Page 64 of Threads That Bind Us
“When’s the last time you went on one?” he asks, and I shut my eyes. He’s shared so much with me. I can find that strength.
“Before Ana was born. I think I was around nine. Isabelle wasn’t so bad when I was really young. Still desperate for attention from some guy, I’m sure, but she had time for me. I’d watched this movie, I don’t even remember which one it was, but it was set at Coney Island, and I couldn’t shut the hell up about it.” I let my eyes flutter open, watching the trees in the fadinglight as they whip past us. “She rented a car, and we drove almost five hours straight. Sat on the beach, rode roller coasters on the boardwalk, ate hotdogs and ice cream, the whole bit.”
Charlie’s silent, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the top of my hand. There’s a lump in my throat that’s hard to swallow past.
“It’s complicated, you know?” It’s not really a question, but he nods anyway. “She’s not all bad. And I have a lot of good memories of her from when I was young. But my love was never really enough for her, and neither was Ana’s. And as I got older, she saw me more as a second parent to Ana than a kid of her own.”
“I know,” he whispers.
I imagine he does, with all the research he did when we first met. For the first time, I feel a little empathy for the single mom who probably thought she was doing everything she could to find a safe life for me.
“Sorry, this is a bummer topic,” I shake myself, but he squeezes my hand and lifts it to his lips, kissing my knuckles.
“I want to know everything about you.”
He’s being sincere, that much is obvious. It fills my chest with that same strange, painful, beautiful feeling I had watching Ana hug him outside of the school. I break his gaze, cheeks heating, hoping that he can’t read me the way he reads everyone else.
Half an hour later, we pull up to a private hangar where security agents check our passports and direct us down a paved road running parallel to a runway. Attendants meet us and unload our luggage, ushering us into an empty lobby with low, comfortable lighting and damn near a whole buffet of food laid out.
“I thought you said you fly commercial unless you’reworking,” I whisper, hugging my arms around myself and trying not to touch anything.
“I do, and we are, but there are perks that come with being a Costa.”
Perks, apparently, include private security screening, someone handling our bags for us, customs clearance before we even leave the lobby, and a private ride directly onto the tarmac after the rest of the plane has boarded. We’re ushered to first class with a few other passengers who look vaguely familiar and probably famous, and there’s a glass of champagne in my hand before I’m even fully seated.
I know I should soak up this experience. I haven’t been on an airplane since I was a pre-teen, when one of Isabelle’s ex’s invited us to his family home in Maine. We’d flown coach, and there was so much turbulence I’d ended up crying in her arms the entire flight. But I’m distracted.
Charlie is careful to hold my hand when we step onto the plane, and point out the emergency exits and safety equipment, and talk me through our flight path while keeping his palm on my lower back, like he’s steadying me. And everything about him, and the way he’s caring for me, and the way my body is reacting, is overwhelming. I feel like I’m on the edge of screaming, but I don’t know what will come out of my mouth when I do. At this point, I’d prefer the flight phobia.
It’s hard to be anxious, though, with the sheer luxury of this experience. Each pair of seats can be modified into lie-flat beds, and a private mini bar is stocked with snacks and drinks. It’s like we’re in a tiny capsule, the sliding door by the aisle seat able to shut us off from the plane.
“I doubt I’m going to be able to sleep,” I mumble after the incredibly gorgeous flight attendant notes when we’d likeour beds set.
Charlie rests his arm around my shoulder, pulling me tight against him.
“Try, mia filettatura,” he insists, kissing my temple in a way that makes my stomach clench. “We’ll be there so much sooner if you do.”
It’s probably a function of the luxury of the experience, but once we’ve taken off, I’m a lot less afraid than I thought I would be. The attendants serve us a light dinner that tastes better than most things I can cook, and the night sky makes it impossible for me to see the terrifying ocean beneath us.
Once our seats are transformed into beds and I’ve changed into sweats and one of Charlie's t-shirts, Charlie tucks me into his side again, and I wrap my body around his. I drift off to the hum of the plane’s engine and Charlie’s whispered stories of sparkling seas and white-washed stone.
Chapter 23
Charlie
Gwen sleeps nearly the entire eight-hour flight to Rome. I probably should have too, but I couldn’t stop staring, or muttering stories about my childhood to her, or running my fingers through her hair.
I want to drown in her.
I can’t explain it any other way. It’s a desperation I didn’t know I could feel, a joy bordering on pain. It’s unfathomable that I once believed I could live my entire life with her and not beg to be her entire world. That I once thought fate brought us together to solve mutual problems.
I was wrong. Fate didn’t bring us together.Sheis my fate.
I wake her when we start our descent into Rome, and the first thing she does when she blinks awake is smile at me. It warms me from the inside out.
We deplane, and another conspicuously dressed security agent meets us at the end of the jet bridge. Gwen’s a little jet lagged, rubbing her eyes as the agent ushers us toward a private lounge.
We have enough time between flights for a quick breakfast. Gwen seems more quiet than usual, but I don’t push her. Thisweekend must be overwhelming, not only meeting my family, but being so far from Ana. Especially while we’re still waiting for her results to come back.