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PROLOGUE
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“Good morning, Sir. It’s so good to have you on board today.” The busty, blonde air hostess dips her chin, backing away from the door as Minka and I move up the dozen steps of a Skystream 950 private jet and wind whips around the tarmac. I hold my wife’s arm, my palm wrapped around her bicep to keep her from stumbling, but when she gets an eye-full of the hostess’ double-D’s, and the interior of the jet, she brings deep-brown eyes to me and stops, her brows sitting high on her forehead.
“Sir?”
Ignore. Ignore. Ignore.
“Would you like a drink, Mr. Malone?” The hostess’ name is Jacinta. But I want it on record I do not know her. I’ve neverknownher. And I have no intention of getting toknowher.
Despite my wife’s beady stare.
“Mr. Malone?” Minka, sweet as pie, allows a slow, seductive grin to slide across her lips. Which, to most normal people, might imply friendliness. Kindness. But as her husband, I’m brutally aware it means her mind is sprinting a million milesa second and I’m about to get into trouble. “You seem… acquainted.”
“You seem insane.” I bring my focus back to Jacinta and give her a small smile. “We’d both like a glass of champagne, please. And water.”
“Of course.” She performs a small curtsy and spins away, professional in the way she conducts herself, though chances are, she’s flown with Felix in the past. She’sknownhim, and she’s made sure his flights were always comfortable.
But that’s my brother. The world’s biggest slut. Or well, one of them.
That’s not me… anymore.
“This is, uh…” Minka stretches her neck to study the interior of the Skystream. The rounded windows and the rows of chairs, empty but for the luxurious cushions left for us to use. The plane has a galley kitchen to the left of the doorway, seating areas to the right—with individual chairs to conduct business from, and a three-seater lounge to recline in. Toward the rear of the jet is a private suite with a king-size bed, shower, toilet, flat-screen television, and all the amenities someone who has seventy-million dollars to spend might want.
The bed is entirely too enticing. A place to take my bride for a few hours as we set off from Copeland City and head across the country toward our honeymoon destination. But that feeling of desire quickly dissipates when I think of Felix fucking every hostess he’s ever met, and the body fluids one might find under a black light back there.
“Expensive.” Finally, Minka glances back my way, her chocolate eyes, always so confident, are now doe-like. She’s in unfamiliar territory. So she looks to me for comfort. For assurance. “This is not like that other plane we used.”
She’s right.
Theotherplane cost one-thirtieth of what this one did. But I’m not a man to discuss finances unless I absolutely have to. And my brother’s expenditures are not for me to explore even in the best of times.
“This one is newer, I guess.” I slide my hand down her arm and twine our fingers together. “Let’s just enjoy it.”
“Is this Cordoza’s jet?” She follows me, her steps hesitant, as I bring us through to the seating area and away from the galley. Jacinta pops a bottle of champagne, but I ignore her and work hard to keep Minka calm.
To keep her mind focused where I want it and not on other, undesirable discussions.
“Archer?”
“Hmm?” I set a small bag filled with Minka’s medication on an empty chair as we pass and lead her sometimes too-thin frame through the too-expensive jet until we reach the set of chairs nearest the back. Two individual recliners on each side of a table separating them in the middle. A large window sits between it all, and in front of that, a minibar built into the wall of the plane.
With a push of a button, panels would move to the side, glasses rise from the nether with alcohol right beside that, and ice cubes the size of baby’s fists to keep it all cold.
Though of course, I don’t touch any buttons. Instead, I draw my wife closer and press a kiss to the side of her neck. “Sit down, Mayet. Get comfortable. Our flight will take about five hours.”
“Five?” Successfully distracted, she searches my eyes. “East Coast?”
“A quick stop in Biscayne Bay,” I clarify. “We’ll be there for less than an hour. Then we’re moving on.”
“Oh?” Her long brown hair sits just below her shoulders, the ends tickling her skin since she wears only a spaghetti-strap topto combat the oppressive summer we’re currently in the throes of.
I’d like to say we’re flying deep south—deep, as in, winter in Australia—to escape the heat. But the fact is, we’ll be heading further into the humidity on purpose. We’ll be sweating our asses off by dinnertime tonight.
But it’ll be worth it. I swear, I’ll make it worth it.
Because this is our one and only chance to go on a honeymoon. A trip I had to negotiate after nearly half a year of marriage and a bet gone wrong, purely to force the workaholic Minka Mayet to take a breath and walk away from the office for seven consecutive days.
