Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 140412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 702(@200wpm)___ 562(@250wpm)___ 468(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 702(@200wpm)___ 562(@250wpm)___ 468(@300wpm)
The pack has a private plane, a sleek, elegant jet that can whisk us to London within the hour. I barely have time to pack anything. Nathan suggests we leave immediately and just buy what we need when we arrive, but the thought of leaving without even a toothbrush makes me panic, so he relents, and we go back to Aconitum Hall so I can put together a bug-out bag.
I don’t even have time to brief Hannah or Tara on the situation before we’re off to the airport.
“So, tell me where I can sit on this plane that you haven’t fucked your mistress?” I say as we climb the airstairs.
Coming up behind me, he makes a noise like he’s thinking really hard. “You might be able to swap seats with the flight attendant.”
I resist the temptation to shove him down the stairs.
“I’m joking,” he says as I reach the top and turn to glare at him. He drops a kiss on my forehead. “I promise.”
I’m not sure I believe him.
When we enter, he has to duck down. “I’ve never even been on this jet.”
“Haven’t you been king for a while now?” I definitely don’t believe that he’s never been on here. “You just went to England like two months ago. Remember? On our honeymoon that I didn’t go on?”
“That was personal business. I flew charter. I would never misappropriate pack funds.”
Now, I believe him. Nathan is a dick in a lot of ways, but he’s not a thief.
A flight attendant appears and offers to take our jackets, and I wander further into the jet. It’s not as big as a commercial airplane, but it’s so much more luxurious. The seats are like armchairs and there’s an honest-to-goodness couch across from an entertainment console with a flatscreen television.
“It’s like a tiny living room,” I say, more than a little charmed. Then I notice the royal seal on a door toward the back. “What’s in there?”
“I assume it’s the royal bedchamber.” Nathan comes my way and there’s not a lot of space to squeeze past him, so I just move to the door head of him and open it up. Sure enough, there’s a cozy bed you have to squeeze by to get to the nicest airplane bathroom I’ve ever seen. It’s still small, but it’s not all beige and stainless steel. The whole interior of the jet is done up in sleek gray tones with dark wood accents, nary a bit of textured industrial plastic or drab dark blue upholstery anywhere.
Leaving from a private airstrip in a private plane is so much different than traveling commercial. There’s no long wait to taxi or take off; no sooner than Nathan and I are buckled safely into our seats, we’re whooshing down the runway and into the sky.
There’s a meal for us on board, a nice touch considering Nathan whisked me off before I could even have lunch. The flight attendant folds a small table down from the wall between two seats and soon I’m scarfing down sushi and sashimi with approximately nine gallons of sparkling water.
“You know, I’m not supposed to be eating this,” I say, lifting a slice of raw tuna with my chopsticks.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, it’s on the no-no pregnancy list. But I’ll bite your fucking hand off if you try to take this from me.” I’m still not super great with my left hand, and my chopsticks fumble. I quickly duck my head to catch the fish with my mouth.
Nathan smiles and shakes his head. “I’m sure this one time won’t endanger the baby’s life.”
“Good.” I try again with the chopsticks, then give up entirely. “Look, do you mind if I just make this finger food?”
“Not at all.” He motions to the sliced dragon roll on the plate between us. “Sushi can be eaten with the hands, anyway.”
“Well, good. Because it was that or I just eat straight off the plate with my mouth like a dog.” I pinch some pickled ginger between my fingers and pop it into my mouth.
“For what it’s worth, I’m impressed at how quickly you’re adapting to…” he gestures at my other arm. “Has the doctor discussed any options with you, regarding a prosthetic?”
“Not really. I still have some healing to do. And I’m not sure I want a prosthetic. Every now and then, I try to move my non-existent fingers and it’s like someone zapped me with electricity. I’m not sure I want anything touching that general area.” I take a sip from my water and add, “But I’ve got an idea about what I want.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve been thinking about a hook.”
Nathan bursts out with a shocked laugh.
“I’m not kidding.” I’m not, but I do giggle. “A real piratey one, like Captain Hook.”
“Why on earth would you do that?” The corners of his gray eyes crinkle with amusement.