Page 9 of Faking Ever After

I blinked twice. The sleeping pills had knocked me out long before we crossed the Atlantic Ocean. I vaguely remembered being woken up for our fueling stop some hours earlier.

The blinds were up and golden light poured into the bedroom and the lounge, where Finn led me with a gentle grip on my upper arm. More memories poured through the cracks of my sleepy mind and embarrassment heated up my face like a next-day lasagna in the microwave. I had thought Finn was a prostitute hired to accompany me to my parents’ wedding anniversary.

I sat facing Finn Connolly. We buckled our seatbelts and let the awkward silence fill the cabin. I looked around, clearing my throat and my groggy voice. “Is whiskey around?”

“Not after that horse tranquilizer, sunshine,” Finn said. He wagged his index finger to emphasize how low the chances of getting a drink were. “I need you semi-conscious to check us in. Kim’s not around.” He unbuckled his seatbelt and hopped onto his feet. “Here,” he said kindly as he picked a water bottle from the mini fridge and handed it to me.

While Finn returned to his seat, I drained the bottle. My ears plugged with pressure and my head throbbed.

“Hey,” Finn said.

“Mm.” I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Look at me,” Finn said in a tone that was equally soft and demanding.

I forced my eyelids up. He was a remarkably attractive guy. Black curls flew in all directions, long, dark eyelashes framing hazel eyes like he wore mascara, and his thick, black eyebrows gave him something of a dangerous and daring look. His eyes were ridiculously big—so big I could lose myself in them if I weren’t careful. And his thick lips with strong definition looked even better when he licked them.

“We’re going to be fine, Percy,” Finn said.

I had to relax my throat before I could squeeze any words out. “There’s no way you can know that.”

“Statistically speaking, the chances of something going wrong are incredibly low,” he argued.

“The thing about statistics is that it rarely predicts anything. Rather, it adjusts after the fact.” I gripped the armrest with all my might. We descended into clouds and that was possibly the worst thing that could happen in a moment like this. “Oh, god, what if there’s a bird strike?”

“A strike? Typical CEO worries.” Finn’s deadpan delivery made me force out a strangled laugh. “Besides, I highly doubt there are any birds that dislike you so much to go kamikaze on you,” Finn said. “Unless you busted their union. In that case, we’re dead men flying.”

“I get it, I get it,” I said as the airplane shuddered. A bright light pierced through the windows and the endless blue sea filled my view as we tilted left. “Eat the rich, and so on.”

“If the rich are as handsome as you, it gives that saying a whole new meaning,” Finn muttered.

I barked out a laugh that was tight with sudden embarrassment.

“I’m just saying, you’re kind of a snack,” he insisted.

My facemusthave gone red and my laughter definitely jumped an octave higher.

But Finn only smirked. “I have the right to say things like this since we’re in Greece and I’m officially your boyfriend for the next two weeks.”

His words inexplicably turned into butterflies in my stomach. “You are outrageous.”

“You forgot to be scared,” Finn said.

And he was right. The plane was on a straight trajectory, holding steady and descending fast. The airport was approaching us at incredible speed and we slammed against the tarmac hard, bouncing up and down once and twice. Hank hit the brakes and made me sink into my seat while Finn leaned out of his.

I was sorely tempted to clap my hands when the plane halted, and our pilot’s crisp, crackling voice welcomed us to Mykonos.

“Why exactly are we here?” Finn asked. “This isn’t our destination, correct?”

“We’re going in for two weeks of island living,” I explained. “And I can’t spend that long near the sea without my darlingbeauty.” Sweat was drying on my brow and under my arms now that we were back on Earth. Finn ogled me with confusion. “She’s the sexiest thing you’ll ever see.”

Finn gaped. “Are you…a closeted straight? Not judging, by the way.”

I snorted. “She’s a sailboat.”

“Huh,” he half-laughed. “I don’t think I’ll get used to dating someone who owns a sky hotel and a sailboat in time to be a convincing boyfriend.”

We had planned on putting together a story of our relationship history during the flight, but the pill had knocked me out too hard to get to that. “You’ll do fine,” I promised. “You have until tomorrow to get used to it.”

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