I wasn’t sure how he pulled it off, but he swore he had bought a ‘flexible’ package and that he didn’t waste money. Those were the first lies of our trip.
I had walked to my seat without looking at my ticket and didn’t notice Mark wasn’t behind me. The flight attendant tracked me down as I loaded my luggage, took my ticket and asked what I was doing in ‘economy’.
“Sir, you need to go to first class, please. They’ll take care of you.”
I had my carry-on half shoved into the compartment over the seat I knew I had chosen from the online seating chart—I had specifically chosen a window seat. I ripped my plane ticket out of the attendant’s know-it-all hand with a frustrated glare, but she was right—my ticket did say first class. I didn’t know how to respond.
I put my head down and meekly followed her advice.
And with that lie, Mark had found a way to force me to sit in first class. He didn’t ask my permission. He was sneaky about it. He didn’t beg me to sit with him, because he knew what kind of reaction he would get. He didn’t want me to forbid him from upgrading the ticket, so he didn’t press the issue. He simply did it.
The attendant in first class showed me to my seat.
“Hey, babe,” Mark said, like he wasn’t about to get his head ripped from his shoulders. I said nothing, tried to store my bag, but then the attendant did it herself. I was miffed. I sat in the window seat, which Mark had left for me. There was enough room to move around Mark’s knees without him standing. Wow. Those other seats had been worse than high school bleachers. These first class seats were like luxury office chairs.
“I didn’t want your flight to be a bad one,” he said, by way of apology.
“Don’t do that again. You know I don’t like surprises.”
“You also don’t like being around so many people. How many people could you see in that cabin? Hundreds.” He was right and I nodded sullenly. “Look around... how many can you see here? Just us. The couple across from us. I can faintly hear the couple behind us. And then there’s the flight attendant.”
“I’m here. You won. You don’t have to lay out your argument.”
“I don’t want you to be mad at me.”
“I’m not mad at you.” The words rolled off my tongue automatically and without conscious thought. “But I am mad. I don’t like changing plans. I had prepared myself for a flight in that—”
“Hell, babe. Just say it. A transatlantic flight in economy? You’ve gotta be kidding.” He handed me a pill for my nerves, which I pointedly refused. “If you need something to help your nausea or sleeping or anxiety—”
“I don’t have anxiety.”
Mark gave me a funny look. Of course I had anxiety attacks, he and I both knew that, but I wasn’t the kind of person who vocalized my weaknesses... it gave them too much power.
The flight was otherwise uneventful and as much as I hate to admit it, I was grateful for the upgrade. I didn’t know if I would let Mark do it on the return trip (if he hadn’t already made the upgrade), but midway through the flight I took a peek behind the curtain to see what I was missing in economy... and I quickly scampered back to my plush seat and gripped Mark’s hand as he rested.
We landed in Rome and had a small connecting flight to Milan. There was no first class on that flight. Mark and I were seated side-by-side, him in the aisle and me at the window. I watched the countryside as we flew to our destination—a magical experience. There’s something so strange about looking down and feeling like you’re watching a photograph unfold beneath you. It’s an experience that I will never get used to.
We got off the plane, picked up our luggage and Mark hailed a cab (which he paid for). I sat close to him in the back seat, our legs touched, but we didn’t hold hands.
Our hotel room was the equivalent of a first class ticket. I had only ever slept in a hotel room with two queen beds because I had only ever traveled with my parents. I didn’t even know they made hotel rooms with king beds.
I didn’t know a lot of things before I met Mark.
The room was more beautiful than I can possibly describe. The ceiling was high, at least eleven feet with delicate molding that gave the room an extra dimension and drew the eye up from the floor. The walls had fancy paper with bold black and white designs. The bed was large and had a white, fluffy comforter; the bed frame had a silk canopy; the furniture was a beautiful dark wood. There was a huge, thin-screen television much like what Mark had in his living room back in the States. I set my luggage in the corner, but Mark told me to unload it in the dresser.
I never unloaded my clothes in hotel dressers. Why would anyone do that?
I reassessed the room. Everything was so fancy. Our luggage was an eyesore. I had never thought of my luggage as something to be hidden away and out of sight. The room was so far above my standard of travel that I couldn’t comprehend how much it had cost.
“Let’s relax, babe. Then we can find a cafe for dinner. You’re going to love Milan. How’s your Italian coming along?”
“Poorly.”
We cuddled on the huge bed. The TV was so far away... That’s why the TV had to be so big. There was every American station you could hope for—including the matinee Cubs game. We watched the Cubs lose from a hotel room in Milan. How strange.
We found a place for dinner, walked around, flirted. We took in the lights and fought off the chill. The Mediterranean was warm, but the mountains were cool so Milan had a bipolar weather pattern. I hoped for southern, Mediterranean breezes for the duration of our trip.
I didn’t hold hands with Mark until we were back in the hotel room. Over the next few days, Mark slowly worked on me about the hand-holding until I no longer felt self-conscious roaming the Italian streets and casually showing our affection. I never would have done that in Chicago (because someone might have seen me!), but in Italy, we were two silly American tourists, and therefore unremarkable.
THE NEXT AND BIGGEST lie of that trip reared its ugly head during the very next, jetlagged morning. Mark, of course, slept in. I, remarkably, got up later than him because the flight had messed with my system. Mark woke me up with breakfast in bed—it was nearly noon.
“Rise and shine, Cuddle Bunny,” he said, jumping on the bed, covering me with kisses and pawing at my skin.
“I’m not ready to get up,” I complained.
“Good! I have breakfast for the two of us. Let’s eat!”
And so we ate. Then we relaxed. Then I pulled out my typing equipment and started typing away. Mark played on his phone, likely looking at photos of himself. I said I wanted to go sit at a cafe I had seen yesterday and continue my work. Mark agreed that it was a good idea. It was a Tuesday and he wanted to get a feel for the city.
We were in downtown Milan. The streets were not packed with walkers, not like what you would see on the weekend (according to Mark). I was in awe of the architecture and the claustrophobic feeling in the city. Milan was not like an American city at all. There were modern buildings nestled between historic ones. Some of the streets were clearly built for horse carriages. There were a lot of bike racks, but no room for bike lanes.
We sat at the cafe patio and I ordered a tea. Mark ordered a coffee. We sat with our backs to the cafe’s glass wall so that Mark could watch the traffic and the walkers. I watched my screen and typed, taking small breaks to breathe in the city.
“When is your thing?” I made the mistake of asking.
“What thing?”
“The thing you have to do today? Men’s Fashion Week.”
“Oh that. That was in June,” Mark said dismissively. “Everyone knows that.” He flicked his wrist calmly, belittling the truth that had finally come out. It took me several heartbeats to pull the pieces of his statement together and make sure I hadn’t misheard him.
“So what do you have to do here? I thought you had Men’s Fashion Week.”
“Nope. I’m all yours for the week. I thought we could explore the city. If you don’t lik
e Milan, we could take a few days in Rome or Florence or Venice. We could always hike in the mountains, but I know you need to work in the mornings. I’ll fly us anywhere...” He had set down his phone and spoke those words like they were the most obvious statements in the world. Obviously he would fly me wherever I wanted to go. Obviously he had the week off. Obviously he had tricked me into flying to Milan under false pretenses.
“Then what are we doing here?” I asked with a gasp, unable to catch my breath. My thoughts were spinning. I knew why we were here—I could play it all out in my head. He wasn’t here on business. He was here for pleasure. He had lied to me. He said he didn’t want to be apart from me while he worked, so he begged and pleaded with me to travel with him. “Your company didn’t pay for that extravagant room.” I sucked in a breath of claustrophobic Italian air. “They didn’t pay for your flight.”
“No,” Mark admitted calmly. “I paid for it. I thought we deserved a vacation. And this is my favorite city in the whole world. I thought we could explore it together. I have so much to show you.”
“You lied to me,” I said. “What about the working holiday? What about your fashion week?”
“Everyone knows Milan Men’s Fashion is in June.”
“Everybody does not know that!” Ahhhhhhh!
“Sorry, babe. I know I tricked you. But this really is a working holiday. I brought my computer. We’ll work together. Give me your next manuscript to read through. You have to have another romance novel.... You left that first one with an open ending for one of the couples.”
“We didn’t fly halfway across the world just to edit my book!”
“Calm down. Of course we didn’t. You have a week of days automated for your website. All you have to do is a little writing in the morning. Now we have a week to have fun, with some work thrown in to keep us honest.”
“But you don’t have any work.” Honest, my ass! “We’re here because it was you who had to work.”
“I do have a photoshoot on Thursday and Friday. Do you want to come watch?”
“NO!” Oh my God! I don’t want to be here at all! Not everyone wants to watch you smile for the camera!
“It’s with one of the big name fashion houses. I’m walking the runway on Friday and the photos are on Thursday... you’ve never been to something like that.”
So he did have work... or did that job only come up because he told his agency that he was traveling to Milan for vacation? Who knows. Who cares. Mark told me he had a week’s worth of runway shit... and that’s how he got me here. He knew I wouldn’t have come if he said it was a vacation... so he tricked me. He could get me to do exhilarating things, like running naked in the park, but he couldn’t get me to spend money frivolously. And here I was, spending money frivolously.
I burst into tears. My molecules literally transmogrified into balls of salty water which cascaded to the tiled sidewalk, then scattered like how a balloon full of water will burst when struck with a dart.
I was in the middle of a foreign country in the middle of the workday and sitting beside my partner—the man that made me so happy—and I was crying uncontrollably. I could feel Mark’s desires and dreams for our relationship, and I was so overwhelmed... and the fact that I was drawing more attention by my outburst was even more humiliating. I needed my safe space.
Usually Mark was my safe space. He could drag me to the scariest places and make me do the most terrifying things... and as long as he was by my side, I wouldn’t be overwhelmed. He was always there for me. But every once in a while he would do something that would throw me out of balance.
“You... told me you were working,” I sobbed.
“I lied,” Mark confessed smoothly. “Would you have come with me if you knew it was a vacation?”
“NO!” Why did he even have to ask? Of course I wouldn’t waste money on something so frivolous!
“Please don’t be upset. Let’s go back to the room so we can calm down. Don’t you want me to hold you?”
I wanted to be mean and shake my head vigorously. I wanted to scream at him to leave me alone—give me space—let me do this on my own. But that would have been a lie—and he knew it. I wanted him to hold me more than anything in the world. I wanted to be back in our bed and in our sheets and in a room that smelled like us and in a city where I already knew Mark’s favorite places. I didn’t want to be in this new world. All this newness made me feel small—like the world was too big and I was insignificant.
“Come on,” Mark urged. “Let’s go.” He threw money on the cafe table and we left. I was weak and used him for support. We walked with his arm around my lower back and his hand on my hip.
We stopped at an intersection for a light to change. I leaned into him. “I don’t like PDA,” I reminded him.
He murmured in my ear: “So you don’t want me to hold you? You don’t want me to support my man?”
I stared into his eyes, then had to look away. I bowed my head submissively.
There were such negative yet conflicting thoughts running through my head at that moment. I was worked up. The only thing that kept me under control was Mark’s arm and his constant contact. I wanted to crawl on his body and sleep on his chest. I wanted to be him, to see the world as he saw it.
Nothing ever seemed to bother Mark—not like it did me, which made me so envious. I would never want his popularity or the attention that his good looks brought him... but the easygoing personality? I would have loved to have gotten that.
We made it up to our fancy hotel room. I pulled away from him and ran to the bed, jumping on the comforter and sobbing into the pillow.
“Hey,” I heard him say softly. I felt his hand on my back. “I thought we were done with that?”
“Done with what!” I yelled into the pillow. I turned so my mouth was free. “You think this is normal? You think I should be fine that you picked me up and flew me around the world? You expect me to be okay with that?”
His lack of response indicated that he did expect that.
“I don’t think of you as a kept man,” Mark said.
“Good! I don’t think of myself like that, either. The fuck does that even mean!” I buried my head back in the pillow.
“What’s going on?” Mark asked. “Please let me in. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I need time to myself,” I said forcefully. “I need space to think and you’re taking up all the room.”
“Are you kicking me out?” Mark asked lightly. I nodded and felt miserable as he stroked my back. “You always want me when you’re like this. I thought I helped you calm down?”
“You do!” I yelled. “Usually,” I added, with a more reasonable tone.
“Tell me what’s different this time,” he begged.
“Isn’t it obvious?” My attitude was back, a clear sign my mood was improving. “You bring me up to first class. You feed me fancy food. You make me travel to Italy.”
“I didn’t put a gun to your head.”
“Don’t be like that!” I took a break from burying my head in the pillows to shove him, then I returned to my ostriching. “You made me come here. I might have paid for it, but it was all your... manipulating fingers.”
“Manipulating fingers?”
“Ye-eah,” I said with a laugh-sob. “I meant to say it has your fingerprints on it, but then I wanted to stress how much you manipulated me.”
“I did manipulate you,” he admitted. “But it was for a good cause. You needed a break. You work too hard.”
“Gah! Don’t you hear how wrong that is? I’m supposed to trust you.”
“You do trust me. I’m always looking out for you, and I will always have your back.”
“I know... I know you’re always there. But you shouldn’t ever manipulate me.” Duh!
“But then how would I ever get you to take a vacation? I know you... you’ll get done with this book and then you’ll start on the next project. No breaks. No recharging. Just charging ahead.”
> “Have you ever considered that it’s you who doesn’t work enough?”
He sighed, which made him look like an aggravated child about to tell off his parents. “I know I have it easy. I know I have a cushy job. But I don’t think anybody is as crazy as you when it comes to work.”
“I need to stay on top of my craft. I need to keep getting better. I need to keep putting out books and growing my audience. If I can’t generate more income, then I’ll have to go back to tutoring part time. And now that I have my own place...” I’ll probably have to start tutoring either way.
“You know you can—”
“Don’t say it. You better be careful. You’re on thin ice right now.”
“I know that,” Mark spat. “Does this mean I’m barred from cuddling, or am I allowed to properly lay on the bed? I can always lay on the divan.”
“I can’t believe we have a separate sitting area in this room with something called a divan.”
“It’s called a suite.”
“Why didn’t you just get a regular room like a normal person?”
“Because you aren’t normal,” he said sweetly.
Why do I even try hard to hide that fact!
He cuddled behind me and I warmed to his touches. My body silently hiccuped. I could never stay mad at him for too long (which he was probably counting on when he tricked me into the vacation). “You know,” Mark whispered. “This is the honeymoon suite.”
“You just broke through the ice,” I said, unamused. My spine stiffened and I felt a real fight coming on.
“It’s just the name of the room.”
“I swear on everything that I value in this world—”
“My cock?”
“—that if you...” I guffawed and slapped him in the face lightly. My serious demeanor evaporated. “I’m being serious here.”
“I think I’m about to be yelled at... and I don’t like to be yelled at. If you get too mean, I’m going to start tickling you.” He started tickling me as he said that.
“I haven’t even said anything!” I protested.
The Lover (It's Just Us Here Book 4) Page 31