iBeautifulDisaster

Chapter 11- iWhatNow?

Chapter 11: iWhatNow? (updated spelling and grammar)

A/N: The picture is of the apartment.

SAM POV:

As we were nearing our touchdown in Seattle, I was weary from the journey, and like everyone else on that flight, jet lag had firmly set in. I had managed to catch some sleep during the trip, but upon waking, my stomach was grumbling with hunger, a potent mix of jet lag and low blood sugar.

The flight attendants seemed clueless when I inquired about ham, much to my dismay. "Mrs. Benson, please understand that we don't serve ham in business class," one of them explained. The mention of "business class" caught me off guard. So, they did have ham, and they were keeping it from me? That wasn't going to fly.

"Excuse me? Business class? So you have ham, and you're withholding it from me?" I exclaimed, feeling a surge of frustration. It took all my restraint not to give the platinum blonde, heavily made-up flight attendant a piece of my mind. Thankfully, Freddie was there, holding me back and seated between us.

He turned to me with a mischievous grin. "Baby, I promise I'll get you a honey ham when we land. Pinky promise!" His smile was infectious, and I couldn't help but relax, forgetting momentarily about the flight attendant's presence. But, predictably, she had to live up to her stereotype.

Leaning in towards Freddie, she patronizingly patted his shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Benson. Your wife must be quite a handful. But if you ever find yourself in the Big Apple and want to meet a real woman, give me a call," she said, slipping a napkin with her name and number into his shirt pocket, all the while giving me a suggestive wink.

I could feel the fury bubbling up inside me, ready to explode on this plastic, fake Barbie. But Freddie squeezed my hand, and something in his expression made me pause. Was it protectiveness? His calm demeanor belied the anger burning in his eyes as he addressed her.

"For your information," he began, glancing at her name tag. "Brittani with an I. If that isn't fitting your stereotype to a tee, I don't know what is. Let me be clear, Brittani: my wife is a wonderful person, with integrity and self-confidence. Unlike you, she doesn't need to conform to society's standards with fake hair and tans. And she certainly doesn't hit on happily married men. So, please, walk away and don't come back unless you want to face the consequences from my beautiful, loving, and amazing wife." With that, he tore up the napkin and handed it back to her.

Turning to me, he nodded, his smile melting away the tension. He kissed my forehead, a gesture that caught me off guard, momentarily distracting me from the Barbie's scoff as she walked away. Applause and whistles erupted from other passengers, and I couldn't help but chuckle at the unexpected turn of events. Even the woman behind us seemed impressed, I heard her slap her husband's arm and say, "See Dean, that's how a real man does romance!" I chuckled to myself.

Never in my eighteen years of existence had I imagined a plane full of strangers cheering for Freddie and me, applauding our unwavering commitment to each other. It felt surreal, especially considering it was just me, an ordinary person. As we made our way to baggage claim, hand in hand, with Mrs. Benson beside me, I couldn't help but smile, feeling grateful for Freddie's presence.

Our attention shifted to Barbie swiftly passing by, her head tucked low and for a fleeting moment, I felt a pang of sympathy. Yet, a stronger feeling of resentment lingered towards her for shamelessly flirting with my husband right in front of me. Lost in my thoughts, I almost missed Carly throwing her arms around my neck before delivering a solid slap on Freddie's arm.

"Ow! What's that for, Carly?" Freddie protested, massaging his arm.

"How could you let this happen?" Carly demanded, her frustration evident.