Page 52 of Play the Part (Marsford Bay #2)

HUXLEY

One Week Later

M y palms keep getting clammy, and I wipe them on my jeans, my knee bouncing at hyper-speed. Connie’s hand lands on my thigh, making me abruptly stop my nervous tick. Her gaze is comforting as she smiles.

“You good?” she asks quietly.

She’s leaned across the small aisle between our seats, her thumb rubbing my thigh in a slow, soothing stroke. I rip my thumb out of my mouth, realizing I’ve been chewing on the skin.

“Yeah.” I give her a sheepish smile. “Just a little nervous.”

It’s my first time on a plane. First time in First Class. First time at an airport .

When we first got to the airport a few hours ago, I was shocked to see how crowded it was.

“Is it always this busy?” I asked Connie.

She shrugged and said, “Pretty much.”

The realization I then had was hard to explain. It’s as if I’d never truly bothered to think how different people’s lives could be from mine. Free to travel. Free to explore and roam the world.

Now, I’m twenty-five years old with a valid passport. And in a few minutes, I’ll be in the air, flying to Brazil.

I can’t believe my luck.

My luck.

Luck.

The word still feels so foreign on my tongue. If Huxley, freshly out of prison, could hear me now. He’d laugh in my face. But I refuse to feel embarrassed by a younger, more broken version of myself. I’ve earned this luck. I deserve this life.

“That’s totally normal.” She pats my knee. “Deep breaths, remember.”

I nod and breathe deeply from my nose while Connie leans back into her seat.

“Who knows, maybe you’ll love to fly — and besides,” she says, smirking playfully. “Nothing a few glasses of champagne can’t fix.”

I snort. “Do they have beer at least?”

Connie laughs and nods. “Yeah, they have beer.”

A few minutes later, we’re ready for takeoff. Connie keeps her arm outstretched, holding my hand while the plane rumbles loudly under us. I swallow hard, my heart beating even harder, but it’s mostly from excitement.

I can’t believe this is happening.

I can’t believe I’m heading to Brazil with my dream girl.

The love of my fucking life.

Our seats are in the middle aisle, and from over Connie’s shoulder, I look out the window. I don’t feel it when the wheels lift from the tarmac, but my eyes widen when the scenery starts to shrink.

Holy shit.

I’m flying.

I don’t hide my reaction when I look back at Connie. I’m grinning like a fool. And she is, too. Something about this moment feels like an important turning point. Like I’ve finally left my old life behind. I still don’t know if I believe in fate like Connie does.

But right now, I believe in myself.

And that’s a powerful fucking thing.