Page 39 of Sweetest Sin
I send a text to Lorenzo to let him know he’ll be able to use the company jet once it’s available since I’m going to have to find another plane to take to Russia, and then I pocket my phone.
“Everything okay?” Beatrice asks, concern etched in her features.
Jaimie is one lucky bastard to snag a woman like her. Genuine women are hard to come by. They’re either after you for your power or money—or in Matteo’s case, they just want a night with a bad boy, but they could never handle the life we live.
“I was supposed to head to Russia to pick up my sister tomorrow, but our plane is down with an engine issue.”
“Take mine,” Jaimie offers. “We’re not leaving for our honeymoon for a few days because Beatrice’s family is in town.”
He wraps his arm around his wife and kisses her temple, and not for the first time, a small part of me thinks about Peyton, wondering if I hadn’t fucked shit up, maybe I could’ve had what he has. I immediately shove the thought away. Even if I hadn’twalked out and pushed Peyton away, I wouldn’t have wanted to bring her into my world.
At least with Jaimie, he’s a legitimate businessman, so he doesn’t have to worry about keeping the people close to him safe.
“I appreciate that,” I tell him. “If all goes well, I should only be there for a couple of days.”
“It’s all good,” Jaimie says with a smirk. “Having an Antonov owe me a favor might come in handy one day.”
“Good afternoon,Mr. Antonov. My name is Sonia, and I’ll be one of your flight attendants today.”
I glance up from my phone at the black-haired woman and smile. “Thank you.”
“Since this is your first time on Mr. Sanchez’s plane, please allow me to show you around.”
I nod and follow her around the plane. It has a bedroom, bathroom, and lounge. Since it’s a twelve-hour flight, I plan to use the time to get some work done and get some sleep since there’s an eight-hour time difference and we’ll be arriving in Russia in the morning.
The bedroom will also come in handy on the way back to Harbor Point. I’m betting that Brielle is going to be pissed that I’m forcing her to come home, and she’ll need a place to hide out—or vice versa. Eleven hours in a confined space with my pissed-off sister will not be?—
“I am so sorry I’m late!” a feminine voice hisses, cutting off my thoughts. “Damien was having a rough day and?—”
I glance back, and emerald eyes—the same color I’ve seen in damn near every one of my fantasies over the past four and a half years—collide with mine. Fiery-red hair, porcelain skin.She’s put on a little bit of weight since the last time I saw her, but her curves only add to her beauty. She’s dressed in the same outfit as Sonia—a black-and-gold blazer with a matching skirt—but unlike Sonia’s chunky boots, she’s sporting a pair of heels, reminding me of our night together.
She halts, and with her wide eyes trained on me, she swallows thickly and then glances around, like she’s trying to think of a way to bolt.
Before she can, Sonia greets her.
“Hey, it’s okay,” she tells Peyton. “I was just showing Mr. Antonov around.” She smiles warmly at me. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Peyton knows what I like,” I say, having a seat on the leather sofa and glancing at the woman who’s standing in the same place, looking like she’s seen a ghost.
“Oh, okay,” Sonia says, her brows furrowing in confusion. “Well then, Peyton, please grab Mr. Antonov a drink. And here’s the menu.”
She hands me a leather-bound booklet and then looks at Peyton, who’s still frozen in her spot. I can’t help but smirk because even though it’s been over four years, the woman clearly remembers me and is affected. But then I remember how we left shit—with me leaving without a note and her moving on less than a month later—and my mood darkens at the thought of her being with someone shortly after me. Of some other guy putting his hands on her. Fucking her. I glance at her left hand, but there’s no ring on it, and my mood slightly improves.
“Peyton,” Sonia hisses, snapping Peyton out of her current trance. “Get Mr. Antonov his drink, please.”
Peyton nods and then scurries away while Sonia starts to go over the flight safety protocol with me—a standard procedure that’s required on every flight, even private.
She’s just finishing up when Peyton comes out with my drink of choice in hand. With a forced smile, she places the napkin on the table next to me.
“They didn’t have Kingston,” she murmurs. “But they had Woodford Reserve, which is almost as good.”
I stifle my smirk at the fact that she not only remembered which whiskey I preferred, but despite the way shit ended, she cared enough to find me a decent replacement since Jaimie doesn’t keep Kingston stocked.
As she sets my drink down, her lavender scent permeates the air, giving me the best damn high, and like an addict, I lean in, needing more.
“What are you doing?” she accuses, glancing up at me, our faces only inches apart.
“Smelling you,” I say, not giving a shit that she caught me. “You smell the same as you did in the Dominican Republic.”
