Flight Risk

by Barbara Valentin

  And the way he and Lester hit it off the night before.

  As if they were old friends.

  By the time she looped her arm through his, her heart was thumping in her chest, and she had to fight back the urge to ask, "Who are you, really?"

  Just as they had in rehearsal, they approached the altar, bowed, and went their separate ways.

  The sight of him across the aisle, though, filled her with an excited little thrill. When his eyes met hers, she was certain she'd melt.

  Hearing Andrew play the opening notes of the "Wedding March," she dragged her attention to the back of the church to see Mattie walk down the aisle on Lester's arm.

  Throughout the entire ceremony, Aubrey wrestled with that little thrill. She supposed it was just her intuition reaffirming that the man she was about to marry was The One.

  At least, she hoped so.

  In the post-ceremony picture-taking frenzy, she was this close to sneaking a peek at her phone so she could google him using his real name. Just in case.

  Aubrey finally had her chance when, a little over an hour later, she found herself crammed in the front seat of Mac's dinky car. Trying not to get too wrinkled as they made their way up to the publisher's swanky country club for the reception, she popped open her clutch to retrieve her phone, but all she found was some tissues, her lipstick, and compact mirror.

  With a low growl, she remembered tossing her phone onto her bed before changing into her gown. She must've forgotten to grab it.

  "Problem?" Mac glanced at her before returning his eyes to the road ahead.

  "Oh. Uh, no. I just realized I forgot my phone."

  He reached into his jacket pocket. "Wanna use mine?"

  Aubrey just looked at him and wished more than anything that Claire was squished in the back seat so she could turn and ask for her advice.

  Hey Plate Spinner, is there a rule against googling one's fiancé on said fiancé's phone?

  Instead, she just lifted her eyebrows and forced a smile. "Oh. No. Thanks."

  He narrowed his eyes at her. "You OK?"

  Just be present, and enjoy the moment.

  Taking as deep a breath as she could, she exhaled with a smile. "I'm great."

  "Well I already knew that," he replied with a wink.

  Ba-dum-ching.

  She averted her eyes to the view flying past her window. "Oh, hey, I think we're supposed to turn left soon."

  "Yeah, at the cross street up ahead, just past those bushes."

  Goosebumps covering her arms, Aubrey stared at him. "You said that as if you'd been up here a million times before."

  While Mac kept his eyes trained on the road ahead, she caught him clenching his jaw. After a few very long seconds, he glanced at her and through a tight grin replied, "MapQuest."

  They had no sooner arrived at the North Shore Country Club than Claire and Paul waved them over to the bar area where the expectant mother was nursing a club soda with lime while her husband took a swig of his imported beer.

  "Did you guys hear the big news," Claire burst when she saw them. "You've started a trend."

  "What do you mean?" Aubrey asked.

  "Last night, Andrew made arrangements with Mattie and Nick."

  "For what?"

  Lowering her voice, Claire explained, "He's going to propose to Sara. Here. Today. She has no idea." She then pulled an excited face.

  Aubrey looked at Mac who looked as surprised as she felt. "That's outstanding news."

  "I know, right?" Claire replied.

  "So what's the game plan?" he asked.

  At this, Paul piped up. "When all the single guys get on the floor to catch Mattie's garter, let as many of them know that you can that they shouldn't catch it. Nick's going to do his best to get it right to Andrew."

  Mac nodded. "Got it."

  Then Claire turned to Aubrey. "Same thing when Mattie tosses her bouquet, OK?"

  "Absolutely. How fun."

  After many champagne toasts and a sumptuous five-course dinner which included port-glazed filet mignon and orange-butter poached lobster, the wait staff cleared the tables from the dance floor.

  Nick and Mattie walked to the center of it as Sara stepped in front of the band where she'd sing "Because You Loved Me" at their request.

  As Aubrey stood to watch the blissful couple, Mac's arms wrapped around her from behind. When she felt his lips press against her neck, she rolled her head back and turned to face him.

  "Promise me."

  He frowned at her. "Promise you what?"

  She pulled her shoulders up in a shrug. "You know. That we'll be together always and have a great life. Like Mr. Hammett."

  Mac gave her a warm smile then held up her hands and kissed them. "We will." As he embraced her, he added, "Only a billion times better. I promise."

  The reassuring warmth of his eyes coupled with the champagne she had downed during dinner worked wonders on thoroughly hushing any trepidation she had about the true identity of her groom.

  The rest of the evening was as lovely as expected. Andrew's proposal went off without a hitch, catching Sara completely by surprise.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  "I am kind of paranoid in reverse. I suspect people of plotting to make me happy." —J.D. Salinger

  Not long after Mattie and Nick said their good-byes, Aubrey and Mac stood outside at the front entrance of the opulent country club with Claire and Paul and Sara and Andrew, waiting for the valets to retrieve their cars. A chorus of crickets wafted over the cool, humid air from the manicured lawn just beyond the brick-paved drive.

  "Hey," Aubrey started, still enjoying a heady buzz from the champagne. "Now that I've been promoted, I think we should trade in both of our cars and get a new one."

  "Oh yeah?" Mac asked, cocking an eyebrow. "What did you have in mind?"

  Before she could answer, Paul drew in a breath. "Man, I've had my eye on that new Lexus."

  "What we need, honey," Claire yawned, "is a mini-van."

  They all grinned as Paul winced.

  "How about you, Andrew?" Aubrey asked. "If you could get any car you wanted, what would it be?"

  Clutching Sara around the waist, his mouth broke into a tight smile. "That's a tough one. I love my Jeep."

  Sara nodded with a laugh. "It does have a wicked good stereo."

  "So, what do you think?" Mac asked Aubrey as he pulled her against him from behind and wrapped his arms snuggly around her. "What should we get?"

  She raised her hand and stroked his scruffy cheek, relishing the softness of his beard under her fingertips. "How about a Porsche?"

  They all chuckled along at the idea of a journalist and a window washer buying a luxury vehicle.

  "Hey, I can dream, can't I?" She draped her arms over his and leaned back against him.

  "What was that other one you wanted?" Mac asked as he pressed his cheek against hers.

  Aubrey thought for a minute as she grasped his hands. "Ooh, yeah. A Maserati."

  Her reply prompted another round of laugher from the rest of the group.

  Until one pulled up right in front of them.

  The valet hopped out and opened the passenger side door. "Ma'am?"

  Aubrey started, looking around at her stunned friends before replying, "Are you talking to me?"

  She then watched as her fiancé handed the valet a tip—as if he had done it a hundred times before.

  "Great to see you again, sir," the kid said before pocketing the cash.

  Aubrey twitched.

  Again?

  Sir?

  Mac turned towards her with his hand extended. "Let's get you home. It's getting late."

  Aubrey held up her hands in protest and took a step back. "Hold on."

  Fast becoming a jumbled mess of amusement, confusion, anger, and excitement, she managed to pull her eyes away from the magnificent piece of automotive splendor long enough to ask, her voice thick with suspicion, "What is this?"

  Mac waited a beat before stati
ng the obvious. "It's a Maserati."

  Not sure whether she was about to laugh or cry, she searched his clear, sober eyes for answers to the questions that had been banging around in her head ever since she first caught a whiff of his expensive-smelling cologne a week before.

  But the warm look he gave in return held nothing but patience. And that same hint of a plea she had seen in his eyes at Poughkeepsie's.

  Come on. Just give me a chance.

  Her chest heaving, she asked under her breath, "Where the hell did you get a Maserati?"

  His steady stare never leaving her face, he lowered his chin and answered way too matter-of-factly, "My garage."

  Oh God.

  There it was. That sudden drop in blood pressure, that all too familiar chest tightening.

  "But, but," she stammered, "You don't have a garage."

  Strained with anxiety, that last bit eeked out an octave higher than usual.

  "Just breathe, sweetie," a smiling Claire coaxed as Paul helped her into their just-delivered SUV.

  With an absent nod in her friend's direction, Aubrey gulped some air as she took in the gleaming luxury car. "We drove here in a Chevy. A crappy little Chevy."

  Mac hiked a corner of his mouth upwards into a grin. "Why don't you get in, and I'll explain everything."

  The headlights of Andrew's dark-blue Jeep flooded Aubrey's line of sight, illuminating the luxury car's sleek lines and hand-buffed surface.

  "Toodles," she heard a giddy Sara call out, followed by a polite, "Drive safe, guys," from Andrew who flew after her.

  "Goodnight, guys," Mac replied with a grin and a wave before returning his gaze to Aubrey.

  But all she could do was take in the sight of his car which, she guessed, probably cost as much as a four bedroom, two bath split-level in the burbs.

  Feeling more guarded than Fort Knox, Aubrey took a step towards the open passenger side door. "This better be good."

  "Oh, it is," he chuckled.

  Pressing the top of her head down while she slid into the front seat, much as a cop would force a criminal into the back of a squad car, he added, "Better buckle up. You're in for one sweet ride."

  * * *

  One glance at his fiancée was enough for Mac to see that the ride was going to be anything but sweet. Not unless he did something about it. According to the analog clock situated above the 8.4-inch high definition navigation display, it was 10:14.

  He stole another look at her sitting with her arms folded, staring out the passenger-side window as they flew down the expressway towards her exit. "Hey, if you like, I'm sure we could get a cassette player installed."

  His attempt at humor fell about as flat as a sheet of paper.

  At least she turned to face him.

  "You think this is funny?"

  What he had hoped to accomplish by having Cameron drive his beloved Maserati up to the club for him, he had no idea.

  Because you should've told her everything by now, jackass.

  "I'm sorry. I'm just trying to get you to smile."

  Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as she shifted her entire body to better face the window. Holding her left hand midair, she idly twirled her engagement ring around her finger with her thumb.

  Mac winced.

  It wouldn't be long before they'd arrive at her nana's where he'd hope to deposit her before midnight.

  Bad luck for the bride and groom to see each other on their wedding day and all.

  But, given the turn of events, he was starting to worry that there might not be a wedding day and all.

  A few minutes later, he pulled up in front of the building with the red neon sign that read Psychic Readings.

  As soon as he put the car in park, she reached for the door handle.

  "Aubrey. Please. Don't go."

  At which point, she turned on him and hissed, "So who are you, really? You think this is one big joke, don't you?"

  Her voice sounded gravelly, filled with hurt, disappointment, and betrayal. Even in the dim glow of the streetlights, he could see that her eyes were glistening with tears.

  Before he had a chance to reply, she turned to fully face him and spouted, "I mean, what kind of guy tells the woman he loves that he's a window washer one day and then shows up at a wedding driving a Maserati. I mean, who does that?"

  Hell hath no fury like a woman who just found out that she can spend the rest of her life in the lap of luxury.

  Grateful that the street appeared to be void of any passing pedestrians, he lifted his chin, pressed his lips into a thin line, and began, "I'm very sorry. I realize that this is all a bit of a shock, but I promise, what I'm about to tell you? It's all good. Really, really good."

  He waited a couple of beats before asking, "You ready?"

  Aubrey pulled her mouth into a bit of a sneer, took a breath, and gave him a nod.

  "As you know, my real name is MacLyn John Delaney. Tomorrow, you'll hear the reverend whose services my gran retained for our ceremony say it when we exchange vows."

  He stopped and bit down on his bottom lip before asking, "We are still exchanging vows, right?"

  She lifted her eyebrows and quipped. "I don't know." With a shrug, she added a noncommittal, "Maybe."

  He squinted at her for a minute before continuing. "My gran's name is Allison Trelawney Delaney. You may have heard of her. She's the CEO of Griffin Media."

  Mac could tell from her expression that Aubrey had indeed heard of his gran. She stopped twirling her ring and sat back against her door. The color seemed to drain from her cheeks. She swallowed and averted her gaze to nothing in particular on the dashboard.

  Again, he just narrowed his eyes at her. "My dad, her son, was the CEO before he died."

  Aubrey gave a comprehending nod and took a deep breath through her nose.

  "Not long after, our attorney called us all together for a reading of his will."

  "Of course."

  "And that's when I found out he was leaving me his estate…"

  "Huh." She took another deep breath.

  He watched as she popped open her purse and plucked out a tissue.

  "…valued at upwards of five billion dollars."

  Pressing it to her forehead, Aubrey closed her eyes a minute before opening them in a squint.

  With her eyebrows knotted up in the middle, she ventured, "Anything else?"

  Mac lifted an eyebrow of his own. "Yes."

  She waited as still as a statue.

  "Babe, breathe. You're not breathing."

  Aubrey shifted in her seat and gave her head a quick shake. "Don't call—just, go on."

  "As you probably already know, Griffin Media is family owned and operated. Most of the people you'll meet tomorrow are related to me one way or another."

  Aubrey licked her lips. "Of course." She had abandoned the tissue and was now fanning herself with her hand. Pointing to the sunroof, she asked, "Does this thing open?"

  "Are you OK?"

  With a quick nod, she mouthed I'm fine.

  "So, uh, yeah, once I turn thirty, I'll become acting CEO."

  "Really?" she asked with a bit of a chortle. "And here I thought you wanted to wash windows for a living." With a bit of a growl in her voice, she leaned forward a bit and exclaimed, "I mean, wow. That'll make you my boss, won't it? Talk about awkward."

  Picking up on her sarcasm, all he could think was If that's the worst she's gonna throw at me, I'm getting off easy. Still, he couldn't tell if she was about to burst into tears or laughter. He was kinda hoping it was the latter.

  "Heh, yeah." Mac leaned forward and took her now clammy hands in his.

  She did not grip back, but he wasn't going to let that stop him.

  "But here's the thing."

  Aubrey held her breath again, probably not a good idea given the lovely shade of pale that was her complexion.

  "My father put a stipulation in his will. In order for me to inherit my fortune and take my rightful place as head of the company,
I have to get married by my 30th birthday. Which is tomorrow."

  If he thought Aubrey was upset before, he was sadly mistaken.

  She yanked her hands from his. "Oh my God. Is that what this is all about?"

  Looking out the window, she steamed, "Seriously? Set up twice in one week. And by the same guy. Go me, huh?"

  Snapping her purse shut, she started to maneuver herself away from the door so she could open it and get the hell out of his life.

  Mac put his hand on her forearm. "Aubrey, please."

  His voice sounded way more forceful than he intended, but it didn't stop him from finishing what he had to say.

  "When I found out, I turned my back on all of it—the fortune, the career, the big houses, the yachts, the cars—because if I had to get married, I wanted it to be to someone who would love me for me and not all of that. That's how I ended up in a homeless shelter."

  She took in another deep, ragged breath.

  "I found that someone in you."

  Incredulous, she just shook her head and gasped, "What?"

  "Please believe me when I tell you," he begged, "that I did not pretend to be in love with you and ask you to marry me just so I could win some damn bet or get my inheritance."

  She didn't say a word. He hoped it was because she was trying to take it all in.

  Leaning even closer to her, he channeled all of the urgency he felt into his voice. "And to prove it to you, I'm willing to walk away from all of it if means losing you again."

  At this she slowed her breathing enough to ask, "You'd do that for me?"

  "In a heartbeat. Just say the word."

  After an interminably long pause, she asked, "Why? Why me?"

  At his, he felt his own eyes smart with tears. "Because Aubrey Michelle Thomas, I love you. More than life itself."

  Hope coursed through his veins when he saw her expression soften and her chin start to wobble. Raising her hand to his cheek, she stroked it lightly with her thumb.

  For a split second, he was sure she was going to lean over and kiss him, but then her breath hitched, she pulled back and gave her head another quick shake.

  Pulling her shoulders up into an apologetic shrug, she said in a small, faraway voice, "I fell in love with John the window washer."