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CHAPTER ONE
Chloe
“Mom, I gotta go. They’re boarding –.”
“Just make sure you call me the second you land. I’ll make sure I’m at the gate to pick you up,” she gushes, talking over me with the same excitement I know she’ll have once I’m finally home again.
Two years away is a long time, but she’s cool about everything, even the “Sorry, Mom, I just dropped out of college” part from a few weeks ago.
Right now, both my mom and dad just want me home again. And soon.
No more leaving the house for anything, I’m guessing. At least not for a while. And that suits me just fine.
The world’s getting crazier by the minute, and I just want some peace and quiet for a change. Some security, even if it is with my slightly backward and overly protective parents.
Huffing after what feels like a marathon effort, I get to the boarding gate just as a stewardess is pulling the red rope across, signaling the boarding window is closed.
“Wait!” I squeak, feeling flushed from breathlessness as well as anxiety.
“I’m here. I’ve got my –,” I try to gasp, but my voice snaps with a dry croak.
Running and shouting aren’t my greatest skills, I discover.
The perpetual smile from the stewardess threatens to crack too, crimping her mouth. She checks her watch before looking around.
“Well, alright. But you really need to be at the gate before boarding, miss,” she chirps, smiling again with that level of passive-aggressive only people in her job can pull off.
“Thank you… Thank you,” I gasp, flashing my boarding pass and feeling the burn of a stitch that outdoes the burning in my short legs.
My thighs are hot from friction, and I’m ready to collapse by the time I meet the next stewardess.
But it’s alright.
Planes never take off when they say they will, and it’s a cabin full of passengers still finding seats and stowing overhead luggage that I walk into as my pass is checked for the second time.
“I dunno where I left them,” the stewardess murmurs to her male co-worker after directing me aimlessly toward the throng of bodies clamoring for their seat.
“Well, a sixteen-hour shift without your glasses isn’t gonna help me any, is it?” her co-worker snaps, clicking his tongue and mincing stiffly toward another part of the plane.
I make my way to what I know should be my seat but feel relief turn to pressure in my gut when I see someone already sitting in it.
“Umm… I think this is my seat,” I murmur, still trying to catch my breath, even showing the guy my ticket, which he ignores gruffly.
“I was here first. You find someplace else,” he barks, folding his arms and staring straight ahead like a spoiled child.
There’s an announcement for all of us to take our seats, buckle up…the usual airplane spiel.
“Excuse me?” I say, waving a hand as close as I dare in front of this guy’s face. “I said I believe you’re in my seat,” I add, summoning as much attitude as I can before he turns on me.
He proves to be the reason why we shouldn’t put our hands near wild animals, let alone upset them if they’re cross. He’s a big guy, and once he raises his voice, everyone on the entire plane turns to look at us.
To look at me!
My sightless stewardess is quick to appear, offering to solve any problem the gentleman might have with me.
I explain the situation as best I can, and after showing her my boarding pass again, she smiles knowingly.
“I’m sorry, Ms. De Laurent. We have you booked on first-class, row three, seat A,” she announces, drawing a humph of ridicule from my seat thief as the entire cattle class gives me the stink eye.
I’m not De Laurent… I’m Faulkner. Chloe Faulkner.
Nobody in the economy section wants to hear about someone else’s first-class seat.
“But I– I’m not–,” I try to explain, realizing the stewardess wouldn’t know which end of the plane was which right now, let alone which seat I’m supposed to be in or who I really am.
“Right this way, Ms. De Laurent,” she chirps again, gently placing her hand on my arm and smiling. She nods to any eyes still on us until I step through what feels like a portal into another dimension.
That mysterious, fabled gateway between worlds – First. Freaking. Class.
Sweet.
In moments my carry-on luggage is whisked away, stowed in my own private compartment while I’m given a detailed tour of my miniature suite.
It looks like a hotel room that’s been shrunk down to the size of three or four airline seats, with more room than I thought anyone could or even should have at thirty thousand feet.
The actual ‘seat’ is a massive leather recliner, and there’s fold-out, slide-in, pop-up, everything.
Plugs and ports, TV and music. Even my own little fridge filled with drinks and high-end snacks.
