Page 77 of Sexy as Sin
Willow looked poised between two equally unattractive options. Bolt, and despise herself as a coward, or stay and fence with a duelist who’d been practicing a long, long time.
She chose, as Brett could have predicted, to stay. “Thank you,” she said, and took a seat. “Brett’s recovering from a broken leg.”
“I am,” Brett said, sitting down beside Willow and propping his crutches against the window. “Australian medical care is excellent, although I don’t recommend finding that out the way I did.”
The night before, in the car, Willow and Azra had told him what Azra’s mother had said to them. First, Willow: “In case you didn’t know it, you’ve been trying me on for size before you throw me back, like a fish you hooked and found you didn’t want after all. Isn’t that an appealing portrayal of the dating scene? I hope I’m a salmon, at least. What a shock to find out you were a blobfish instead, andthat’swhy they keep screaming when they pull you out.”
Azra, then, with a laugh that was clearly the release of built-up pressure: “You forgot the dirty hands. ‘Like a fish they hooked and weighed in their dirty hands.’ My mum. So eloquent.”
“And here I have such clean hands,” Brett had said, and the two of them had laughed some more.
Yeah, he was just as glad to be sitting here now to take care of that.
“So you’re off to the States,” Azra’s mother said, when Willow didn’t talk, because she couldn’t think of what to say, and Brett didn’t talk, because outwaiting people was a useful skill.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m American, as you can probably tell from the accent. I’ve met Willow’s family, and now I’m taking her home to meet mine. An important step, wouldn’t you say?”
The guy with the silver pot was pouring coffee, thick and black as mud, into elaborate, handle-less cups, which Willow was eyeing with a whole lot more enthusiasm than Brett felt. “May I offer you something from the bar?” he asked.
Brett inclined his head at Azra’s mother, who said, “Nothing, thank you,” in a repressed sort of way that probably concealed some regrouping.
“Champagne for the lady,” Brett said, consulting the drinks menu. “Billecart-Salmon Brut Reserve?” He looked the question at Willow, who said, “Oh, absolutely. My favorite,” with an irrepressible smile. He added, “And a cappuccino for me.”
“You’re missing out,” Willow informed him, plucking a date from the tiny white bowl on the table and taking a bite, then a sip of coffee with obvious enjoyment. “On both counts. This is the real thing. It’s even flavored with cardamom. The taste of my childhood. I can’t believe I’m here drinking it. What could the plane possibly be like, I wonder? Wait, I already know. Like a plane, but with more comfortable seats. I’ll bet the food’s good, though.”
“It can be very civilized, actually,” Azra’s mother said, “if you have an apartment.”
Willow stared at her, seeming to forget to be nervous. “Anapartment?Seriously? We don’t have an apartment, though,” she said to Brett.
“No,” he said. “Not exactly.”
“Oh.” She tried not to look disappointed, and he smiled.
“It’s rather fine,” Azra’s mother said. “A door that you can shut is the ultimate luxury, surely. And, of course, a seat that makes up into a bed, though one would expect that from any airline. The shower is a nice touch, though. One must book it ahead, and it’s not individual, of course, but it’s well worth it. The reason I always fly Emirates or Etihad. Privacy is always worth paying extra for.”
She pronounced it in the British style.PRIH-vah-see. He wondered if women could be wankers.
Willow was in about four places at once. Glad to have Brett by her side for this confrontation. Crikey, but the man was smooth.Sneakily pleased that Azra’s mother would have to wonder about that “meeting my family” thing.Look! He’s not throwing me back,she wanted to say, even though Brett had only said it for effect. Furious that Jamila Amal was trying to make Brett look small with all her talk about apartments and showers and doors. And, of course, thrilled to experience the taste and texture of real coffee. The way to her heart wasdefinitelythrough her stomach. Also, she was nervous as billy-o at all of this. Brett might be smooth. She wasn’t. Which wasfiveplaces at once, actually.
And then somebodyelseturned up. It was like a parade, and the entire place, and everybody in it, matched. The lounge was decorated in dessert colors. Chocolate, coffee, and cream, with splashes of rich purple like plum sauce and pale green mint. The seats were mint-green leather, and the tables were exotic woods lacquered to a rich sheen. She was never going to be able to go back to the plastic seats in the Qantas departure lounge again. Spoiled for life.
The man beside the table now was the worst yet. He was wearing white gloves, cream trousers, a waistcoat, and a chocolate-colored jacket. Withtails.Seriously, he was in tails, as if they were going to a royal wedding instead of getting on a plane. Even without Jamila Amal, this was the most ridiculous airline experience she’d ever had.
“I beg your pardon,” the man said, his voice accented not with Arabic, but with British English. “Ms. Sanderson, Mr. Hunter, I’m Ewan Forrester, and I’ll be your butler for the flight. You have your choice of boarding first or last today. Which would you prefer?”
Brett looked at Willow, and once again, she wanted to giggle. Pretty strongly this time. The expression on Jamila Amal’s face... but they had abutler?This was so over the top. “Last,” she said, “if it’s my choice.”
“It’s your choice,” Brett said.
“Very good,” the butler said, then handed Brett a small paper tote bag with “HW” embossed on the outside. The bag was in a shade of blue so discreet, it probably had its own name. It even went with Brett’s suit and tie. Azra would have approved. “Your parcel, sir. When it’s time to board, I’ll be back to escort you onto the plane. Meanwhile, would you prefer a private room, or are you comfortable here?”
“We’re good here,” Brett said. “Thanks.”
Ewan inclined his head and swanned off like he was in a costume drama on BBC One, and Willow couldn’t hold back anymore. She snorted, then had to clap her hand over her mouth as Brett laughed. “Don’t mind me, mate,” she told him. “I’ll just sit here and be overwhelmed.”
Jamila Amal might be icy-cool normally, but she wasn’t looking that way now. Brett set the little bag on the table and asked her, “Do you mind? This thing’s been burning a hole in my virtual pocket for a few days, ever since I thought of it. It’s come all the way from Hong Kong. You could say this trip is a momentous occasion, though, and I find that I need to commemorate it.”
“Oh, please.” She waved a manicured hand. “Go ahead.”
