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Ethan
You know you’ve arrived in life when you drivepastall the losers in the airport terminal and cruise over to a row of private hangers. I’ve been pretending all week that I’m not scared of heights and speed and tight spaces. Now that I’m staring down a plane that looks way too small to make it across the state, let alone an ocean, I’m pretty sure I’m going to die on the very first flight of my life.
I freeze in the doorway of the plane, hunting for an excuse to turn around and run. Then something hits the backs of my knees so hard I almost fall over. Victor herds me expressionlessly with the edge of his giant bag, which he got to keep even though the crew forced me to surrender mine. “It’s cold out here,” he complains through the passport clamped between his teeth, even though it’s a summer afternoon and he’s wearing a hoodie.
The interior is all chrome, wood, and beige—I guess rich people would call itchampagne. Four pairs of double-wide recliner seats take up most of the cabin. This might be a death trap, but that doesn’t mean my long legs and wide shoulders won’t appreciate the extra space.
“Good afternoon, sir.” A stewardess interrupts my gawking, handing me a glass of white wine with a vaguely impatient smile and shunting me out of the way. I turn around to see Victor put his hand on her arm and murmur something in her ear. She lets him into the galley and he comes back with a full bottle of Riesling tucked under his arm.
Throwing his suitcase in an open seat, he circles me, eyes lit with mischief. “Where do you wanna sit? Everyone says window, but I think aisle is great for spending the whole flight wondering if we’re losing altitude or if it’s just your imagination.”
“Sit down.” Gray stalks past, pushing us out of the way. “We’re on a schedule.”
As soon as Werner walks in, Victor’s attitude evaporates. He slinks to his seat and pulls on headphones, tipping his bottle of wine down his throat.
I straighten up, trying to catch the old man’s eye. I just need one word or gesture to acknowledge that he brought me here for a reason and they’re going to take care of me.
He strides down the aisle without so much as a glance at anyone, through a door at the back of the cabin. I catch a glimpse of a table and some more seats before one of his staff members slams it shut.Great.
I take a window seat as far from Victor as I can get, and fumble my seatbelt with sweaty hands. Gray gives me a slightly sympathetic look before turning to a folder of paperwork in his lap.
I stiffen when the plane starts rolling along like a giant car, engines revving. The wine dries out my throat and makes me dizzy as my heart starts pounding against my ribs. I don’t know how this thing gets into the air, and I don’t want to find out.
The stewardess comes through the cabin, nodding at my seatbelt. Victor’s eyes are closed, so she gingerly steps over his legs and straps in his bag. “Please stay in your seats until we reach altitude,” she announces, though I’m the only one paying attention. “This plane has all the standard safety features; please let me know if you have any questions.” Before I can open my mouth, she walks behind the bulkhead and sits down.
Idohave motherfucking questions. What’s a standard safety feature? How hard would it be for another passenger to throw me out of the plane mid-flight? The pit in my stomach turns into a yawning chasm.
The engines pitch up into a roar that sounds like they’re about to rip themselves off the wings, and I feel myself tip backwards, pressed into my seat. One glimpse out the window, a terrible mistake, shows the world dropping away at a disturbing angle. I pry one hand off the arm rest to slam down the shutter.
The whole plane bucks, tearing a whimper from my throat. The stewardess doesn’t even look up from her phone. Just as I’m telling myself to get it together, it happens again, worse this time, like we just dropped hundreds of feet. I grab my arm rest hard enough to risk cracking the plastic.
When I open my eyes, Victor’s sprawled sideways in his chair, headphones pushed off one ear, watching me with a huge, shit-eating grin on his face. It just gets bigger when I point a middle finger in his direction. “Did you know sometimes they find wrenches and missing screws flying around the engine compartment?” he offers helpfully.
Shutting him out, I grab my phone and open the e-book Peyton loaded up for me, one of her favorites. It’s a thriller calledThe Wives Across the Streetor some shit, and it’s not nearly interesting enough to overwrite my noisy thoughts.
What the fuck have you just done? She’s going to need you, and you won’t be there. You should have just worked harder, instead of trying to take the easy way by doing a deal with the devil.
When I look up thirty minutes later, after the new woman in town who is probably a ghost seduced the main character’s husband, Victor’s asleep. He slid onto the floor and wedged his back into a corner. All his limbs are wrapped around a pillow, his head tipped back, neck open, lips parted as he snores lightly. He took the athletic band out of his hair and pulled up his hood, loose curls hanging over his forehead.
Like this, he looks almost innocent. I have a weird urge to make sure no one disturbs him.
Something rustles, and I look up to see Gray sitting down next to me. He follows my gaze to Victor, and studies him for a moment. I think I hear him sigh. “I want to get started briefing you.”
“What about him?”
He makes a gesture like something’s flying into his ear, then out the other side. “You can pass it on later.”
“That doesn’t seem ideal.” A shift in his eyebrows shuts me up.
“You signed up for this. You’re not going to earn your pay sitting around posing for pictures.” His voice drops. “Believe it or not, it’s going well so far. He’s asleep.”
“He’s not sleeping because of me.”
Gray doesn’t answer. He slaps a notebook in front of me. “Take notes. When we reach the Regale Naples hotel—remember that name if you get lost—tomorrow morning, you’ll be meeting the director and going to a private room for some screen tests. Then we’ll attend a formal luncheon.”
I scrawl as fast as I can in my bad handwriting.
“You two have one job: keep your mouths shut and look like you’re in love. The faster we finish, the sooner we can go home.”
