The Convenient Wife

“Go on,” I say, nudging her into the seat.

The pilot comes on and tells us the length of our flight and how high we’ll be flying. Starla is already buckling herself in and pulling it as tight as it will go. The plane begins to move slowly, and Starla’s eyes jerk to mine.

“Is this it? Why are we going so slow?”

“No, he’s getting into position, just wait.”

Biting her bottom lip, she snaps her head back to the window. The engine roars to life, rumbling so loudly it vibrates my bones. My ears begin to pop as the plane starts to pick up speed, and I can feel the weight of the plane shift as it starts to lift.

The nose of the plane is off the ground and Starla’s hand instantly reaches over and snags mine. The warmth of her hand sweeps through my fingers, moving up my arm like fire across dry brush. And there is nothing I can to stop it. I can’t control the feeling or how fast it moves, I can’t even control where it goes.

But I can feel it everywhere.

“Oh my God,” she says, pushing her face closer to the small oval window as pools turn into small puddles and cars start to look like ants. “Wow, look at that, that’s so cool.”

Higher and higher the plane screams through the sky, pushing through thick white clouds and coming out on the other side. Starla’s eyes are open wide, her smile a glow on her face.

Adjusting her grip, her fingers tangle around mine as she sits taller in the seat, trying to look below the plane.

“It’s beautiful, Bolt. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It is.” My eyes are on her, not the window, not the sun in the sky, just her.

Starla is a vixen, my wicked little vixen. And all I can think about is all the things I want to do to her. My eyes run over her chest as the excitement fills her lungs. Her hips roll in the seat as she moves, and my eyes immediately jerk to the diamond between her thighs.

“So,” she says, snuggling into her seat, “this is how you rich people do it, huh?”

“Do what?” I ask, taking the hot towel the stewardess holds out to me to wipe my hands clean before they bring us lunch.

Starla giggles, and points at me. “That, this,” she says, waving an open hand around us. “It just seems unnecessary.”

“Living well, that’s unnecessary?”

“No, living for the things that don’t matter, that’s unnecessary.” Pulling her knees up, she sinks deeper into the plush leather chair. “I never saw the point in some of this stuff.”

Shrugging a shoulder, I drop the towel on the small table. “Let me ask you this: if you could have all the money in the world, do you think you’d still live the way you do now?”

“Yeah, I think so.” There’s no hesitation, she didn’t even take the time to think about the question at all. She already knew her answer.

“Really? You wouldn’t want to spoil yourself, not even a little?”

“I’m not saying that I wouldn’t do that a little. But I wouldn’t go crazy either, there’s no need for it.”

Glancing down at her feet, I arch a brow. “Would you throw those out?”

Lifting her foot, she wriggles it in the air. “What’s wrong with my sneakers?”

“They’re falling apart.”

“So, they work, don’t they?”

Shaking my head, I grip the thin stem of the wine glass as the stewardess passes us our drinks. “I’m going to ruin you, you know that?”

“Oh yeah?” Starla asks, taking a dainty sip of her drink as she raises a pinkie while she tips her head back. “You think you can ruin me?” Her voice echoes around the inside of her glass as she smirks.

“Is that a challenge?” Flicking her brow, she shrugs one shoulder. With closed lips, I nod my head. “Alright, it’s on then.”

Starla yawns, stretching her arms above her head. “Good luck, I’ve been told I’m stubborn as a bull.” Resting her head on her hand, her eyes are heavy as she looks back out the window.

“We’ll see,” I say, laying my head back on the seat and closing my eyes.

Minutes later, I feel a light weight pressing on my shoulder. I open my eyes to find Starla sleeping against my arm. I don’t move her. She looks perfect there, with her face gently snuggled against me, and her hair falling down across her forehead.

Using the tips of my fingers, I lightly brush her hair away so I can see her better. She’s beautiful.

A stewardess stops and smiles, whispering to me, “You two are adorable.”

“We’re getting married this weekend.” And as I say it, something comes over me. It’s something I can’t explain or put into words.

It’s a sensation, as if I’ve just breathed life into the words as they left my mouth. The words suddenly have a heartbeat of their own. I can feel them as her cheek presses against my bicep and her chin digs into the muscle.