Recklessly Bound

Chapter Twelve

We settle in Ethan's jet, almost an hour after we last talked. It's funny how hours pass by and we don't see that we haven't communicated in the least. It's not like Ethan is bothered by it.

I buckle my seatbelt and stare out of the window. The blazing hot weather of LA is dashing heat waves in the airport's runway. I take a deep breath and settle back, watch Ethan, who is sitting in front me, frowning down at his phone. God, is there a time the man gets off his phone and pay attention to his surroundings? But then again, if he was doing it, he would have probably noticed me.

"It's a nice jet. Your father gave it to you?" I ask once he puts his phone away, only because the jet is ready to take off.

"No, I earned it myself. I figured that using company's personal plane would be wasting resources. So, this one is only for my use," he explains,

I look at the black and white interior. It speaks volumes, unlike its owner,

"Is there anything I should be aware of when we interview this evening?" I reach for my flute, which is secured in a cup ring, "any particular thing that I should know as your fiancé?"

He turns his head toward me and gives me a long gaze. I wonder if he's thinking of what to reply or his thoughts are miles away from me. Is he thinking of her? Does he think of how much he wishes it was her not me? Perhaps, he's thinking about their intimacy. I almost grimace. No fiancé would want her betrothal to think about another woman.

"Not that I know. Just that we are soon going to be married. You're excited about my new movie and that you support me in whatever stupid thing they ask from you." he soon fishes out his laptop and fires it up. That's when I notice we have successfully taken off.

"Stupid thing?" I raise an eyebrow,

"They might ask you what I would do for this or that. What I think. What you think I would do. Answer all questions as if you know, but you don't want to share it," he busies himself by typing furiously as if he couldn't wait to make that excuse to stop talking to me. I find it highly offending.

"There's nothing about me that they might ask from you," I say, hoping to get his attention again. "Just so you know," to try to become civilized again. To communicate like normal human beings.

He looks up from his screen and his eye catch me. I feel my inner melting away at the sight of his gray eyes. However, before I can embarrass myself, he looks away and at his screen.

I nod. Well, screw this communication thing. If he doesn't want to act civil, why should I bother?

I stand up and make my way to the bedroom in the back of the jet, where my bag is. I start doing my makeup and hair since I didn't have enough time to do it before we got on board. When the two flight attendants start serving the meal, one of them, all thanks to her, decides that I should like to take my meal in the bedroom, since I haven't made an appearance since we took off. It would be wise to try to avoid him as much as possible.

Four hours and a half, eight thirty NYC local, we arrive at the red carpet. Ethan helps me out of the car and offers his arm to me. We step on the red carpet and the flashes start blinding me. I square my shoulders and hold my head high, offer the cameras a sweet dazzling smile for their covers.

All of a sudden, I feel a delicious shiver running through me. The one that leaves you quivering and goosebumped skin. That's when I feel Ethan's hand, traveling low from my side all the way to my waist, and then my hip. He finally stops moving his hand and settles low on my hip, somewhere between my side and behind. I do all my best to shiver or grin like a fool.