Page 47 of Married in Michigan

Holding his hand…and it’scomforting.

I’m leaving behind everything I know.

Moving in with a man I’ve now met twice, three times? Marrying him?

What the hell am I doing?

12

To his credit, Paxton doesn’t try to talk to me—and smart of him, too. I’d probably bite his head off. I’m feeling vulnerable and scared, and those feelings make me cranky. Plus, I still have a death grip on his big, strong hand, a fact I want to ignore.

Eventually, once a few minutes have passed, I’m able to calm myself down, take a deep breath or ten, and release Paxton’s hand.

He shakes it, and I see white fingerprints dimpled in the skin. “Damn, girl. You’ve got a grip.”

I wince. “Sorry.”

He just grins, winks, and thumps his chest with both fists. “Ook, me big strong man,” he says in a gruff voice. “Me tough.”

I can’t help but laugh. “You know, for all your many faults, you’re not a caveman.”

“Many faults, huh?” He pretends to preen. “Like what, pray tell?”

I snort. “Um. Where do I start? Obscenely, absurdly arrogant. Entitled. At least a little vain. Wildly out of touch with reality. Spoiled.”

At each fault I list, he clutches his chest, as if my words are arrows. Making a dramatic, wounded face, he leans toward me. “And, may I ask, do I have any positive qualities whatsoever?”

“Not that I can tell,” I say, my voice dry. I bite my lip over the grin that threatens to spread. “Fine. Maybe one or two.”

“Like?” he prompts.

“You’re not too bad to look at. You’re obviously very smart, very well educated, you’re one of the youngest members of Congress in US history.” I roll a shoulder. “You’re pretty funny. Easy to talk to, in spite of being so damn arrogant.”

I realize I’m much more at ease now, and that this entire conversation has been a subtle and effective ploy on Paxton’s part to calm me down.

I sigh, rub my face with both hands. Give him a kind, thankful smile. “Thank you, Paxton.”

He doesn’t ask for what. “Hey, flying can be scary.”

He looks around at the interior of the jet—which is much like the car we took here, an example of luxury taken to its furthest extreme short of being gold plated and diamond encrusted. Cushy, hand-stitched, plump white leather captain’s chairs, complete with extendable footrests, cup holders in one armrest, and a bank of buttons on the other…for massage functions, it looks like. A monstrous flat-screen TV fills the majority of the bulkhead between the passenger cabin and the cockpit, which turns on seemingly of its own accord, tinkling piano jazz. I glance at Paxton, and realize he has an iPad that he used to control the TV.

He grins. “So, this is your first time flying, huh? Gonna spoil you for flying commercial.”

I roll my eyes. “Like you would know what flying commercial is like.”

He arches an eyebrow. “I flew commercial once.” He fakes a dramatic shudder of disgust. “It was awful. Filthy plebeian peasants everywhere, and that was in first class.”

I laugh. “Poor baby, had to fly in icky first class instead of his parents’ ultra-luxury private jet.”

He laughs. “Fly commercial sometime, and tell me you wouldn’t fly private if it’s available. And, honestly, it’s not about the amenities, really. Seats are seats, and the ride quality is pretty much the same. It’s the privacy, and the convenience. No lines, no security, no baggage check, no waiting around in the gate area, no crowding in with two hundred other people. None of the noise and the crying babies and annoying, chatty people in the row with you.” He gestures. “This? It’s quiet, it’s private…it’s just better.”

“Yeah, but I mean, obviously everyone would rather fly private. It’s not like people are sitting there like, yeah, I could have my own jet but I just prefer being squashed in the back of economy class.”

“Well obviously, but it’s also not like I can change the fortunes of the entire country.” He gestures at the jet again. “And this isn’t evenmine, it’s my parents’. I just had the ridiculous luck of being born into a wealthy family.”

The conversation wanders after that, to favorite movies aside fromPrincess Bride, music, funny or embarrassing drinking stories, and suddenly, I feel a shift in the movement of the jet.

I must stiffen, because Paxton smiles at me reassuringly. “Relax. We’re making our approach.”