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Clarissa
We'reonaplaneto Milan.
We're on a plane that Matthias is flying, to Milan.
From the showroom Matthias had had Kevin take us straight to the airport, where the company jet had miraculously appeared. Or at least, where it had been summoned while Matthias was madly texting, his hand on my inner thigh as I rested in the car.
At one point he'd cryptically started a strange conversation about how personal security is so important, and did I make sure that where I kept my passport was secure.
I told him, "Well, I keep it by the nightstand in our bedroom. If that's not a safe place then you need to tell me now."
I didn't even put two and two together; I was too busy reliving every second of what happened at Ravel, what was done and what was said.
So when we arrived at the airport, there was a bag of my clothes, my passport, and my toiletries that appeared on the plane, ready for an impromptu trip to Milan.
"We'll find you a dress there," he says as he clicks his seatbelt in place.
I admit I pull mine tighter than usual. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?" I ask, looking at all the buttons and levers, tucking my arms in against me so I didn't inadvertently touch something and eject us both out of the damn plane.
He doesn't say anything as he's busy reading something off the dash and scribbling something in a notepad. "Of course, I got my commercial pilot's license when I turned twenty-two," he says, tucking the notepad into a side compartment of his seat. "And I've only ever almost crashed one plane," he jokes. "Two if you count iffy landings. But I blame the ground at our winery in Barossa Valley. We hadn't had it properly laid yet. Totally not my fault," he says defensively.
"So, whenever you say you hopped on a plane..."
A wide grin stretches from ear to ear. "I mean,Ihopped the plane there, so to speak." He hears something on the radio and responds. "Ready?"
The trip is eye opening; Matthias goes into great detail about all the controls, and I retain the grand sum of zero of any of it. But I do remember all the sites he points out to me as we leave the clouds and drop down over Italy.
I sit, awestruck when he lands the plane.
"I'm still alive." I sound surprised because I am.
He throws his head back and laughs.
It fills up every cracked and broken part of me.
"Come on, I'm famished. Someone sapped every last ounce of energy from me." He winks. "And I need to eat something so she can do it again."
I wonder if he picked Milan for any particular reason other than because it's the fashion capital of the world. Or if he knows that it might as well be my second home, and after what went on a Ravel, my comfort is highest priority.
I used to come here for every fashion season. Sat on countless runway shows, met all the designers, including ones that would become some of my favorites. It's what made today's experience at Ravel all the worse. It was a reminder of how far I've fallen.
Being just a normal person was never on my bingo card for my life. But maybe, that's just what I am now.
Yeah, a normal person whose fake billionaire fiancée just flew his own plane and landed it in Milan.
Well.
Guilty,as Matthias says.
Matthias checks us into the Four Seasons and collapses on the bed until he pulls me into the shower, washing off the remnants of the most incredible moments of my life.
His fingers tangle in my hair as he washes my scalp, massaging the tension from my head. Afterwards he gently brushes out the knots as we sit on the side of the bed.
"Is that okay?" he asks, uncharacteristically nervously, handing me the brush. "I've never done that before."
It thrills me to no end that, finally, Matthias Baxter has done something with me he hasn't done with another woman.
And no one can ever take that away from me.
