What Her Dad Doesn't Know(19)

Soon we are driving into the airport. But instead of heading towards the parking garage, Andrew veers off to a separate hanger.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“We’re going to our ride,” he says. “I’ve got a private jet for us.”

“Seriously?”

“Well it’s the company’s actually, but I’ve requested it for the weekend. The flight times just weren’t going to work out otherwise.”

I can’t believe it until I see it. The jet is small, but it’s definitely way more luxurious than anything I’d ever been in. I sort of hoped we’d be in first class, or even business, but to not have to have screaming babies or sick people coughing the whole flight? What a luxury! I get out of the car, and a flight attendant helps stow our luggage. Andrew leads the way onto the jet.

It’s beautiful inside, and way more spacious than I expected. The fawn colored seats are wide and plushy, and they’ve even set out a table for our breakfast. There’s a flat screen television too, and in the back, a cozy couch in case we want to take a nap. Andrew thanks the flight attendant and dismisses her. I’m glad because it would have been so awkward to have a stranger riding with us the whole time. The pilot is somewhere in the front, but the door is closed.

“This. Is. Amazing!” I say running my hand along the table. I fall into one of the chairs. “Thank you Andrew.”

“You’re welcome. Now we have to sit back, because we’re going to take off pretty soon.”

The flight is two hours long, and I spend the first half just exploring the jet. I’m not used to any of this. I almost feel like Cinderella. How did I get so lucky? Andrew has work to finish since he’s gone this weekend so I try to get some studying done. In reality though, I’m busy sneaking looks at him beneath my lashes. I don’t think I could ever get bored of it.

A limo is waiting for us when we land. I turn to Andrew quizzically, but all he says is that he wants this weekend to be over the top perfect since it’s our first one away. I tell him that he’s setting the bar pretty high, but he just laughs. I’m just so excited to see everything. The drive isn’t too long, and soon I can see the colorful walls and iron lace balconies that are so iconic to the area’s architecture. It’s amazing, and everywhere I look, there is more to see. I can already feel my fingers itching to sketch and record what I see.

It must be so wonderful to live among all this history and romance. Maybe one day we could buy a little apartment here, and I could get cafe au lait every morning and stroll the streets for inspiration every day. I glance over at Andrew. He’s pleased that I’m so happy. I squeeze his hand appreciatively. Already I know this weekend will be perfect.

Then I see the hotel we’re stopped in front of. The word Monteleone is printed in black on it’s regal white awning. The whole building is gorgeous, with beautifully carved windows and a stately stone facade. A doorman comes to open the door for us.

“Welcome to the Hotel Monteleone,” he says. A bellhop rushes forward to take our two bags.

“You know they say this place is haunted,” Andrew whispers to me as we enter the timelessly elegant lobby.

“Really?” I ask, intrigued. It certainly looked old enough to have a ghost or two wandering about.

“Yes. There’s many ghosts, but I think the 14th floor is most famous for a mischievous little boy-ghost who wants to find someone to play with him.”

Andrew says this so solemnly that I can’t help but laugh. A friendly little ghost? That’s not so bad at all.

“You’re not scared?” he asks, surprised. I notice that he’s got a little frown.

“Wait. Are you?” I ask.

He shakes his head a bit too quickly, and I have to hold back a smile. Well, well. Who would have thought that a big, strong man like Andrew would be scared of ghosts? When he assures me that we won’t be on the 14th floor, I let him. He might be the scared one, but I’m willing to let him think he needs to comfort me.

Once he’s arranged for our things to be brought up to our room, we’re free to explore the French Quarter at last. The first thing I do when we exit the hotel is grab onto Andrew’s hand. It seems like such a small gesture, but until now we’ve had to keep everything so under wraps that we don’t grocery shop together. To hold his hand outside feels like I’m shouting about our relationship to the world. And then he one-ups me by tilting my chin up and planting a kiss on my lips. For a second I freeze, still afraid of being seen, but then I relax. It feels good to be open about it!

We head down the street for some delicious gumbo and po-boys, and then spend the rest of the afternoon strolling down Royal Street. It’s considered one of the most picturesque streets in New Orleans, and I can see why. Musicians serenade the pedestrians that stroll by. Everywhere I look are beautiful old buildings with gorgeous flowers hanging from black iron balconies. There are a mix of shops, galleries, and antique stores, and we spend some time browsing through them. I have a few pieces I really like, but it isn’t like I can afford them, nor do I have a place to put them even. Andrew sees me eyeing an intricately carved coffee table and waves over one of the sales people to ask if they are willing to ship it back home.