“My best friend let me stay in Chicago with her during the divorce, but I’ve worn out my welcome. Newlyweds,” she says with a laugh. “See why I’d rather just stay in the air and fly free?”
“And you thought spending money on a first-class plane ticket would be smart?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I stole these airline miles from my ex.”
I offer a wayward smile. “Good for you.”
Amelia stares up at Clare, perplexed. I imagine that most of that went right over the kid’s head.
“What are your plans when you land in New York?” I ask.
She sips the orange juice and vodka from the clear plastic cup. “I don’t know. I’ve been in survival mode for the past eight months. My ex bled me dry with the divorce. I’ll probably flip burgers or something and sleep in a cardboard box.”
Amelia hands the troll drawing to Clare.
“Is this for me?” Clare asks with wide eyes. Amelia nods. “Why don’t you give it to your dad? I’ll bet he’d like to hang it on the fridge.”
“I don’t have a dad,” Amelia whispers, staring up at Clare.
My stomach clenches at her remark. “I’m her father,” I say, clearing my throat.
Clare stares pointedly at me like she doesn’t believe me. “The kid obviously doesn’t think you are. Maybe I should sit with her.”
“Excuse me?” I’m appalled by her suggestion.
“Would you like me to sit with you, sweetie?” Clare asks Amelia.
Amelia glances from me to Clare. The kid doesn’t know what the hell is going on, and neither does the woman sitting one row in front of us.
Amelia unlatches her seatbelt and wiggles around me to get out of the aisle. I grab her waist, not letting her run around like a maniac on an airplane. Now isn’t the time or place for her to run free.
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to remove your hands from the little girl,” the stewardess says, exchanging a brief glance with Clare.
“For fuck’s sake, I’m her father!”
“You need to calm down, sir,” the flight attendant says.
Amelia’s eyes widen, and she scurries away from me after I lash out at the stewardess. She climbs into Clare’s lap, which is not helping matters.
“She’s my daughter,” I say.
The stewardess bends down to Amelia’s level. “Is that man your father?” she asks the little girl.
Amelia’s eyes widen, and she glances from me back to the stewardess. We’re all met with silence.
Fuck.
“Amelia, come back to your seat,” I seethe, trying my best not to raise my voice, but my jaw is tight, and my hands are bunched into fists.
I don’t blame Amelia. It’s the stewardess and the nosey blonde who have decided to muck into other people’s business.
Amelia doesn’t respond to me, and why would she? We barely know each other. Doesn’t she get that if she leaves me, she’ll be back in foster care? She had to be put in emergency placement with a family until I arrived. Does she want to go back?
“Sir, sit down in your seat,” the stewardess says.
“Is this how you treat your first-class passengers? You kidnap their children?”
“You’re right, sir. I apologize. How about you show us photos of your daughter on your phone? Then we can clear up this entire misunderstanding before having to get the authorities involved.”