1
Evie
“Mrs. Hartwell?”
I looked out the window. There was nothing beneath us but miles of Pacific Ocean. Every once in a while we zipped over a white puffy cloud.
“Mrs. Hartwell?” “Would you like a glass?”
Jeremy poked me in the ribs. “That’s you.”
“Oh.” I turned to the flight attendant. She extended a glass of champagne over Jeremy’s laptop. “Sorry, and thank you for the champagne.”
I shook my head. I didn’t know when I’d get used to the fact that I had a different last name now. Jeremy’s last name. I was no longer Evelyn Rossi. I was Mrs. Jeremy Hartwell. It was something I needed to practice when I was in the shower, or at least rehearse when I brushed my teeth every night. Maybe I should set phone reminders or scribble it on my palm. Evie Hartwell.
“We’re going to have to work on that.” He winked when the attendant left us alone.
“What’s that?” I asked, hoping the champagne would relieve some of the anxiety I had about flying this kind of distance. It was only this morning we were in New York, and now we were hovering over the ocean. I swallowed hard.
“Your name.” He held a glass too, while he scoured emails on his laptop. “It’s understandable it would take some time to adjust to a new name, but that can’t last long, Evie. Not with the kind of pressure we’re under. You need to be sharper. More in tune to who could be watching and listening.”
My eyes cut sideways toward my handsome new husband. “I wasn’t paying attention.” I defended myself. “There’s nothing but ocean down there. Did you know that? I can’t see any land. No islands. No birds flying. Nothing.”
He grinned his million-dollar smile. It was aggravating that he looked sexy in every situation. It was the crystal blue eyes that seemed to smolder no matter what he was saying. “You aren’t scared, are you?”
My eyes narrowed. “Are you making fun of me?”
He finished off the champagne and dropped it off on the next attendant’s tray as she walked through the aisle. He pushed back, giving himself more room to work. Even with all the space, his athletic body took up much of the compartment.
“I’m not making fun, but we flew on the jet the other night. You were fine. You’ve never mentioned you were afraid to fly.”
“There was land underneath us then. Now there isn’t.” I closed the shade on the window. I was better off not seeing the ocean water below. “I’m not afraid. Just concerned,” I lied.
Jeremy chuckled. “We’ll be in Tahiti in four hours. Why don’t you sleep? It will go by faster for you. Press that button there and grab one of those silk pillows.” He pointed to the computer screen that operated our custom seating.
I sighed. He was focused on work. I could tell when his brow was furrowed and his eyes had that intense look that something was distracting him. Something that had nothing to do with me.
I unclipped my seatbelt. I wasn’t sure why I still had it fastened. “I think I’ll walk around a little.”
He shrugged. “Ok. I have to answer these. I’ll be working the rest of the flight.”
“I know.” I tried to hide my disappointment. Small things like this reminded me we weren’t real newlyweds, not in the sense everyone else thought. There might
be a honeymoon at the end of this flight, but it had one glaring purpose—to make sure I left Tahiti pregnant.
I walked around him. I was still amazed we had been able to book a first class traveling cabin on such little notice. It was only last night that Jeremy announced to a bunch of reporters and the world that we were going to Tahiti. He surprised everyone at the press conference, including me, when he revealed the plan to celebrate our elopement. I knew it was a publicity stunt, but it didn’t mean I wasn’t excited.
The cabin was wide enough for each of us to have wide leather cushioned seats that converted into full-length sleeping beds. There were built-in flats screens, small trays for our drinks and meals, and a gorgeous vase of purple orchids.
A small chest-high sliding door divided our room from the other passengers. I moved the intricate bamboo door and entered the aisle. Maybe a walk around the plane would distract me from the bottomless ocean. My palms were starting to sweat. I had to move my body and stay busy.
“Oh, Mrs. Hartwell, is there something I can bring to your pod?” The same flight attendant greeted me when I was a few steps from our quarters. “Does Mr. Hartwell need something?”
“No. I wanted to stretch my legs,” I explained. “They’re feeling a little cramped.” I kept my sudden flight anxiety to myself. She flew this trip almost every day. I would sound silly if I launched into an explanation of how I couldn’t stop picturing us plummeting into shark-infested waters.
“Would you like me to get the spa ready for you? You could take a shower. That might help if you’re uncomfortable. It’s very relaxing,” she offered. “We also offer a variety of facial and massage services. I can check the schedule for the rest of the flight.”