Page 24 of Arianna

She is a puzzle.

The girl stares out the jet’s window while I take advantage of the silence to take her in.

She might be an expert at hiding herself from others, but I can see her.

She is scared.

Not of me, no.

Which is intriguing since I am the only thing she should ever fear.

Not the dark.

Not her family.

Not the world.

Me.

Not an airplane.

Yet, she is.

It is obvious by the way she is holding onto the seat belt as if her life depends on it. Does flying make her nervous? Has she even flown on a jet before? So many questions, yet I know she will not be as easy to crack as the other women I have encountered before.

This is a child with a chip on her shoulder and a cold heart.

A troubling combination.

Then it hits me.

Arianna is no ordinary mafia princess no.

Something about her called out to me the moment I saw her face through a screen. A maturity to her that could only be obtained by surviving great pain and tragedy.

There is also a feeling of familiarity when she stares into my eyes. As if I have known her before, which is absurd since I have never met this girl before today.

However, the feeling is there, nagging at me.

In the half-hour she has been in my presence, she has acted both hot and cold, and I don’t think she even realizes she is capable of being anything but cold.

There is warmth there, creeping behind all that sass and bad attitude.

For her young age, she dresses and carries herself as someone much older than her eighteen years of age. There is no doubt she is one of the most beautiful, if not the most beautiful young woman I've ever encountered, and I’ve met a lot of pretty women in my life.

This one is different.

She wears her beauty not as a shield but as a weapon.

My eyes travel from the fitted white suit that makes her look like a business opponent instead of the teenager she is. I take in her wrists, fingers, and neck and find no jewelry. Rich girls like her flaunt their wealth as a sport, but this one does not.

Does she even own any jewelry? Does she choose not to wear any to blend in? To not stand out? Moreover, why does the thought of this insignificant girl wanting to blend in with everyone else to maybe protect herself makes my blood boil?

I finish what is left of my drink and place it down harshly on top of the small table next to my seat. She does not startle. She remains frozen, looking out the small window into the night.

Ice princess.

What hardships have you faced? How many demons have you slain?

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