He arched a brow at her. “Everything is ready. Your bags are on board.”
“Great. Thanks. So...where are we going?”
“Did I not mention?”
“No, it’s one of those silly little incidentals we’ve never talked about. Like what your favorite color is, the real nature of your relationship with my sister...that kind of thing.”
“Are you really bringing that up again now?” he asked, holding the door open for her. She walked out in front of him and started through the terminal, headed to the exit where the private planes were parked, ready for takeoff.
“I guess so. I hadn’t planned to. But I hadn’t really planned to the first time. I’m suffering from a case of terminal honesty at the moment.”
“It’s not as charming as one might think.”
“Oh, I don’t think it’s charming. I think it’s hideously embarrassing. I aim to stop it as soon as possible.”
“Anytime you see fit.”
She led the way out onto the tarmac. “Which plane is yours?”
“The big one,” he said, without a trace of humor. All she could hear was the potential double entendre.
She arched a brow. “Indeed.” She walked up the stairs that led to the interior of the jet. They’d flown in it on the way to New York, but still, to her, a plane on the runway looked like a plane on the runway.
The inside, however, was what truly distinguished it from anything she’d ever seen before. Plush carpets, leather furniture, a flat-screen television and a bedroom made it more comfortable than most Manhattan apartments. And twice as big as some of them, too.
She’d been raised wealthy, and she was used to opulence. To a degree. Ajax’s version was on a whole other level. It wasn’t showy, not in an obvious way. No gold-plated toilet paper roll holders.
It was in the quality of the leather on the couch, the type of wine being served. The glass the wine was in.
Ajax set her bags down on the couch and took a seat next to them. So she opted for the chair across the room from him. Safer.
“Now, tell me where we’re going,” she said.
“You don’t want to be surprised?”
“The wedding was my surprise,” she said dryly. “Let me in on the honeymoon destination.”
“St. Lucia.”
“Oh, wow.” For some reason, the image of the beautiful island, one she’d never been to, but had seen pictures of, made her throat close up. Maybe because she knew he’d planned to take Rachel there. And it was easy to see Rachel happy in a place like that. Lounging on the beach, smiling at her new husband. Holding his hand while they walked through the surf.
He’d planned that for her.
Why did the thought sneak up on her like that sometimes? Why did she care? Why did she care about him or the honeymoon or anything? It would be so much easier if she could just be like him. With a big fat vacancy sign hanging on her chest.
She could be married to him, run her business, go to events with him and get him naked at the end of the night and never care who he was thinking of or what he felt.
But that wasn’t her. It wasn’t how she was. She’d had to get tough when she’d made her leap into the world of business, had had to change the way she behaved in public and in private, really.
But with Ajax...sometimes he made her feel like the girl she’d been. He made her feel soft. Exposed. She didn’t like it. Especially not when she’d just purposed to double down her efforts protecting herself.
She felt like she had a knot of confusion living in her stomach. Which made eating difficult. Well, eating anything but candy.
Good thing she’d brought a bunch with her.
Ajax pulled his laptop out of his briefcase and turned his focus to the screen. The conversation was clearly over.
Well, that was fine. She could just sit there and eat candy. And think about their honeymoon, which, now that she knew where they were going, she knew was sure to be filled with sun and sand.
And for now, she wouldn’t think of anything else.
* * *
The rich blues and greens of St. Lucia felt even more vibrant and saturated after spending two weeks in the gray of New York City. Leah had always liked the city, but the ocean had always felt more like home to her.
This felt more like home.
Ajax had rented them a private villa for the duration of their stay, a massive structure made of rough-hewn wood, with a wide stretch of white sand to the front of it, backed by mountains and dense trees.
It was straight out of a fantasy. Too bad she was no longer under the delusion that her husband was, too.