Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Neither of us has spoken, but I could gladly stand this close to him all day.
“Uhhh… Melissa?” he asks. My mouth moves, but no words come out.
I’m also instantly aware that the strap from my bag is splitting my chest in two, causing my boobs to squish at crazy angles, something anyone with eyes would notice. That and my knitted cardigan, the long skirt I chose to conceal my compression stockings for the flight.
I push my glasses up my nose with my finger, wobbling a crooked smile as I realize how awful I must look, but Mark’s smile is real. He’s real.
“Melissa?” he asks again, one of those huge hands gently gripping my shoulder. “You okay? Long-haul flights can really take it out of ya,” he says knowingly. His deep voice is a soothing blend of familiar American with the subtle Aussie twang he’s picked up after living here for so long.
“I-I-I’m Melissa…” I stammer, flushing hard when Mark chuckles. I feel my face redden with annoyance and embarrassment, but one flash from his smile and those shining eyes warm to mine. It’s impossible to stay mad for more than a second. “I mean… yeah!” I announce. “Long-haul flights… Can we… can we go?” I ask, feeling a surge of fellow passengers behind me on the way to collect their luggage.
“I’ve got a car waiting,” Mark agrees, sounding all business instantly as he scans the crowd. I yank the glasses off my face, vowing to wear my contacts on this trip unless, of course, he prefers the glasses. What am I thinking?
“I’ve had your bags collected already so we can go,” he replies, making me jump when I feel his hand on the small of my back, guiding me expertly through the vast, cavernous atrium of the airport.
As if by magic and feeling like I’ve stepped onto a cloud rather than landed in another country, I’m in the back of a sleek but sizable town car. Tinted dark windows and a privacy screen make me feel like I’m right back in business class on the plane, with Mark helping me in before joining me in the back.
“Someone else is driving. I never got used to driving on the wrong side of the road.” He smiles, answering the question I’m trying to form about him getting in the back instead of the driver’s seat while wondering how someone so amazing could exist. A chauffeur-driven ride is the least of the surprises awaiting me if Mark’s my host. I can just feel it.
But if I can’t get over these powerful and sudden feelings…
“Thanks again for the ticket! The upgrade, I mean,” I blurt out too excitedly, wracking my brain for something to say to break the instant silence once we’re moving. In a flash of confidence, I look into his eyes, which seem suddenly sad, before he looks away.
“You’re welcome,” he murmurs, creasing his mouth, but there’s no smile. Making me wonder if his nice guy act is only good for the meet ’n greet. Maybe now he’s seeing me up close, getting a face full of girl on a plane for nineteen hours.
Mark cracks the window, subtly pressing a smooth panel near his hand. The rush of air from outside and the sounds of traffic make me wonder if I went too heavy or light on the deodorant.
“Did… did I say something wrong?” I ask, feeling like I’ve blown everything before we’ve even left the airport.
“I’m just surprised, is all,” Mark observes, taking a long breath through his nose before exhaling loudly.
I feel my face redden again. I’m ashamed for no reason other than I think I’ve somehow disappointed him already.
“What is it?” I ask, alarm growing in my voice. Seeing the change in his mood is unbearable.
“I could’ve been anyone, Melissa, and just because I knew your name, you came along and got into a car with a complete stranger?” he says cuttingly.
The pit of my stomach lurches, and I feel a stab of hurt in my chest that rises like reflux into my throat.
“I-I’m sorry,” I murmur, the emotion making my voice quiver.
Mark gently grips my forearm.
“It’s alright,” he says soothingly, instantly forgiving me and making me sniff. I catch the tears before they run from my eyes.
“I made your dad a promise, Melissa…” he starts to say, and I cut him off.
“Call me Mel, please. I hate Melissa,” I explain, trying to sound chirpy but wondering if it doesn’t sound a little cold.
“Mel,” Mark echoes, glancing at his hand on me before sliding it over to his side, looking out the window, which makes a sucking sound as he closes it. “I promised him I’d take you to your hotel, keep an eye on you, and show you around until he gets here,” Mark continues, sounding almost bored as he stares at the traffic.