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Chapter 31
Our flight was at ten the next morning, so I spent the rest of the day packing and making sure I was leaving everything settled at home. I was a bit worried about leaving, but Bubbe assured me Dad was attending his therapy like clockwork and that Katie Corleone was still nowhere to be seen. He'd even continued his tinkering on the piano, and the doctors thought he would be able to go back to work in another month. Brandon had requested additional security to watch the house while we were gone; there wasn't much more we could do.
"He can barely play 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star'," Bubbe recounted Dad's progress. "But his fingers are on the keys, and that's the important thing."
I wholeheartedly agreed.
Brandon had told me to pack for a variety of activities, so when David pulled the car up in front of my building at eight a.m., I was standing next to my biggest suitcase that carried supplies for every possibility I could think of in South France, from lounging on the beach to hiking through the Pyrenees.
Brandon stepped out of the car to help me and looked at the suitcase with an amused expression.
"You know," he said as he kissed me on the cheek, "I didn't peg you for the kind of girl who would pack her entire wardrobe for a short trip."
"It's two whole weeks," I countered as David hefted the suitcase into the trunk. "And you wouldn't tell me our plans."
Brandon grinned. "That's because we have no plans, Red. It's part of the charm."
"Exactly," I said. "I need to be prepared for anything."
"You do realize that if we didn't have something, we could just buy it?"
I scowled. "No, you could just buy it. I come prepared."
Brandon just rolled his eyes, and with a hand on my back, escorted me into the car. "I forgot. I'm traveling with Ebenezer Scrooge."
I smacked him on the shoulder, and he laughed.
"I resent that," I said. "Just because I don't like to spend unnecessary money on myself doesn't mean I'm not generous with others."
"I know, I know. Take it easy." Brandon gathered me in and pressed a kiss on my lips before I could continue my protestations. "Now let's get going. Plane's waiting."
I was in for another surprise when the car pulled up at the small private airfield next to Logan International––the same airfield where I had left Brandon on our first official date, where he had tried to fly me to France once before. The memory of that night was seared into my memory. Dinner in Paris had been a lovely idea, but it was also misplaced, far too ostentatious for a first date, and had only pushed me away.
I found him watching me, looking slightly nervous.
"I thought we had tickets," I said. "Why are we here?"
Brandon grinned sheepishly. "Did you really think I want to fly commercial? This is so much easier. We'll be there in six hours instead of ten. Plus, I can try my luck with the mile-high club."
He waggled his eyebrows in a way that made him look like a horny puppy. I burst out laughing in spite of myself, and Brandon joined me. His excitement was contagious.
"Come on, Red," he said as David opened his door. "Let's see if I can get you on a plane this time without slapping me."
"Ha fucking ha," I retorted, but allowed him to help me out of the car.
A flash from outside the gates of the small airport pulled my attention to the road. A cluster of photographers was there, all of their lenses pointed directly at us.
"Mr. Sterling! Brandon!" They called. "Where are you going? Who is your friend?"
I glanced up at Brandon and found him looking at the photographers with a hard scowl.
"Who are they?" I asked as he guided me into the airport, which thankfully had tinted windows.
I wondered if they were installed partly because of the wealthy, sometimes famous people who used private airfields like this. In the plush lobby, the agents took our bags and passports.
Brandon grimaced and his broad shoulders tensed. "Paparazzi. They've been starting to follow me a bit the last few weeks, since there has been more speculation in the papers about whether or not I'm going to run. Apparently, my whereabouts are more important than things like, you know, the economy or public healthcare."
His voice dripped with sarcasm. It was clear he wasn't happy with being surveilled this way, and I couldn't blame him. I hated it when we suspected that a PI was following us around. Now we had to deal with the press too?
