Page 10 of Two days, One Pucking Night

I pull back, not wanting to read much into his kindness.

He walks to the furthest end of the capsule, creating a sizable distance between us. “I’ll disappear in the background, so you can do whatever you planned to do. Alone.”

“If that’s even possible,” I mumble under my breath without thought.

Xavier bursts into laughter. The sound is joyful, heartened.

Whatever tension we shared earlier dissipates, and the air between us is now filled with ease and quiet tranquility.

“I’m glad we can agree on something.” He smiles.

A comfortable silence fills the space between us, and Xavier, as to his word, turns to face the view ahead, giving me the privacy I need. One I am grateful for.

I tug my suitcase to the center and place it beside the champagne and truffles. Opening the suitcase, I pull out my blue Instant camera and place its strap over my shoulder. I bought it specifically to get the perfect shot when we reach the top. I also take my digital camera and attach the wide-angle lens to it. The wheel is moving, but at such a pace you don’t even realize it’s happening until your vantage point changes. Rising to my feet and turning to my left, I take in the unobstructed view of the city—from Buckingham Palace to Big Ben to the Shard, gleaming against the dotted night sky.

I told you I would travel and experience life, Paw Paw.

Moving around the capsule, I snap various shots of the space from different angles, then progress to the outside view. I know I must look crazy, sprinting, dipping, and squatting to get as many shots as possible. But I don’t care.

Each image makes me admire the architecture of the wheel. From the clear reinforced glass that gives an obstructed view of the city and its steel wheels to the series of spokes that make up the wheel’s outer edge. Design and structure are things that make my heart sing. My childhood was spent trailing after my mom as she turned his small architecture and interior construction business from the living area of our family home into a multinational business. As a child, I watched her grow Brookes Architects from the ground with grit and determination. It spurred my love for fashion design. Though the fields are different, they are also vastly similar in many ways. They share similar principles, grasp of geometry, and structure to design lines.

I lose myself in the moment, basking in the joy and anticipation of finally being here, present, in the moment, without anyone else’s input, dispute, or objection. Joy thrums through my veins, and excitement fills my body with natural adrenaline. A smile sketches my face and my heart sings in contentment. This moment is everything Paw Paw had said it would be and more.

For a moment, I am still, allowing myself to envision my granddad’s face, his laughter, his smile. And the endless stories of his travels with my grandma.

“What are you doing?” Xavier whispers.

I turn around to find he’s moved from the spot he was in before. I don't know when, but in the ebb and flow of the moment, we created a natural rhythm and synergy. Allowing me to move freely without feeling like his presence is an imposition.

“Shhhhhhhh.”

“Shhhh?” his voice rises an octave.

Something about the tone tells me he finds my response entertaining. He finds this moment entertaining. He finds me entertaining.

“You talk too much—“

“Now, that I’ve never been told before.”

I lift my gaze from the camera screen and pin him with a questioning stare. My knowledge of him is limited to the small glimpse Zayn has given me over the years and the scattered interviews and articles he and my brother have engaged in. He’s come across as impressionable, a natural before the camera in those instances. So I find it hard to believe, especially knowing those damn reporters can be cutthroat and heartless.

Xavier doesn’t expand. Instead, he turns his gaze back to the night sky view of the city.

“I don’t want Zayn to know about this,” I note when a reasonable amount of time has passed.

When Xavier doesn’t respond, I turn to face him, expecting to find apprehension. Instead, there is a warmth in his gaze, a heat in his eyes, and an understanding tip of his head, one that takes me by surprise.

“Okay,” he replies without argument as if he knows and grasps how important this moment is for me without needing the details. “I got you, princess,” he whispers, turning back around.

When we reach the top, I take several shots with both cameras, pocketing the printed images from the instant camera. My attention is drawn to the profile view of Xavier to my right. I step back, appreciating how his jaw naturally flexes when deep in thought. How the reflection of his eyes on the glass glimmer with hypnotizing excitement, how the light accentuates his gladiator structure and confidence.

I intuitively raise my camera and capture shots of his prominent jaw and the halo that falls over his full lips, thick enough to bite, yet almost feminine in its pout.

Images of those lips pressed against my forehead, nose, neck, and lips flash in my head. Warm, plump, soft, and decadent like cocoa butter melting against rich cocoa skin.

Don’t go there, I chastise myself mentally while moving to fix myself a drink.

“Are you legal for that, princess?”

---