What if I like it when my husband spanks me for being naughty?
Her jaw predictably unhinges. "Are you seriously that full of yourself?"
"If we weren't on a plane right now, I would definitely consider that a disrespectful attitude, one that you’d get punished for. In fact…” I scratch my chin thoughtfully. “I'm starting to not care about the fact that we're on a plane. Maybe I should make a demonstration of you in front of my men."
"So that's how you can control things? Squelch anyone who bullies around you because you leave all the bullying to yourself," she says. "Makes perfect sense."
“I thought you were a Rossi. I thought you’d be familiar."
She clenches her jaw but does not respond.
We don't talk for long minutes. I continue to work. Out of the corner of my eye I see her head bobbing as if she's fallen asleep. It's late, it's comfortable in here, and the quiet hum of the engine lulls one to sleep. I casually watch her.
Her phone falls into her lap. The tension around her shoulders eases. She no longer clenches her hands. I suspect Marialena would hate to know that as she sleeps her head falls to my shoulder.
I keep working, but this time I let myself enjoy the feel of her leaning on me when she sleeps. The quiet fluttering of her breath.
I gesture for staff to bring me a blanket. It tends to be cold in here, and she sits right beneath the draft. Wouldn't do to bring home the woman I'm going to marry only to find out that she’s sick.
I take the blanket, quietly unfold it, and drape it over her without waking her.
She sleeps until we land. When she wakes, she lifts her head off my shoulder as if to deny she allowed herself to be so vulnerable.
I watch as she blinks, disoriented like a child, then looks out the window as we prepare to land. Though the sun has set hours ago, the coast is lit with bright white lights, illuminating the palm trees and white sand.
I wonder if she’ll like it.
But I'm waiting for the next show of defiance. I'm waiting for her to try to escape, undermine me, or attempt to get away. She's not here of her own volition, so I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"Did you put a blanket on me?"
"Yes. It’s cold.”
I finish the last email, shut off my phone, and slide it into my pocket.
She picks up hers and sends a couple of texts. I watch her text after we touch down.
Landed. I'm here. I'm fine.
I can either walk with her, or I can carry her inside because she's tired and she's my bride and I want to make a statement. I reach for her, lift her up, and she does not protest. I exit the plane with her still in my arms.
Turns out Cristiano is lucky I'm holding her when I get off this plane, so my hands are occupied.
"New bride?"
The dick.
“No, I decided the flight attendant looked tired. Yeah, asshole, she’s the one I’m marrying tomorrow. Show her the respect she deserves and ensure everyone else does the same.” I will not have anyone fucking up like earlier.
Cristiano is the very picture of apology. “Say no more. It’s my fault, and I'm sorry."
"We'll talk about this later,” I tell him. We sure as fuck will.
"Your mother’s home."
Fuck. I wonder if I imagine the note of smugness in his tone.
I stifle a groan. I do not want to have to deal with her tonight or any other fucking night.