged Vern, hard.

“You’ll get used to the jet-setting lifestyle,” he said, patting my back. “You’re doing great. Sometimes I forget you’re only twenty-two, because you seem so capable. It’s perfectly acceptable to be scared sometimes.”

We were standing at the edge of the airstrip, and the California sun wasn’t nearly as warm as I’d expected. In fact, the weather outside San Francisco seemed cooler than when we’d left, which had been early in the morning and lakeside in Washington.

I reached down and unzipped my bag to retrieve a fleece hoodie. I didn’t like the idea of covering up my best assets before seeing Dalton, but I didn’t like freezing my nips off, either.

“Sorry I didn’t prepare you for the weather,” Vern said. “California is a big state, and San Francisco is much cooler than LA. I understand sweaters are the most popular items at the souvenir shops.”

“This Washington girl knows how to layer, so don’t you worry.”

“You do seem very capable, but don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything. Anything at all.”

I stared up at Vern’s kind face.

“I feel like a bull in a china shop,” I confessed. “The china shop is my life in this metaphor.”

“Everyone gets emotional after a flight. We’ll get some nice lunch in you and everything will be fine.” He looked over my shoulder at an approaching vehicle—a boxy, black Range Rover. “Here comes Mr. Deangelo. He seems late, but he isn’t. If you must know, I wore my lucky socks today, so we arrived ten minutes early.”

“Your socks make you fly faster?”

“More pilot humor.”

The vehicle pulled to a stop and the engine turned off. I didn’t have much time before Dalton was with us.

I grabbed Vern’s arm and stared up into his eyes. “Vern, level with me. Does Mr. Deangelo love me?”

“Yes,” he said, without hesitation.

“Why doesn’t he say it to me?”

“Why don’t you say it to him?”

I grabbed a handful of my hair and twirled it with one hand. “Did he really tell you that he loves me?”

“Not in so many words.”

“He needs to hire a screenwriter for his life.”

“Miss Monroe, there’s a reason greeting cards have words written inside them.” He raised his eyebrows to stress the importance of what he was saying. “Actions are certainly more important than words.”

Dalton approached, cutting our private conversation short.





CHAPTER 16


“How was the flight?” Dalton asked as he approached. “Did Vern do any fancy loop-de-loops?”