Page 8 of Jealous Vows

The last time I took a plane, I was on my way home from summer camp and still blissfully unaware of my father’s deception.I didn’t know he had used my naivety and innocence to frame my uncle and ruin my friendship with Valentina.My dread had grown with every passing second.Looking back, my instincts knew something catastrophic had happened.

The captain comes on the intercom, warns of several rough patches later in the flight, and instructs the attendants to begin serving food early.I breathe a silent prayer of thanks and will my body to wait just a little longer.

Dismay steals my strength as I realize the attendants are passing out uncovered trays of food.The thought of ingesting anything prepared outside my sight sends my body into panic mode.Sweat trickles down my sides, and an itching begins under my skin.Nausea grips me as remembered pain flows through me.

I gnaw on my bottom lip to keep myself calm until our designated attendant—a gorgeous redheaded woman—leans over the mystery mafia man to my left and asks me which entrée I’d prefer.

To his credit, he doesn’t stare into her cleavage despite there being quite an eye full.

“Do you have any meals that are still in the packaging?”I ask.

My cigarette savior quirks a brow as he stares at me.I keep my attention on the woman.

“The menu says restaurant-style.We take the lids off before warming them,” she answers.

“Oh, well… do you have any still sealed, even if they’re cold?Or maybe an extra Kosher meal?Those are usually double sealed, aren’t they?”

I wipe my sweaty palms on my thighs.

The woman pauses.

“I’m sorry, but we prepared all we had since it’s a full flight and all the Kosher meals were handed out first to those who selected them before boarding.”

If there was even an ounce of frustration or snobbery in her delivery, I would be able to conjure up a healthy heaping of sarcasm, but her regret seems genuine.

Tears scratch the back of my eyes.I thank her and slump in my seat.

Taking pity on me, she offers, “Would you like some extra snacks?Those are still in their original packaging.”

I swallow and nod.

The mafia man doesn’t even have the decency to feign indifference.He watches me with cold eyes as I accept the pretzels, cookies, and even pita chips and hummus—which the woman promises not to charge me for since I didn’t take a meal—with shaking hands.

I also take a full, unopened can of soda when she offers.

Despite my hunger, I stuff the pretzels in the seat back for later before putting down my tray and slowly picking through my makeshift meal.

It’s the longest I’ve sat still and the most I’ve eaten in one sitting in months.When the soda goes right through me, I pack up my garbage, stow my tray, and lean forward to rise, but pause as indecision plagues me.

I don’t want to ask either of the men around me for a favor.Their male egos might mistake it for flirting or even that I’ll owe them.

My bladder complains.I clamp my knees together and grit my teeth.

The mystery mafia man sighs, peels himself out of his seat, and shuffles up the aisle before gesturing to the nearest lavatory.

I thank him as I dart past him, ignoring his outstretched hand as he offers to help, and lock myself in the restroom.

After relieving myself and washing my hands, I grit my teeth and wash the scrapes on my arms before splashing cold water on my face and drying with a few paper towels.I pull a hard candy from my pocket and pop it into my mouth.The cinnamon punches me into full alertness.

I open the door and step into the aisle.

My mystery mafia man doesn’t belong here.He may not be the bulkiest person onboard, but his broad shoulders and tall frame give him the most domineering aura.I roll the candy over my tongue and admonish my wayward body as heat fizzles between my legs.

He turns and locks eyes with me before I reach him.My stomach bottoms out at the intensity in his gaze.He rises and shuffles out of the way like a gentleman.

After how easily he shoved me to the ground earlier, I don’t buy into his chivalrous act, but I thank him as he stands.

I shuffle past him and drop into my seat.The other man, who looks like a washed-up high school quarterback, sends me an annoyed glance.When his eyes travel down my body, my soul shrivels in disgust, and I sneer at him as I cross my arms over my chest and close my eyes.