Marry me

Chapter Fourteen.

I gaped –in awe, of course– jaw loose, and eyes open a fraction at the aeroplane that stood tall and proud in front of me. I saw the Trevelyan logo etched on the side and I swear the plane itself was shining, like it was snickering at my reaction. 

It's so beautiful, I thought to myself.

"Stop ogling an inanimate object, Miss. Greene," Mr. Trevelyan said, drawing me out of my trance with the beautiful aircraft in front of me. "It's a sign of mental instability. Remember that you're going to be Mrs. Trevelyan. Wouldn't want the press to see you ogling their cameras."

It took me a few minutes to snap completely out of my daze and process what he said. When I finally did, I rolled my eyes discreetly and huffed. Yeah, coming from my boss who ordered me to marry him out of the blues. Mental instability my ass.

"Anyway, this sweetheart here is Bret Glendale," he said, leading me to the inside of the plane. "My most prized possession."

First was the car and now his plane? Well, okay then.

"Uh, okay?"

He glanced at me with a bored expression. "Your response was very appreciated, Miss. Greene."

I refrained from rolling my eyes. "Wonder how my eyeballs haven't fallen off with all the eye-rolling I've been doing lately," I muttered under my breath.

"What was that?"

I blinked partly surprised at how fast he whirled his head towards me. "Oh, it was nothing, Mr. Trevelyan. I was just making remarks at how beautiful Gret Blendale is."

"It's Bret Glen– never mind."

I held back a smirk of satisfaction as I tailed behind him, heading into the plane.

We clambered up the stairs –with Mr. Trevelyan in front of me and me tagging behind him. He entered the plane before I walked in.

Whoa!

The first thing that hit me –hit me so hard that it almost knocked me off my feet metaphorically speaking, of course– was the smell. The smell was heavenly. It was like a combination of colognes, leather, and wealth. It made me feel somewhat giddy.
I took a deep breath, savoring the air around me. There were expensive white seats on the plane. The seats were very clean, not one stain or blotch on it. My hands twitched and itched to rub them but I resisted.

Signs of mental instability, I reminded myself.

Mr. Trevelyan seemed to notice my reaction because he said, "Still ogling inert objects, huh?" A little knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

I decided to go with my gut. I plastered a wide smile onto my face. "Yes, Mr. Trevelyan."

He blinked in surprise but quickly regained his composure. "Well, then," I heard him mutter.

"Good evening Mr. Trevelyan." A voice said and we both turned around to see a middle-aged man. He was in a white shirt and black trousers and I saw spots of gray on his hair and beard. He looked like he was in his mid-fifties.

"Commander Rochester," Mr. Trevelyan acknowledged.

A simple 'good evening' would have been a lot more better.