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I can't help but laugh, rolling my eyes at his suggestion. "In those tiny, unsanitary bathrooms? Hard pass."
He feigns disappointment, then winks at me. "I suppose we'll have to find other ways to pass the time."
As he leans in for a kiss, the moment is abruptly interrupted by a flight attendant offering us champagne.
We both sit back, trying to stifle our laughter. It seems like every time we get close, something or someone gets in the way.
"Are we on Candid Camera or something?" I mutter, accepting a glass.
"Seems like it," William replies, taking a sip. "Maybe it's the universe telling us to behave."
I lean back in my seat, enjoying the comfortable silence between us, when William tries again. This time, he's barely brushed his lips against mine when another attendant walks by, asking if we need anything.
William sighs, a look of mock frustration on his face. "I'm beginning to think this is some sort of cosmic joke."
I giggle, leaning my head on his shoulder. "Maybe we're just not meant to have any privacy up here."
The rest of the flight passes with playful banter and shared laughter, the easy chemistry between us a constant comfort. But as we land in London, a sense of apprehension starts to build.
We're about to face the reality of our impulsive decision to marry, and the consequences it might bring.
William insists on carrying me over the threshold of his apartment, a romantic gesture that has me blushing and giggling. "You know this is completely unnecessary, right?" I say, holding onto his neck for dear life. “Don’t you dare drop me.”
"I'm just following tradition," he replies with a grin. “And I’m not going to drop you.”
He kicks the bedroom door, but as it swings open and he and steps inside, the scene before us wipes the smiles off our faces.
There, standing in the middle of his bedroom, is a mature man in a pinstripe suit, his expression thunderous and latched on William.
Caught off guard, William stumbles, accidentally dropping me onto the floor in his shock.
I land with an 'oomph,’ but it’s like I’ve disappeared in a puff of smoke to these two men, as they get into a heated debate.
"So, this is why you’ve not been returning my calls?" the man asks, in a tone that can only mean he’s William’s father.
William quickly recovers, helping me to my feet before turning to face the man in the room. "Dad, this isn't what it looks like," he begins, his voice steady despite the tension.
His father's gaze is stern, unwavering. "I've been calling you repeatedly, William. There's an important dinner at the manor tonight. I expect you to be there."
I stand quietly beside William, feeling like an intruder in this family drama.
William glances at me, then back at his father. "I'll be there, Dad. But I won't be alone."
His father raises an eyebrow, a hint of impatience in his tone. "And who, pray tell, will be accompanying you?"
William takes my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "This is Emily," he says, his gaze shifting to me with an apologetic look. "My wife."
The word 'wife' hangs in the air, heavy with shock and unspoken questions.
His father's eyes finally land on me, his expression a mix of surprise and skepticism.
"Your wife?" His father's voice is laced with disbelief. "Since when?"
William stands taller, a protective edge to his posture. "We were married in Atlantic City. Emily is my wife, and she will be at the dinner with me tonight."
I can feel the weight of his father's scrutiny, a critical assessment that leaves me feeling exposed and vulnerable. His eyes dim as he looks me up and down like I’m a stray cat that just walked in.
Yet, standing there with William, his hand firmly holding mine, I find a strength I didn't know I had and keep my head held high.
