Page 133 of The Thing About My Prince

And Lexi’s stopped moving, well outside hugging distance.

Of course she has.

Why would she want to engage in any form of physical contact when I pretty much dumped her by text? Even though it was the last thing on earth I wanted to do.

“Hi,” I say.

“What are you doing here?” she asks. “Actually, what amIdoing here?”

“I’m glad you came. I thought you might not.”

“I almost didn’t. But, as you probably guessed, I was worried for Dane’s safety if he hung around waiting for me too long. I’m really only here to make sure he got back to you in one piece.” She looks down and pushes her hands into her pants pockets. “So, I guess I could go now.”

Oh God, no. I always knew it was a risk coming here, butnow we’re in the same room, or plane, I at least want my shot at this.

“Please stay at least for a minute. Would you like some food? Or a drink? There’s lots of both.”

“Some water would be good.” She presses her fingers to her throat. “Still acclimatizing to the dust.”

I turn toward the back of the plane to request the water, only to find the flight attendant emerging from behind the curtain with a bottle in her hand.

“I heard,” she says.

Lord knows the secrets the staff on private planes keep and never spill.

“Perfect, thank you.” I take it from her, and she replies with a silent nod before disappearing again.

After loosening the cap, I pass the water to Lexi. As she drinks from it, she tips her head back, revealing a stretch of the smooth skin on her neck, tanned now.

It makes me wonder what else about her has changed in the month since we last saw each other at the church in Scotland. The contrast between that location and this could not be more stark.

Does she hate me now?

Does she love it here so much that she never wants to leave and there’s no hope of us ever being together?

“Thanks.” She screws the cap back on. “Oliver, why did you fly halfway around the world to see me?”

Okay, here we go. I step back to the sofa that runs along the side of the plane. “Let’s sit. Can we sit?”

“Sure. It’s been a long day.”

She waits for me to sit first, then perches on the edge of the sofa more than an arm’s length away, half turned toward me.

“Are you loving the job?” I ask. If she says yes, that it’s everything she’s ever dreamed of and what she wants to do for the rest of her life, then I will wish her well, say goodbye,and head back to New York as soon as we can get this plane off the ground. I would never stand in the way of her life’s mission.

“It’s hard.” She looks down and watches her thumb trace the rim of the bottle lid. “Rewarding. But tough.”

Okay, there’s a chink of light there. She’s not brimming with enthusiasm, not fired up and high on the adrenaline of it all and gushing, bright-eyed, with exciting stories like I thought she might be.

She looks up, her eyes meet mine, and they’re exactly the same as the image that’s run across my mind multiple times a day and been impossible to erase when I close my eyes every night.

My stomach flips like a smitten teenager’s at the sight of their high school crush.

If there is a window of opportunity here, I cannot let it slip through my fingers.

“I have a proposal for you,” I say.

“Aproposal?” Those beautiful blue eyes are wide now, shocked.