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Matteo’s secretary had contacted Phoebe for her passport number and checked them both in online. As soon as they’d stepped out of the car the noise of the airport had overwhelmed her. The constant whoosh of planes taking off and landing. The chatter of people arriving or leaving. The thumping of cases. The toot of taxis.
It was like a roaring in her ears.
Matteo, of course, seemed oblivious. He steered her to the priority security line and then in the direction of the first-class lounge. First class. They were flying first class. Of course they were.
She’d never been in a first-class lounge before. It was luxurious and open, but bright and friendly with decadent décor and dramatic lighting. The seats were comfortable and the service impeccable.
But the lounge had a mezzanine level with views across the airport. If she was sitting down, the bottom half of the glass was smoked. But when she stood up...she could see all the planes sitting at their gates, with others taxiing to and from the runways.
Which was why her heart was currently in her mouth. She took another gulp of the champagne that was sitting next to her.
It was ridiculous. It was irrational. And she knew all that.
Over the course of her life she’d been on dozens of flights. But ever since Jason had died, just the glimpse of a plane made her uncomfortable.
Right now, her skin was itching, her breath catching somewhere in her throat and her heart racing inside her chest.
She stood up and made a grab for her bag. “Excuse me.”
With her head fixed firmly on the wall adorned with bright prints she made her way to the ladies’ room.
The bright lights and white tiles were a relief. Phoebe splashed some water on her face and took some deep breaths. They’d be due to board any minute now. She fumbled in her bag.
Phoebe stared at the pills in her hand. She’d never taken anything like this before.
Never had to. Never wanted to.
But, after verging on a panic attack at the thought of boarding a plane, she’d gone to see her doctor first thing in the morning. She’d been sympathetic, and talked Phoebe through all the irrational fears she had. She’d wanted to try other methods, other therapies, but Phoebe had told her the urgency of the trip and how much depended on it.
So, she’d given her some breathing exercises. A few methods of control, and, as a last resort, the chance to take something that could reduce her anxiety.
There was nothing shameful in taking a few tablets. Lots of people had problems flying. Once the flight had taken off, she could try and sleep. And once they were due to land again, she could take another.
It was a temporary measure. She looked at her own reflection in the mirror. Life with Jason had been easy, relaxed. He’d been her best friend.
But New Year’s Eve with Matteo had been entirely different. The fireworks hadn’t just been exploding outside the room. And that connection had been terrifying. Not least, because there seemed to be so much that Matteo was hiding.
She splashed more water. Three years. Three years since Jason was gone. He wouldn’t recognize the wide-eyed, terrified girl in the mirror right now. Her hand went to her throat as she held back a sob. And he would hate the fact that she was now petrified of the thing that he loved. The thing that had practically flowed through his veins.
She took a deep breath and shoved the tablets back in her bag. She tried a few of the breathing exercises her doctor had shown her. She could do this. She could do it. She could get on this plane and land in Rome. Yesterday had been key. She’d gone home to the final bill for her mother’s medical expenses. She needed this money. She needed to be paid. This job would lift a huge weight off the shoulders of both herself and her mother. The last thing she wanted was for her mother to be stressed about paying for her treatment. Stress could impede her full recovery and Phoebe would never let that happen.
She walked outside. Matteo was pacing outside the door impatiently. “Are you ready? It’s time to board.”
Phoebe gulped. The sooner this was over—the better.
* * *
What was wrong with her? She’d checked her seat belt a dozen times and had her eyes fixed firmly on the screen in front of her. Her endless fidgeting was driving him nuts. Phoebe had never struck him as a fidget.
“Miss? Can I get you a drink prior to departure?” The stewardess had a trolley filled with fine wines, champagnes and spirits. Phoebe glanced in the direction of the trolley for a few seconds, then shook her head. “No. No, thank you.”
Her hands twisted in her lap again as the stewardess moved away and a few minutes later the plane started taxiing. Phoebe leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, her hands gripping the seat rests so tightly her knuckles were white.
