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She had been so distracted by other thoughts, that when they’d entered the airport, the thought of the butt plug, of being stopped, searched, and made to explain the phallic accessory fitted inside her, only haunted her for several minutes through the security check.
She was glad it was silicon, but the runaway thoughts of the metal detector sounding and the swat team descending on her, caused her to chuckle now the moment had passed and she was only reliving it in her mind as a form of distraction from the continuous ache.
But it had been no laughing matter at the time.
With how terrified and suspicious she must have looked, it was a wonder they hadn’t stopped her.
It was only now, sitting in this lounge, she realised she should have changed from her wedding dress. She’d been so caught up in the moment, caught in the panic of Miles saying their flight left in forty-five minutes, that she hadn’t even thought about what she was wearing, not while being so flustered about making the flight on time.
How could he have left it so close?
It was one thing about Miles which never failed to frustrate her. Unlike Ivy, who would rather be hours early than a few minutes late, he left everything; dinners, appointments, even flights, right until the last second. She half expected to step through the doors to the airport to hear their names being called for final boarding over the speakers. Honestly, the number of times he’d caught a flight by the skin of his teeth defied belief.
Secretly, that was one of the reasons she’d wanted him in the hotel before her. That way she at least knew he was somewhere in the building when it came time to say his vows. She chuckled at the thought, reminding herself that, somehow, he had still been late for his own wedding, but only because they’d delayed it. He’d been there, waiting.
Miles glanced at his watch, stilling the vibration, before reaching down to take her hand in his. “Come on.” He grinned, his wolfish smile turning her knees weak as she faltered to stand. “We don’t want to miss the flight.”
Ivy glanced at the screen. It was still another thirty minutes before the boarding gate would show, according to the screen. Although she didn’t know where they were heading, the next flight wasn’t boarding yet. Which was odd because she could have sworn it had taken more than fifteen minutes to get here and through check-in. “They haven’t called us through yet,” she protested, squirming, moving from foot to foot in a failing attempt to find a comfortable position. Heat rushed to her face. She was going to need the bathroom soon. The thought of Miles following her inside, the ideas people would have, made her cheeks flare crimson.
“Oh, princess, we’re not on one of those. Our take-off is in a few minutes. They’re ready for us.” Ivy felt her heart quicken in her chest, a cold sweat washing over her. A few minutes? How could he spring this on her? She needed her things, her bags, she needed to recheck… oh crap! They had no bags, just passports. In fact, where was her—he kissed her cheek, stilling her spinning mind. “Come on, Mrs Taylor, your chariot awaits.” He extended her kindle towards her, the passports in his own grasp.
A shiver of delight rippled up her spine. She may have told his mother she wasn’t taking their name, and on her business books shewasretaining her maiden name due to the nature of the businesses, but taking Miles’ name as her own had been a dream of hers for a long time. She just never thought it would one day be realised.
Two men, who Ivy recognised as security detail, joined them on the short walk to the private plane.
Aprivateplane.
Ivy didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Most women would swoon being tossed into the life of luxury, but such extravagance had always made her uneasy. However, the relief she felt, knowing she could use the bathroom without trying to fit into some tiny cubical with Miles and hundreds of spectators watching them, was immeasurable.
“What? You didn’t think I was going to make you suffer all the way to England, did you?”
“England?” Ivy’s heart hammered in her chest. She hadn’t been back there since she and her father left to first come to The States.
“I thought maybe you’d want to put your bouquet on your mother’s grave.”
She took a steadying breath, already knowing it would be emotional to visit the memorial gardens, where her mother’s ashes had been scattered. All her mother’s family had been scattered there, and the gardens themselves had a variety of flowers, blooming all year round, so there was always beauty and life no matter the harsh conditions that sometimes graced England’s skies.
She often felt guilty that once she and her father left, no one would visit her, but her mother had always said it didn’t matter where her ashes went, a piece of her would always be with them. It was just her body that had been returned to the earth. Her soul would have already moved to its next adventure.
But even if that was true, it didn’t mean Ivy didn’t wish she could visit from time to time.
Tears dripped from her jaw before she even realised they’d escaped her blurring eyes. Her heart seemed to still, swelling inside her chest, preventing her from breathing. Instead of words, she pushed herself up to her tiptoes, capturing his lips. “Come now, take your seat. Once we’re in the air, I’ll give you the tour.”
The interior of the private plane was unbelievable. Ivy had seen such luxury before, but only in films. The large, black leather seats were like sitting in the lap of luxury. They were more like things that belonged in a sitting room than something expected on a plane. Miles leaned over her, buckling her seatbelt with a smile, as if knowing her mind was too busy taking in the surroundings to think about something as inconsequential as her safety.
The interior was almost like an office. A U-shape selection of large leather chairs, like the one she sat in, surrounded a rectangular glass table, which appeared to have some kind of screen built in. Her mouth opened slightly as she realised what she was looking at, an interactive, touchscreen table. She could just imagine Miles and his team sitting around it, going over the last-minute security details.
“Ready, princess?” he asked as a light flickered on above what she assumed was the cockpit door. Seconds later, said door opened, giving her a glance of a kitchen and a small but grand-looking dining room.
“Is it even safe to cook on a plane?” she mused aloud, chewing the inside of her cheek.
“Oh quite safe, Mrs Taylor.” A middle-aged woman with a beautiful cascade of curly brown hair, clipped up in a slide, smiled at her. “The equipment in the kitchen is designed for this space, but Mister Taylor requested cold platters, thinking it would be more to your preference.”
Ivy blushed as the woman answered. “Ivy, this is Captain Espinoza. She’s my most trusted pilot.” Miles introduced, raising his hand towards her.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mrs Taylor. Miles has told us a lot about you.” Her smile was filled with a warmth that shone in her honey-brown eyes.
The blush crept hotter across her cheeks, spreading down her neck and chest in a burning heat. “Nice to meet you too, and please, call me Ivy.” She smiled with sincerity.
