Ava
I close my eyes the moment the plane revs up for takeoff. I keep them closed as the plane speeds down the runway…then tilts upward, reaching for cruising altitude.
When the plane finally becomes horizontal again, I open one eye and hit a button to turn my seat into a flat bed. As soon as I can stretch out, I turn my back to Lucas and tuck my hands under my head.
“It’s not going to work,” Lucas says.
“I can’t hear you. Because I’m sleeping.”
“If you don’t talk to me now, I’m taking us all the way to America. That’s a damn long flight. I’m sure it’ll give us a chance to chat.”
I jackknife up and glare at him. “Are you kidding me?”
“Nope.”
“You can’t do that,” I hiss, keenly aware of the cabin attendant’s presence.
“Sure I can.” He sweeps an arm around. “It’s my plane.”
“That’s kidnapping!”
“And I care because…?”
“I’ll press charges!”
“Please do. But you’ll press them in the States.” He reclines his seat and relaxes. “Besides, who’s going to believe you’ve been kidnapped? Kidnappers don’t use private jets.”
Anger heats my face. “Are you fucking serious? Your being rich doesn’t make what you’re doing lawful.”
He shrugs. “Flying a friend home was perfectly legal last time I checked.”
“You bastard!”
He smiles, but the dark gleam in his eye remains implacable. “Thank you. It warms my heart to know you have such a high opinion of me.”
Smacking my forehead with the heel of my hand a couple of times, I think fast. Back at the restaurant, he said I took something from him. I freaked out because that announcement felt like an ambush. I won’t overreact again. But what if he knows? I have no clue what I’m going to do if he does. I just know I can’t go to the States right now.
I cross my arms. “Fine.”
“Let’s eat.”
“I’m not hungry. You have the singular effect of killing my appetite.” And I don’t want a repeat of what happened earlier. I doubt my stomach lining could survive another round of vomiting.
The muscles in his jaw flex. “If the scar on my cheek bothers you that much, I’ll sit to your left.”
I stare at him. “That’s not what I meant.”
He stares back. “Does it matter?”
I look away. Nothing matters except getting him to take me to Japan and then leave me alone forever.
He unbuckles and moves to a seat facing me. Stretching out his left leg until the foot encroaches into my personal space, he tilts his head and looks at me with tooth-grinding insolence. “You will eat.”
Before I can bristle at his high-handedness, he signals the cabin attendant, and she quickly serves us a tray of the food items she described earlier.
When I don’t move, he stabs a piece of fruit with his own fork and hands it to me. “Eat.” Then he smirks. “Afraid it’s poisoned?”
“That’s a possibility.” But I take the fork and bite into the proffered fig, which is stuffed with goat cheese. I acquired a taste for figs in Japan, but I’ve never had one prepared like this. It’s extra sweet…and the pungent taste of goat cheese goes well with the gooey meat of the fruit.