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Chapter 18
Carla
Flying first class has its perks, and I feel like I am a princess on her way to her kingdom. I mean, I still don’t officially have that ring on my finger, but between the fact that the wedding date is quickly approaching and that things between Philippe and I have been much smoother than when we first gave this a go, I am assuming the ring is coming.
It’s only a formality, anyway.
I sip at my champagne as I relax into a movie I have never seen. The flight is a long one, and I intend to take full advantage of all the perks available to me.
I sigh as my head relaxes into a small pillow I am given and smile at the idea of seeing Philippe. If nothing else, I get to jump his bones again like I did in our dining room.
Though, there was a sour note to my visit. I was choosing to ignore it until I had to face it, but I had been dealing a lot with his assistant, Luna, over Skype and the phone since he went back to Munich. Apparently, she was helping a lot with the wedding plans, and she infuriated me to no end. She was one of those really annoying motherfuckers that just got under your skin by seeming to be so genuine, but you know better. Like maybe they are plotting your demise behind that big fake smile of theirs. But I am going to put my foot down about her once we are married. He can get a new assistant or forget about having one entirely. I don’t really care which. But Luna is not sticking around.
Not over my fucking dead body.
I pull out my phone and look at it as we get closer to Munich and see that I have a message from my brother, Sal, the only family that truly cares about me and my opinion.
Have a safe flight, and let Aria or myself know if you need anything.
I can’t help but smile at the concern. I know that Sal has pushed this marriage more than anything simply because he knows I want my freedom and because he wants me to be well protected in my adult life. He knows Philippe well enough to say with certainty that I will be given that protection as well as at least more freedom than my father offers. Here’s hoping he’s right.
It does look like he just might be prepared to save my ass if things go bad at the last moment which comforts me more than I think he could understand. I don’t know how either of my parents produced the four of us to have Sal be so good and the rest of us hopeless wretches, but I am grateful for that one person to turn to that can actually get me out of a bind.
I know that Nicola and Phoebe love me but have little chance of helping me if shit goes downhill.
I take myself to the tiny bathroom on the plane just before I know we will be told to put our seat belts on. I want to freshen up. Not even the prettiest of women look good after a long flight like this.
I have bags under my eyes and tangled hair to care for, and I slip on a classic look that I think will get Philippe’s attention. It’s all white and tight around my body, though it is only jeans and a blouse. My purple pumps stand out as the only pop of color, matching my lips today. I pull my long hair back into a high pony, keeping it out of my way for whatever he has planned, whether it be sightseeing or a roll in the hay.
Then, I take my seat back on the plane as the light goes on and I have to pull the belt across my body. The landing is the worst part. It always feels like we could dive too far too fast and go crashing nose-first into the concrete. And then that bounce when the wheels finally touch the ground is jolting to the heart.
I clutch my carryon to me, trying not to show my nerves to everyone around me. It’s one of the little flaws of mine that make me seem weak. I hate that kind of vulnerability when I am supposed to be the daughter of an assassin. I could chop a head off before anyone knows I am there, but somehow I am reduced to putty by a simple airplane ride.
When I get off the plane, I half expect the person to be waiting for me inside the airport to be Luna or one of Philippe’s men, but instead, it is Philippe himself that greets me.
At first, I think it is another one of his grand romantic gestures like that candlelit dinner, but as I look his face over and see that his smile does not reach his eyes, my heart thumps hard in my chest with worry.
“You must be hungry after your flight. Let us get a bite to eat and catch up,” he says, and it is so formal, it stings. We had kept in contact over the phone when I wasn’t swamped with the restaurant, and I thought between that and before he left we had connected on some level. That we were closer than we had been. But his formal tone is cold now, and I don’t know what to think. He could very well have dragged me all the way here to end our engagement in person so that maybe the blow wouldn’t be so hard. He is the kind of old school man to do such a thing rather than letting me go via text message.
My blood boils at the thought, though, and I swear to whoever the fuck is up there watching over us that I will slit this bitch from navel to nose if he does me dirty that way after I have tried so hard to be tame enough for him to handle me. My pussy is drying up it’s been so long for me since I have been with someone else so that I can make him happy that I am being faithful even though my view on monogamy is quite different than his.
I have been meeting him in the fucking middle.
He leads me to a small restaurant inside the airport where he has me order what I want, though my appetite is lacking with the anxiety that is building. It gets even worse as he leads me to the back to sit down where there won’t be any ears to hear us.
This can’t be a good sign.
“Okay, I want you to fucking spill what’s going on, Philippe. I can tell something is up, and I am not going to sit here and go through some sugar-coated lecture. If it’s over, send me packing so I can get it over with,” I tell him, leaning over the table and glaring at him.
He nods solemnly. “I do not wish to send you packing, but I will not be surprised if what I have to say will make you want to leave me. I have waited to tell you in person because this is not a thing you tell someone over the phone, especially someone you are supposed to be marrying..” he trails off, and I tap my manicured nails against the table so that he knows time’s ticking. I am not going to let him babble on. I want answers.
“After coming back to Munich this time I found out something. Something I was not expecting. I have never been purposefully unfaithful to anyone, nor would I, especially you, Carla.” I hiss through my teeth because I can almost feel where this is going. “But there is a night I just do not remember, and I am told it has led to a pregnancy.”
“What the fuck!” I whisper-scream, trying not to draw the attention of those around us but damn close to not caring right now. What the hell does he mean he got someone pregnant? And he doesn’t remember? What a fucking hypocrite!
“Who is she, Philippe? How the fuck did this happen and somehow you don’t know? Have you any proof?”
He shakes his head. “It is too early for a paternity test, and besides, I have no reason not to believe her. It is Luna, my secretary. I got drunk the night I came back for my mother, much more than I ever have before. I don’t even remember her being there, but she came to me crying letting me know I got her pregnant.” He sighs and looks genuinely ashamed, but he has no idea what this is doing to me. On the inside, I feel humiliated and knocked down several rungs. I don’t expect him to be in love with me, but it is a matter of respect. Especially after all the assumptions he made about me and my lifestyle in the beginning. And on top of that it’s this bitch I can’t stand that claims she is carrying his offspring. Which I can’t ignore will have a claim to the mafia Clan throne over any child I might or might not bear to him now.
