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“Are you serious, right now?” My free hand is balled into a fist at my side. My nostrils flare with each heavy breath I take. I have half the notion to get back on the damn plane.
“Oh, don’t worry. You’ll thank me later.” She seems to be up to something. I can tell by her playful tone. She’s having the time of her life and at my expense. “The bridesmaid you’ll be walking down the aisle should be there. Let me know when you find her. Byeee.”
She hangs up without another damn word, adding to my irritation.
“Rude brat,” I mutter and put my phone back in my pocket. “Just need to find my bags then I’ll worry about my ride.”
Slowly, I make my way through the crowd to Carousel Eight. The conveyor belt isn’t moving, but at least my flight number is displayed. I’ll take it as a win for now.
“Flight U93,” a woman with a heavenly voice says behind me. I can’t help glancing over my shoulder back at her. My heart skips several beats.
There’s no way.
The woman is standing a few feet from me. Her eyes are wide and she looks like she’s seen a ghost.
“Ysenia?” I manage to ask in disbelief.
“Miguel?” she retorts back.
It has been what seems to be a lifetime since I saw her last. Time has definitely been good to her. She was always pretty but now she’s absolutely breathtaking.
Her hair is long and dyed blonde. Her light golden skin stands out against her red top that exposes her shoulders. She’s wearing very little make-up that I can tell; however, with her beauty, she doesn’t need make-up. She’s wearing perfume I’ve never smelled before. It’s faint but smells heavenly. Definitely, a scent I won’t ever forget.
“Long time no see,” I smile.
“Um. Hello,” she whispers. “Jenna sent me, but she didn’t say exactly who I was picking up.”
Ah, so this is what Jenna is up to.
Guess sending Ysenia to pick me up was Jenna’s bargaining chip. Jenna knew I had a huge crush on Ysenia growing up. She was probably hoping I’d still have the hots for Ysenia and it’d make the wedding events go smoothly.
“Sorry, about that,” I offer.
“It’s okay,” she smiles up at me. “How was your flight?”
“It was great,” I lie through my teeth.
“I guess I’ll pretend to believe that,” she giggles and shakes her head.
“Don’t believe me?”
“You live in Italy right?” I nod at her words. “International flights are always hell.”
“Fly much?”
“Not often. But on occasion, I travel abroad. I just–” she starts to say something, but the sound of the conveyor’s alarm startles her. She clutches her chest. “Holy crap. Going to give me a heart attack.”
“You alright?” I try hard to not laugh.
Laughing in her face would get us off on the wrong foot. That’s the last thing I want. Bad enough I was too chicken to talk to her as a boy and made a fool out of myself every time I was near her. Now was my chance to redeem myself.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she whispers. “It’s just been one of those days.”
“I completely understand that,” I smile.
Bags thumping down the belt is a reminder that we should get going. The airport isn’t exactly a stylish hangout spot. The sooner we get out of here the better.
“I have two lime green bags,” I say, holding up two fingers and looking at the moving luggage.
