A Billionaire for Christmas - Page 195
And even though I have big plans for seducing my bride-to-be while we’re in the air, we’re both kinda exhausted when we finally snuggle under the covers and turn out the lights. Add in the low, white-noise hum of the engines and… yeah. I’m pretty much asleep immediately.
But it feels like I only just closed my eyes when Miles is gently shaking me awake and offering me a lemon-scented hand towel to freshen up.
“We’ll be landing in about twenty minutes, sir. I’ve taken the liberty of steaming the wrinkles out of yesterday’s clothes and they are hanging in the closet.”
“Jesus, Miles. You’re one in a million, ya know that?”
“I do, sir.”
It’s nearly dawn when I finally drag myself up out of bed and open the window shade to look outside. The barren terrain of desert greets me down below and our plan suddenly seems a lot crazier than it did last night.
Emma covers her mouth as she yawns. “What time is it?”
“Almost six AM. Miles left you a hot lemon towel.”
“God, I love Miles.” Emma swings her legs out of bed and gazes out the window for a moment. “Holy shit. We’re really doing this.”
“We really are.”
She looks at me. “Are we nuts?”
“Uh… yeah. That’s a given. Especially after that whole Krakken chase last night.”
Emma snorts. “Take that, Karen.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“What do you mean?”
“Emma. It’s your wedding. You only get to do it once.”
“Unless your name is Miles.” She chuckles.
“You know what I mean. This is supposed to be your day.”
“It is my day. I’m excited.” She pouts at me. God, I still love that pout. “But if you’re not into it—”
“No, no. I am. I’m up for any crazy wedding you can cook up. But… I just want to make sure this is what you really want. Because we could just go back home, talk things out with your mother like rational people—”
“She’s the irrational one! How could she invite Karen to be my wedding planner-slash-bridesmaid? I mean, come on! She knows that Mila, Nat, and Hannah have been my besties for over a decade now. That’s like… unforgivable.” She points her finger at me. “And I know what you’re going to say.”
“What am I gonna say?”
“That she only wants what’s best for me. But seriously. This is my mother we’re talking about. Sure, she loves me. But she’s always trying to control me. And you give in to her.”
“When?”
“All the time!”
“Name one time.”
“Hello? Have we or have we not been flying to Key West for Saturday dinner every freaking week?”
“We did miss that one time in September.”
“Yeah, once! And that month had five Saturdays instead of four, so it was a bonus dinner! And she forced my whole family to drive up to the city in the freaking Suburban!”
“And I did tell her I wanted to come when we first met.”
“Twice a month! Not every week. See, this is what I mean. She makes all these reasonable offers like, ‘Would you like first and third Saturdays, Jesse? Or second and fourth?’”
“And I chose second and third. See? I made my own plan.”
“She wants you to think that, but it’s not true. Not even a little bit! Second and third turned into every week. That was her plan all along.”
“You make her sound like a sneaky buttinski mother-in-law.”
“She is! Mark my words. When my mother makes a plan, she makes a freaking plan. I’m talking plan A, B, C, D all the way to Z. And each plan is worked and reworked so that no matter what road you take to get to the end, it always turns out the way she wants it to.”
I laugh at her.
“It’s not funny!”
“OK, your mother is some crime-family matron who has all the power and will send in her henchmen to get what she wants. Got it.”
“No! That’s me! I’m the crime-family matron now!”
“Oh, Emma.”
“Stop looking at me like I’m ridiculous! I’m telling you, she’s plotting my wedding so that no matter what I do, it will end up the way she wants it. I’ve been through this all before. Ask me about prom night!”
I’m not gonna ask her about prom night for two reasons. One, I’ll get jealous no matter how it turns out. And two, I need to talk her down off this ledge she’s on before things really go off the rails. We were very close to being charged with carjacking last night. And we did steal the Kraken’s Italian Christmas Eve eve dinner. So I say, “Well… not anymore, right?”
She sighs. “Right. This is the perfect plan. I’m telling you. The look on her face when I tell her we eloped and it’s a done deal—that’s my Christmas present this year. That’s all I want.”
“To foil your mother’s wedding plans?”
“Yup.”
“OK, babe. Then get ready for your present. Because that sound right there?” I point to the floor where we can hear the landing gear being released. “That’s Santa’s sleigh coming in for a landing.”
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