16

“Oh, C’mon,” I shake my head as he settles beside me and takes my hand in his, leaving both our hands entwined in my lap, “you can’t be?”

“I am,” he says solemnly, “most definitely not comfortable flying in this tin can of death.”

“It’s only a three-hour flight. And anyway,” I lower my voice to a whisper, “if the plane was going to crash you could fly us to safety, right?”

“No,” he whispers back, “because my fucking wing still won’t flap properly.”

“Then you better pray we don’t crash,” I mock widen my eyes at him. “You know this very plane has fallen from the sky three times in as many weeks, killing almost everyone on board. If a flock of seagulls hadn’t swooped in and lifted it the last time, the casualties would have been appalling.”

“Bullshit,” he smirks, shaking his head and raising his hand to the stewardess for a drink.

I can’t help but notice she serves him quickly and gives him a long, appraising look. And why wouldn’t she? He looks breathtaking in his tight jeans and black long-sleeved sweatshirt. Anyone seeing him would have to conclude he was a model or a millionaire. He exuded power, wealth and sex appeal. As someone who lived with him, even I was blown away when he’d walked out of his room dressed for the flight. I was so used to seeing him covered in woodchips, paint and dust that I’d almost become inured to his other-worldly beauty. Almost.

“Anything else, Sir?” The hostess breathes.

“Yes, a white wine for my wife,” he smiles.

I snort and look out the window. Honestly, the lies this creature tells without blinking an eye.

When she leaves, I turn to him.

“So we’re married now? Yesterday you were my toyboy, the day before, my gardener, and the day before that my personal chef.”

“Oh yes, didn’t I tell you?” He chuckles. “You signed on the dotted line in your sleep. I’m the old ball and chain now.”

I shake my head. A few weeks ago a joke like this wouldn’t have been funny at all. But I’ve regained my humour since meeting Chris, and then some. Still, there’s a lot I don’t know about him.

“Have you ever been married?”

“No.”

“Relationships?”

“Of course,” he smirks, “several long-term relationships and everything in between. I just never found the right one. At least not in my realm, Merri.”

“Huh.”

“What about you? Did you shop around before you married James?”

“By shop around I presume you mean did I sleep around?”

He grins.

“I had a couple of boyfriends, yes,” I laugh, “and a few in between . But James was the one.”

“How did you know?”

I shrug. The last thing I want to talk about is the man I thought I was going to grow old with who was currently trying to take my home. This holiday is supposed to be taking my mind off him and all the back and forth between our lawyers. But strangely I don’t find it so painful now to talk about my past. Not with Chris, anyway.

“The night I met James I just looked into his eyes, and I was instantly drawn to him. I felt like he and I belonged. We spent almost all our time together after our first date. We hated being apart. It was a natural progression to travel together, move in, and eventually get engaged and married. Then the kids came. Everything just seemed to be progressing as life should, you know.”

I don’t add, until the affair. There’s no point. Chris has lived my highs and lows for weeks now. He’s seen me on good days, and he’s seen me on bad. But the latter have been fewer as the days grew shorter and we headed towards Christmas, just a week and a half away now. Despite the stress of the lawyers fighting it out, and the threat hanging over my head that I could very well lose my beloved home soon, I have to acknowledge that I don’t think I’d be in the headspace I am now if it wasn’t for this carefree, jovial, gorgeous man by my side.

“What are you thinking?” He asks now as the plane begins to taxi down the runway and he squeezes my fingers tightly.

“Just that I’m grateful you fell through my roof. And it’s a shame that, especially given we’re apparently newlyweds, we’re both about to die.”

“Luckily I know you for the bullshit artist you truly are,” he says quietly, “now comfort me, woman, before I drag you into the toilets and consummate our union.”

“At least it will be quick,” I giggle.

“Oh, it won’t be quick,” he murmurs, looking at me from under his lashes.

“I mean when we hit the ground,” I smirk.

“Merri,” he groans, “don’t think I won’t get my revenge for your cruelty.”

I burst out laughing, drawing more than a few looks from fellow passengers. But I couldn’t care less.