The Pretense

Chapter 13

Harper knew she should probably put up more resistance to his high-handedness but she felt too weak and light-headed to do so. And some deeply held part of her was insanely pleased by his gesture.

It was obvious that his behavior had more to do with his overdeveloped sense of responsibility than it did with her as a person and she would do well to remember that.

He expertly pulled the silver bullet into the area of the airport reserved for private planes, and Harper gave up fighting into him and soaks up some of his strength as he guided her towards the steps to his plane.

It was sleek and white. She didn’t feel so unwell that she couldn’t be impressed. “You’re not the president, are you?” she murmured faintly.

He smiled softly, “Sorry, honey. I’m not that big.” Harper’s eyes widened making his smile turn devilish. “What I meant is that I’m not that important.”

Keeping her sheltered against his broad shoulder, he led her past wide leather bucket seats with polished trim down a narrow corridor and into a room lit only by the up-lights in the carpet.

“You have a bed?” she couldn’t keep the astonishment in her voice.

“I fly a lot. Hop in.”

“Don’t I have to wear a seatbelt for take-off?” As she said the words, she felt the jet move slowly forward. Or backward. It was hard to tell.

“Not on a private plane.”

“Does it have a bathroom?”

“Through there.” He gestured towards a narrow sliding door. “If you’re more than five minutes, I’m going to assume that you’ve collapse so I’d barge in.”

“And you accuse me of being bossy? Sheesh.” She sniffed but didn’t argue. Her back ached, her stomach hurt, and her head felt as if it had some sort of torture device attached on the top.

When she came out, he was on the phone speaking to someone in Italian. One of his family friends, maybe?

Good God. Our worlds are so different. She felt a pang as she recalled watching the cool kids all eating at the same cafeteria table at school every day while she pretended that she needed time to be alone to spread out her drawing pad.

“I’ve ordered you a light meal. It’ll be delivered as soon as we’re airborne.” He shoved his phone in his pocket as he came towards her. “Harper.”

“Huh?”

“You look like you’re about to fall over. Please get in bed.”

He might have said please but his tone implied he’d put her there in a few seconds if she doesn’t comply.

Slipping off her boots, she folded herself inside the cool, crisp sheets and laid her head on a pillow as soft as the clouds.

---

“Wake up, sunshine. We’re here.”

Groggy from sleep, Harper allowed Matteo to lift her out of the bed.

“Don’t forget her boots,” he told someone. Harper rested her head against his shoulder, unable to completely pull herself from the blissful depths of unconsciousness.

Seconds later, she was placed in a car. Seconds after that, she was being lifted again. The next time she woke, the nausea had passed and so had the headache. She stretched and felt the resistance of a top sheet.

Someone had made this bed with hospital corners. She wondered if she was in a hospital.

Opening her eyes, she noticed that the room was at its semi-darkness, with a set of heavy burgundy silk drapes pulled across the windows. The room was expensively furnished in rich country décor and definitely not in a hospital. She strained her ears but could only hear the faint sound of white noise. A washing machine, perhaps.