His To Claim

“Thank you,” Elmo says, voice cracking. “Thank you so much. I don’t deserve it … but thank you.”

“Alright, alright,” Arturo growls, stepping forward and lifting his friend by the forearm, handling him like a child, the man is so weak looking. “It’s over. It’s done. I’ll arrange the voluntary work. And if I hear you’ve stepped foot into Family business in that time, I’ll exile you, Elmo.”

“Never, never,” Elmo says. “It’s a blessing, Arturo. I get to help the less fortunate. I can do some good. Will, you put me up at one of our charities?”

Arturo nods.

“Wait, what?” I say.

“Arturo runs most of the drug rehab charities in the city,” Elmo says. “Didn’t he mention that?”

“No,” I say, shooting him a sassy look. “I kind of think he likes it when I see him as an asshole.”

Arturo smirks. “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about, my sweet Aida.”

“You didn’t tell me you knew how to fly,” I yell over the thundering chop-chop of the helicopter’s blades.

I sit up front, in the cockpit next to my man, as the world falls away beneath us and the stunningly blue sky gets closer and closer. It’s clear, cloudless, and as we whir and buzz our way from the city and deeper inland, I feel like we’re a giant insect cutting across the world.

Arturo glances over at me, his hand steady on the control as we surge across the sky.

“You never asked,” he says with a near smile, which for him is the same as an ear to ear grin. His voice is intimate and close in the over-ear headphones.

“I didn’t realize I had to,” I laugh. “Knowing how to fly is something most men would brag about, you know.”

“Most men,” Arturo chuckles. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

But he’s not like most men, not even close.

We fly and fly, and I have to keep telling myself that this is real. No way is life this sweet. No way can this – this craziness that started in the forest with a gun pointed at the back of my head – end in some much sun-flecked happiness.

But in what feels like a few hours of serene flying – making stops for gas here and there – the yellow baked landscape of the Grand Canyon comes into view, the holes in the ground looking like features on a smiling face from so high in the sky.

“You listened to Mom’s suggestion, then,” I laugh in delight.

Arturo grins wolf-like. “I’d be one stupid son of a bitch if I didn’t listen to my mother-in-law’s advice, wouldn’t I?”

I laugh and make to banter back, but then the full force of his words slams into me.

Mother-in-law.

Does that mean …

But then he smirks and starts the descent, making it difficult to think about anything other than the helicopter dropping toward the ground. I scream and laugh, trusting in Arturo completely as he lowers us closer and closer, the blades going thunk-thunk as they kick up sand and dust.

By the time we’ve landed, I can’t even see anything. So much dust and sand dances around us. It blinds us, blocking off the rest of the world.

I whimper when Arturo’s lips are suddenly against mine, warm, fused to me in passionate gasping moments. I reach up and grab the smooth firmness of his face, and then his shoulders, so hard they almost snap my fingernails.

I sink into the wet hotness of the kiss, squirming in the harness, my body aching.

“Fuck, that was hard,” Arturo growls, breaking off the kiss for a moment. “You looked so damn good with the helicopter making that body dance for me, all those ripples and shimmers. But there’s no damn way I’m putting you or the baby at risk.”

“Arturo …”

I trail off, nodding to the helicopter window. The dust and sand has cleared now, and I see that we’re at the edge of the canyon. A table and chairs sit in the dust, silver lids covering silver platters.

A red carpet leads from my side of the helicopter to the table and chairs.

I look down at my body, clad in the dress he recommended earlier today, tight fitting and silver sparkling.

“So this is for us?” I say.

“Who else?” Arturo jokes.

He unstraps himself and hops deftly from the pilot’s seat, walking around the now-still helicopter and opening my door. He reaches up and grabs me by the hips, lowering me down as though I weigh nothing.

As he handles me like this, I feel so freaking sexy, my self-esteem doing somersaults I never could’ve imagined before I met Arturo.

He takes my hand and walks us toward the table.

My heart thumps so heavily, climbing up my throat, loud in my ears.

We stop at the end of the table and Arturo turns to me, taking my hands in his.

“Aida, I love you,” he says.

I gasp, staring through tear blurry eyes.