by Susan Stoker
“But I—”
“A hundred thousand. Whatever you ask. Maya can come too. I’ll also pay her. I’ll pay you as well.” He didn’t look at her, but his fist was clenched over his other hand, the knuckles white. He swallowed hard.
“I don’t want your money!” Mags spit the words out. “I mean, sure I want money, but not like that. Look. Fine, I’ll come. You can donate that sum to our charity, but not to me. I’m not for sale. But since you asked so really nicely, I’ll come. If Maya does.”
Maya just nodded. Did he really want her, or was he only accepting her as a package deal since she and Mags were a sort of symbiotic creature?
“Tinka,” moaned Erik. “Hold my hand or I will die, I swear.”
Mags took a breath. “Erik,” she said brightly, her smile stiff and wide. She sat down beside him and took his hand into hers. “Nobody is going to die. Tell me again about that miniature pony you had when you were a child. Lieschen, right? She sounds just utterly delightful.”
“Did I tell you about the time that Henri and I brought Lieschen into the house during a dinner party?”
“You did, Erik, but only just a few times, and it was hilarious. Please tell me again.”
“When it was time to bring in the dessert, we wheeled in a cart with Lieschen on it instead of the cakes. And then Lieschen shit, right in the middle of the cart, in the middle of the dinner party and all the fancy guests. Oh, the looks on their faces! It was fantastic.”
“Ce maudit poney a chié partout!” He laughed and laughed, and went into a wheeze and a cough that alarmed Maya. The doctor stepped up and encouraged Erik to drink water.
Henri strode to the front of the plane and talked with the pilots. “We’re cleared for takeoff. Everyone, seatbelts. Thank you.”
Chapter Six
A while later, Erik settled into an uneasy sleep, and silence descended over the plane. They were above the clouds, where in the world, Maya had no clue.
The doctor, reading a medical journal, peered over the top of his glasses every time Erik moaned or shifted. Sometimes he got up and checked Erik’s pulse, his weathered hand holding the younger man’s limp, smooth wrist. Other times, he dabbed sweat from Erik’s forehead with a towel. But he seemed unconcerned, or at least not panicked.
Jacques and Mags sat together at the far end of the plane, their low chatter punctuated by periodic laughs; his low and rumbling, hers high and sweet. Maya could see that Mags’ face looked radiant, despite her messy hair and tired eyes. Jacques put his hand on her arm and leaned in, and they both laughed about something.
Maya bit her lip and glanced at Henri sitting beside her. He hadn’t spoken to her once since they’d taken off, the pilot making a smooth and steep ascent that shot her stomach into her throat and made her grip the armrests with her fingernails. He was busy on his phone, talking in a low voice in French and then German. She couldn’t understand any of it, although she was amazed each time he switched over into a new tongue.
Finally, he sat back and took a deep breath. “At last,” he said, looking over. “We’re finally taking care of this. Thank you.” His hand covered hers.
“But I didn’t do anything,” she said, feeling guilty. “Mags is the one pretending to be your childhood nanny. I’m just—along for the ride.”
“You helped more than you think,” he said, shaking his head. “And I enjoy spending time with you. I’m—I’m glad you’re here.” He took her hand and squeezed it. A beat later he frowned. “We never had a nanny named Tinka. He must be getting that from something else.”
“I never had a nanny named Tinka, either,” confided Maya. “No nannies at all. I had daycare, though. Great teacher, Mrs. Elliot. I loved her so much. I told her I wanted her to be my second mom.”
Henri gave a wry laugh. “I would have liked one of my nannies to be my first mom.” He shook his head.
“What?” Maya frowned.
“Nothing.” He waved his hand. “I’m glad you’re here, because I didn’t want our time to end.” He lowered his voice, although Maya figured there was nobody listening: Jacques and Mags were far enough away, and the doctor, although he might be able to hear them, clearly had zero interest in their private conversation. The flight assistant was seated in the front, reading on her tablet.
“I wanted to spend more time with you, and now I get to do that. It’s selfish, but I’m glad Erik wanted Mags, because you came, too. I’d never have in a million years asked you to come ferry my sick brother to a private hospital.” His face turned bleak. “This is not the way to impress a woman, and worse than that, many people would make it their priority to run to the tabloids, regardless of the non-disclosure.”
She hurried to correct him, giving his fingers a squeeze. “Henri, I am impressed. It shows me how much you care about your family, about your brother and his life. Even the way you were rude to me and Mags, I understand, because it was coming from that worry about Erik and his privacy. And I respect that. Family is everything. I wouldn’t mess that up.”
He squeezed her fingers back as she continued, earnestly, “I’d never go to the media with your story. I know how scary and heartbreaking addiction can be, and it’s not a joke. Not something that deserves to be dragged out in front of a mocking public.” She bit her lip. “People don’t understand how devastating it can be, and how painful.”
“Thank you.” He looked into her eyes. “Yes.”
“I had a family member once.” She swallowed. “Anyway, I get it. And sure, maybe I might laugh at the pony story and all, and roll my eyes, because you need to get through the moment. And giggle with Mags about vomit and Tinka. But when it comes down to it, it’s really not funny at all. And I care about you, and getting your brother the help he needs.”
He searched her face. “I believe you really mean that.”
“Why else would I say it?”
He smiled. “People say things for so many reasons. But you…” He touched her face, briefly. “I feel like I can trust you.”
“Well, you did make me sign that thing.” She rolled her eyes.
“Which you pointed out entitles me to a house that is not as lavish as my bathroom, should you break the promise. Yes.” He gave a wry chuckle. “The paperwork means nothing with clever leaks. The most damaging things are rumors that can’t be attributed to a source.”
“I’m not like that, though.”
He shook his head. “You’re very different from anyone I’ve ever met.” He seemed curious. “I don’t…” he trailed off.
“Good different? Bad different?”
He laughed. “Good different. But hard to put into words.”
“Considering you speak several languages, that is a surprising turn of events.”
He tilted his head. “I suppose it is.”
She looked out at the black sky, the wing flashing colors like tiny fireworks, red and green, wondering what the future held. “So, when we arrive…”
His eyes lit up. “When we arrive, after we take care of Erik, I will show you my home.”
“Your home?” She was taken aback. “You mean, like, your palace?”
He smiled. “I don’t live in a palace. I have a residence in Syldavia, but I spend some of my time in my chalet in Switzerland. Would you like to see it?”
“You sound like a kid offering to show me a new toy on the playground!” she said, giggling. His sudden enthusiasm was addictive. “I would like to see it, very much.”
“Well, I never got to show anyone things on the—playground,” he said, as if trying out the word. “We had private tutors as children, then went to a very upscale private boarding high school in France. Elite. Then to Oxford. My childhood was very different from yours.”
“I imagine everything about our lives is completely different.” She felt her exuberance wane. “Childhood, sure, and now, even more.”
He tilted his head. “I think there are some things we found in common though, yes, chèrie?” He leaned in and kissed h
er neck so softly it was like a breath of air. “Things we enjoyed in exactly the same way? I’d like to do that again.” He bit in the spot he’d kissed. “I have more lessons for you, Maya. And you must admit, I’m a very effective teacher.”
She sucked in a breath, his proximity making her dizzy. “Yes,” she murmured back, caught up in his eyes. “I like your hands-on instruction. I might need more of that.”
He stroked her knee, then slid his hand under her dress to flirt with her inner thigh.
“Henri!” she glanced around.
“Shh, nobody is watching right now,” he soothed her. His fingers continued to stroke her skin. “Je te veux maintenant. I want you naked right now. You nearly are naked, but for this scrap of material. I want to rip it off of your body.”
“We can’t.” But she wanted it too.
“There is a bedroom on this plane.” He raised an eyebrow.
She shook her head. “But everyone would know.”
He removed his hand. “Then,” and he kissed her neck again, “we will wait until we land.” He trailed his fingers over her breast, then sighed. “Perhaps you should try to sleep. It’s been a long day.”
She nodded. “Okay. You should, too.”
He shook his head. “I have work to do.”
“What kind of work?”
He pulled a laptop from a nearby case and opened it on a table. “I have to work on the summit speech for later this week, and some financial investments I’m managing for the state.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize you did worky things. I thought it was all princy things. Hanging out and stuff.”
He frowned and clicked, and the blue light illuminated his face. “I’m also speaking at a remembrance dinner for our soldiers killed in the line of duty.” At her surprised frown, he added, “As a NATO member and ally, we have sent troops to Afghanistan and Iraq to support the American and British troops in peace-keeping efforts. Last year, three of our men and two of our women were killed in ambush attacks.”
“I didn’t know!” She suddenly felt horrible about her comments about the cheese and gold dust. “I’m so sorry.”
He nodded, a brief movement. “Okay.”
“No, really.” She touched his arm. “When I said those things about your army, I was just joking. It’s the kind of thing that works as a private joke. Do you understand how sometimes a person can make awful jokes in private that they think are genuinely funny, but their true feelings about something can be vastly different?”
He shook his head. “I understand that yes, we are a small nation, and no, we never engage in battles on our own behalf. But the sacrifice of any soldier and their family is the same, regardless. Men and women who train in our army have the same dedication, courage, and acceptance of potential risk as any other country in the world.”
“I get that, honestly.” She squeezed his arm. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“It’s fine.” His fingers flew over the keyboard. “If you want anything to eat, Margrete will provide it, yes?” He crooked a finger and nodded, and the flight assistant glided up.
***
The landing at a private airstrip in Switzerland was smooth, and Henri’s physician met them on the tarmac with a limousine. It was a matter of seconds before the attending doctor and the bodyguards escorted Erik to the vehicle. He got in awkwardly, still clutching a blanket from the airplane around his shoulders, feet bare. The car glided off, the lights of the airport blinking around them, distorted through the airplane glass and the misty morning rain that fell.
“Well, there he goes,” Maya said.
Henri stood in the rain, staring after the car. He looked lost.
Mags nodded, her face framed by the oval window next to Maya. “Yup. What now?”
“I don’t know.” Maya looked around. “I mean, Henri said something about wanting to show me his home. I don’t know.” She felt awkward. “Mags, I feel like a hooker or something.”
“What? Why?” Mags darted a look around. “No!”
“You’re here being all Florence Nightingale, so that’s cool. I’m only here because he fucked me. And because I’m your friend.” Tears stung her eyes.
“Oh, no, no. That’s not why.”
“Well, it kind of is.”
“Well, just a little,” allowed Mags.
“Oh my God. You’re not supposed to agree!” Maya scowled.
“I was joking! Look, he likes you, and you like him. Why shouldn’t you get to explore that? And if I happen to deserve a Nobel Prize for nursing, which I clearly do, it doesn’t make your contributions to society any less meaningful.”
“My contributions. Ha.”
“Yes. Every time an orgasm happens, an angel gets its wings.” Mags pretended to flap. “You’re keeping Heaven in feathers, baby.”
“Wow, a doctor and a comedian. You’re special.”
“So are you. I bet he likes you because you’re cool and funny and stuff. And not a stuck up bitch like his usual girls, I’m sure.”
“I just don’t know if we should stay.”
“I just don’t know why you even question this. After what I’ve been through, I fully expect a fondue and gold bars and the works when I get to the chalet.” Mags ruffled her hair and snuck a glance at Jacques. “And I’m not gonna lie, I’d like to help some angels out, too. Because I’m really a very altruistic person.”
***
“Can you believe this view?” Mags, fresh and pretty in a white linen dress and red heels, wound a red scarf around her neck. “And these clothes. I don’t want to be too Pretty Woman here, but damn. Private shoppers are the stuff of dreams.” She touched her earrings. “Can we keep these? We shouldn’t. But I think I will. I mean, seven vomits. Right?”
“Right.” Maya gazed out over the hilly mountainside and the stream far below them. Woods in the distance faded into purple mist, and the meadow to the left was full of purple and yellow flowers. The air was so fresh that her lungs felt cleaner with each breath. After the landing in Switzerland, they’d driven via chauffeured cars to Henri’s chalet, to gorgeous private rooms, for a few hours of rest. She hadn’t seen Henri since they’d arrived. She assumed he was sleeping, or maybe doing work in private.
“This is amazing. It really is.” She, too, had been offered her choice of clothing, and was comfortable in a short, sexy halter sun-dress and low-heel, strappy sandals. “I should get my camera.”
“You brought that?”
“Of course I brought it! It goes everywhere with me, you know that. Even to the bathroom. You never know when a good photo opportunity presents itself.”
“A true artist,” agreed Mags. “That’s you.”
“Greetings, ladies.” A voice behind them had both women turning around.
“Jacques!” Mags’ face lit up and she shot over to him, put out her arm, looked at Maya. “Hello.”
He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I hope you slept well?”
Something seemed to stick in Mags’ throat, because she started coughing and couldn’t stop.
Maya handed her a glass of water from the brunch buffet. “Don’t die on me, Nurse Ratchett.”
“Thanks. Whew! Don’t know what that was.” Mags’ face was quite red.
Maya rolled her eyes. “I’m sure nobody else does, either.” She shot Mags a look.
“What?” Mags made an innocent expression. “So, hey, um, Jacques is going to take me exploring today! We’re going to see the city. And drive around. And stuff.”
Although it wasn’t necessary to stay tied to her bestie, Maya was surprised, but tried to cover. “Well, awesome. Have fun. See you in seven hours, covered with puke? Sorry! Too soon?”
Jacques and Mags laughed. As they walked off, Jacques grabbed Mags’ hand, and their entwined fingers, and the way Mags laughed adoringly up into his face, stayed in Maya’s mind for a few minutes.
In the sudden silence, she took the pitcher of OJ from the white-clothed table and poured some into a crys
tal glass. Setting the pitcher back onto the shiny silver platter that held it, she smiled and shook her head. Flies. Well, one. Fly. She shooed it away; it buzzed around, then zoomed back in to land on the rim of the pitcher. But still, look at that—even the mega-rich, when it came right down to it, had the same basic problems as all of humanity.
She still hadn’t seen Henri, so she retrieved her laptop and started editing recent wedding and portrait shoots. She got into the work, enjoying the breeze on the patio, the temperature perfect in the shade, and a few minutes later, Henri came up behind her.
“Good morning.”
He’d been sexy in his tux, but today, in worn jeans that rode low on his hips, and a simple black t-shirt, he was mouthwatering.
She tried not to stare. “Henri. Hi.”
He bent down to kiss her, and once again she flinched, surprised and excited, and he ended up with a mouthful of her hair. Their laughter broke the tension she felt.
“Maya! I thought I taught you that lesson already,” he chided, his eyes twinkling. “Must I repeat it again so very soon?”
“I guess so,” she said, looking at his lips.
His attention suddenly caught on her screen and he pointed. “Is that yours? You took that?” His voice rose in surprise.
“Yes.” She bent down to scroll over. “Here are more. You like them?”
“Like them? Those are amazing.” He looked at her face. “You’re talented.” He bent down, sending wafts of his cologne to her, and clicked through to look at the gallery.
“What, you didn’t think I was?” Half-pleased, half-annoyed, she crossed her arms and pushed the chair back to frown up at him.
“No, I…” he straightened up and shrugged. “So there are a lot of American women, men too, who claim to be journalists and ask for a press pass to take pictures. But these are really good. Phenomenal.” He gave a low whistle. “Even better than my official staff photographer. I wonder...” He cocked his head and looked off into the distance.