Page 17 of Forbidden Fruit

Finally, Jack emerges, looking rumpled and irritated. He slides into the seat beside me.

"Morning," he mumbles, not looking at me.

"Good morning," I say brightly, leaning in for a kiss. Jack turns his head slightly so I catch the corner of his mouth. He smells like stale alcohol and cologne.

"Late night?" I ask, trying to keep my tone light.

"Something like that." He pulls out his phone, immediately absorbed in whatever's on the screen.

I swallow my disappointment. This isn't how our romantic getaway is supposed to start. But it's early, and Jack's never been a morning person. Things will improve once we're in Mexico.

"I didn't know we were taking a private jet," I say, trying to engage him.

Jack glances up, frowning. "Yeah, Clive's idea. Showing off as usual."

"I think it's nice of him to arrange it," I counter.

Jack snorts. "Nice isn't in Clive's vocabulary. Everything's a power play with him."

The rest of the ride passes in uncomfortable silence. Jack taps away at his phone while I stare out the window, watching the city give way to suburbs as we head toward New Jersey.

Teterboro Airport is small but exclusive, catering to private aircraft. The driver pulls directly onto the tarmac, stopping near a sleek white jet with "Bishop Securities" emblazoned.

"Wait till you see the inside," Jack says, finally perking up. "Top of the line everything."

At least he's talking to me now. I follow him toward the plane, where a flight attendant in a crisp uniform waits at the bottom of the stairs.

"Good morning, Mr. Hanson, Ms. Jamison. Welcome aboard."

The plane's interior is breathtaking—all cream leather and polished wood. It's more like a flying living room than an aircraft, with comfortable seating arranged in conversational groups rather than rows.

"Becca! Jack! You made it." Kay approaches, looking impossibly fresh in white linen pants and a silk blouse. She air-kisses my cheeks. "Isn't this exciting?"

"It's beautiful," I say, genuinely impressed.

"Wait till you see the villa," she continues, steering me toward a seat. "Absolute paradise. I had the most wonderful times there."

Jack heads straight for the bar at the back. "Anyone want a drink?"

"It's 7:30 in the morning," I say.

"Bloody Mary time," he replies with a shrug, already pouring.

Kay pats my hand. "Vacation rules, darling."

I scan the cabin, noticing for the first time that we're not alone. Clive sits in a corner seat, engrossed in something on his tablet. He looks up as if sensing my gaze, and our eyes meet briefly. He nods in acknowledgment, then returns to his work.

"Don't mind him," Kay says, following my gaze. "Always working. Some things never change, even in divorce."

The flight attendant approaches. "We'll be taking off shortly. Please make yourselves comfortable."

I settle into one of the plush cream leather seats, trying not to stare at Clive or think about how much this private flight must cost. The cabin gleams with subtle, tasteful wealth that makes even my parents' Upper East Side apartment seem middle class by comparison.

"Coffee, Ms. Jamison?" The flight attendant appears at my side with a silver tray.

"Yes, please. Just cream."

She pours from a carafe into a real porcelain cup—not plastic or paper like on commercial flights. Jack returns with his Bloody Mary, already half-empty, and drops into the seat across from me rather than beside me.

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