The Sicilian's Unexpected Duty(29)

                As she looked at him now, relaxed but alert, clearly in his element...it was as if he’d been born to fly.

                She wanted to bombard him with questions but, despite the unexpected smoothness of the flight—a smoothness she knew without having to be told came from the skill of his piloting—the nausea in her stomach was spreading, reaching the stage where all her concentration had to be devoted purely to breathing and swallowing the saliva that had filled her mouth.

                ‘Everything okay in the back?’ he called out to her.

                ‘All dandy. Thank you.’ She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes.

                ‘There are sick bags in the side pocket of your chair,’ he said after a few moments of silence had passed.

                All she could manage was a grunt.

                * * *

                It was Cara’s thank you that alerted Pepe to something being wrong. He’d guessed on the jet to Paris from Sicily that she was suffering from motion sickness, had kept a close eye on her sleeping form in case she awoke and needed attention, but nothing had come of it.

                He’d piloted enough people in the past decade to know when someone was suffering from it. Right then, he could hear in the deepness of her breathing that she was one of the unfortunate ones. He didn’t imagine she would extend politeness towards him under any other circumstance.

                ‘There’s a neck pillow in the side pocket too,’ he called out over his shoulder, pressing the button to turn the air conditioning on. ‘If you put it on it’ll help keep your head stable. Find a fixed point in the horizon to focus on. I promise I will make the ride as smooth as I can. The conditions out there are good.’

                He received another grunt in return.

                If there was one thing he had learned it was that those afflicted by motion sickness were never in the mood for idle chit-chat. All he could do to help on any practical level was concentrate on the job in hand and do his best to keep the craft in as straight a motion as he could. He regretted not taking the ‘doors off’ approach, but at the time had thought it would probably terrify her if she was alone in the back.

                Every now and then he would ask if she was okay and get a grunt in return. He didn’t hear any sound of retching or vomiting, so that was a plus.

                By the time he landed on the field a few miles from the vineyard he was thinking of purchasing, all was silent.

                When he climbed over the partition to help her out, he almost did a double take. He had never seen anyone turn that particular shade of green before. Except, maybe, the Incredible Hulk.

                She’d taken his advice with the neck rest, but apart from that she’d clearly dealt with her malady in her own way, reclining her seat as far back as it would go and keeping her eyes scrunched closed. Her hands gripped an empty sick bag, her knuckles white.

                He slid the door open to let the air in then went back to her. He crouched down and placed a hand lightly on her shoulder. ‘We’re here.’

                Cara opened one eye and peered at him. Or was it a glare? He couldn’t quite tell. ‘I know. We’ve stopped moving.’

                ‘Can you stand?’

                ‘I’ll try in a minute.’ She snapped her eye shut again then sucked in a breath and swallowed loudly. ‘By the way, if you try and carry me out of here, I will sock you one.’