Page 84 of Made for Reign

His fingers work at the knot of my blindfold. “See for yourself.”

The silk falls away, and I blink against the sudden brightness. We’re standing at the entrance to a private jet terminal, sleek aircraft visible through floor-to-ceiling windows.

I turn to him, confusion written across my face. “I don’t understand.”

Reign’s expression is uncharacteristically nervous. “Remember that art competition you mentioned? The one in San Diego?”

My heart skips a beat. “What about it?”

“You won.”

My mind spins, trying to process what he’s telling me. “But I never submitted anything. I threw away the application.”

“I found it in your studio trash.” He takes my hand in his. “I filled out a new one. Had the painting shipped before the deadline.”

“You did all that? Without telling me?”

“I had to.” His hand finds mine, thumb rubbing circles against my palm. “You’re too talented to hide, Audrey. The world deserves to see what you create.”

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes.

“I really won?” The reality of what he’s saying finally sinks in. “First place?”

A smile breaks across Reign’s face, genuine and proud.

“First place. The judges were unanimous. You beat over three hundred other artists. The awards ceremony is in San Diego tomorrow night. I RSVP’d for the both of us.”

I press my hand to my mouth, tears flowing freely now. “Oh my gosh, Reign. I—I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll get on the plane.” His hand cups my cheek. “Say you’ll let yourself have this.”

I look from him to the waiting jet and back again.

“Yes,” I whisper, then more firmly, “Yes.”

A uniformed attendant appears at the foot of the jet’s stairs. “Mr. Mitchell? We’re ready for boarding whenever you are.”

Reign nods acknowledgment, then turns back to me. “Ready to go to San Diego, Princess?”

“With you? Anywhere.”

The interior of the jet steals my breath. Buttery leather seats larger than first-class. Polished wood tables. Plush carpet underfoot. Everything speaks of luxury and exclusivity. The attendant appears with two flutes of champagne on a silver tray. “Please make yourselves comfortable. We’ll be taking off in approximately fifteen minutes.”

I accept the champagne, the cool glass grounding me in this surreal moment. “You’ve thought of everything.”

“That’s my job.” Reign takes his own glass, his eyes never leaving mine. “Risk assessment. Contingency planning.”

“Is that what I am? A risk to be managed?” I tease, taking a sip of champagne that bubbles across my tongue.

His expression darkens, intensity replacing amusement. “You’re the only risk I’ve ever been willing to take without a backup plan.”

The door seals with a pressurized hiss, cocooning us in our private sanctuary. The attendant discreetly moves to the front cabin, leaving us alone in the main cabin. Reign settles into the seat across from mine, his large frame making even the spacious jet feel somehow smaller.

As we taxi toward the runway, I let myself absorb the reality of what’s happening. In less than three hours, I’ll be in San Diegoto accept my first ever art award. And Reign will be by my side. The jet accelerates down the runway, pressing me back into my seat. Reign’s eyes hold mine as we lift off and the ground falls away beneath us.

I giggle. “I can’t believe we’re going back to San Diego.”

“San Diego,” he says, his voice a low rumble that I feel more than hear. “Where it all began.”

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