Chapter 2 Lift Off

• I hated having to find my seat. There were always a bunch of giddy bodies, cramming themselves through the narrow aisles of the plane, until reaching the confined space that you would find yourself trying not to move from over the course of the flight.
• Finally finding the seat I was meant to be sat in, there was a couple already sat there. Leaning with my hand on the back of the chair in front of where I was supposed to be sitting, I looked down upon them in a quizzical fashion. Had my addled brain got the wrong seat?
• Double-checking my ticket, this was certainly Row C, and they were definitely sitting where I was meant to be.
• "Excuse me, you're in my seat," I voiced politely, watching them not even acknowledge me.
• Looking up from their sitting position, they were flooded with an innocent expression, as the man leant forward to speak to me.
• "Er, I think you'll find that these are our seats and there's a spare seat over there," he remarked, pointing to a seat that was wedged in the centre of the middle rows.
• I knew what he was saying was wrong, because when planning the honeymoon, we'd booked seats that were next to the window. I always liked a window seat, and there's no way I would've accidentally booked one that was nowhere near a view.
• What was with men barefaced lying to me? Did I really look that gullible?
• "No, you're in my seat," I stated in a firm tone. I really wasn't in the mood for this today.
• "Is there a problem?" a flight attendant asked, stopping next to me.
• "Yes," I blurted, before liar-pants-on-fire could open his mouth again. "This couple are in the seats that I booked."
• "Okay, let me have a look at your ticket," the attendant replied, scanning over the ticket that I handed to her. She looked at the couple. "You are in fact in this lady's seat," she spoke toward the man, who was making himself far too comfortable next to the window.
• "We booked tickets, and have been seated in separate seats," he protested, standing up.
• "And?" I glared.
• "You're on your own, so what's the problem in moving to let us sit together?" he started, looking more miffed by the minute.
• "Well, that seat that you were sat in a moment ago is mine, and the seat next to you is for minding your own damn business!" I seethed.
• "Jeez," the woman huffed.
• "Don't jeez me," I glared, thinking about how I would love to pull the ginger curls from her head right now. It would be a great stress reliever.
• "With you being on your own, it is at your own discretion whether you would give up the two seats so this couple could sit together," the flight attendant spoke, suddenly looking at me like I was the bad guy.
• Ordinarily, I would've happily given up my seat to accommodate two people who wanted to sit together, but this man had just barefaced lied to me about it being his seat, they had both ignored me when I first walked over, and they both had one of those smug faces that I wanted to slap, so the answer was…
• "No. Move," I spoke sternly, much to their surprise. I'd had a day from hell, and these two had added to it. I wasn't giving them anything. I was fed up of giving things to people that didn’t deserve it.
• The flight attendant looked at me a little shocked for being so mean and cold-hearted to the pair of plebs, but for once, I was putting myself first, and the pair of them could shift their butts and be thankful that the other one wasn't shagging someone behind their backs. Maybe they were? Who knew, and who cared?
• With looks of utter disgust in my direction, they paraded their annoying backsides away from me, and I triumphantly placed my flight bag in the overheard storage compartment, and took a seat in my lovely, room-for-two seat - which was a little too warm for my liking, because a stranger’s sweaty butt had been sat there a moment ago. I placed my belt on, ready for take-off.
• As the plane rumbled beneath me and we started finally lifting off into the bright blue sky, my thoughts drifted to what wonderful weather we were having, which ironically did make for a good wedding day. That was a depressing thought.
• Once in the air and being able to free myself of the confines of the safety belt, I needed a distraction. Deciding to see what was playing over the headphones, I grabbed them and placed them in my ears. Ooh, the Bee Gees. Nothing like a bit of 'Saturday Night Fever'.
• Bopping along to the song in my seat, the flight attendant was back, and I could see her silently judging me for not giving up my seat, complete with the spare one next to me, but I had no cares left to give.
• Asking me if I would like a drink from the trolley, I thought I may as well get myself a nice Chardonnay, to get into the whole holiday vibe, and do anything in my power to block out any thoughts of the previous morning.
• Pouring my little, cute bottle of Chardonnay into my plastic goblet, I sat back and placed my headphones back in again to have another listen, gaze out of the window, and relax for a while.
• Now playing over the radio was “When You Say Nothing at All” by Ronan Keating, and I remembered the time when me and Scott had danced to that song. It was at his brother's wedding, and it was the first time we'd been to a big function together as boyfriend and girlfriend. I was the happiest I had ever been in that moment, as we were joined by various other couples who were present, and I swayed along in the arms of the man whom I thought I would be spending the rest of my life with. But, apparently I wasn't enough for him, and his plans were different to mine.
• Suddenly, the well of upset came over me, and instead of politely sipping my wine, I was taking gulps of it, with tears streaming down my face in an 'ugly cry' fashion. My bottom lip was quivering, my hands were shaking, and apart from keeping the noise down, as I was aware there were a lot of other people around me, I was doing a damn good impression of Laura Ingalls from 'Little House on the Prairie'. I remember my parents watching reruns of that show. She never stopped whinging all the way through that programme, and now I was looking a lot like her.
• Flashbacks of the wonderful time me and Scott had spent together, cascaded through my mind in a bid to torture me. My nose was streaming and I could barely see anything out of the window through my bloodshot and watery eyes. This was one way to start this holiday, and not the best way, either.
• As I sat and whinged all the way through the song, I felt a nudge on my arm, and quickly snapping the headphones out of my ears, I noticed a blurry male figure, looming over the empty seat next to me and leaning over in my direction. Oh god, it wasn't that earlier prick back to have another go, was it? I could barely see who it was.
• "I hope you don't mind, but is it okay that I sit in this seat?" came the husky voice.
• What I must have looked like, I didn't know. Sat shakily holding my wine goblet and looking like I'd hosed down my face with salt water, why on earth did anyone want to sit here? I was in no position to argue, as I tried to compose myself, and quickly nodded to answer his question.
• Coughing lightly and trying to wipe away my tears with my hand, he reached over with a tissue and handed it to me.
• "It's easier than having to use your hands," he spoke, chuckling at the end of his sentence.
• Great, another person laughing and taking the proverbial P out of me today.
• Taking the tissue from him, I mumbled a "thank you", and desperately dabbed my face down to stop looking like a sad sack. He probably wished he'd stayed in his original seat. What was it with everyone swapping seats on this plane? It wasn't a game of musical chairs.
• "I'm sorry I invaded a private moment for yourself," he began, as if he could read my mind. "I was sat next to a lady with a baby, and she needed more room. I saw that there was a spare seat next to yourself, and that's why I thought I would see if it was possible that I could sit here instead. Is that okay with you?"
• Well, he seemed more considerate than the last idiot, so I suppose it would do no real harm. No more whinge-fests for me - on this flight, anyway. Maybe it was good to have someone sat there to stop me from making a prat out of myself for the millionth time today.
• I hummed and nodded in agreement, and turned to face the window again - firmly placing the headphones back where they came from. There's no way I was risking listening to anything else that could set me off. I needed to take my mind off my ex-fiancé, and not think back about anything that made him suddenly look good.
• Why couldn't I think of all the times he had gotten on my nerves, or we'd had an argument and for a split second I'd hated his guts? Love obviously was blind and was now working its charms on my memory.
• "Jace," the man next to me spoke, holding out his hand for me to shake.
• Did I look like I needed talking to? I was blatantly turned away from him and taking in the distraction of the view through the window, so why did he feel the need for conversation?
• Nevertheless, being the polite person that I generally was on good days, I turned to him and took his hand. "Becca," I stated, as I slowed my pace of movement.
• My oh my, what cloud had he just been dropped off from? Surely heaven was missing this angelic being?
• I hadn't noticed before, with my eyes streaming and snot flying everywhere, but this was no ordinary man I was sitting next to. With wavy, groomed, dark hair and piercing green eyes, I was looking at some sort of mythical legend. You know the type - you see them in magazines, but you never actually meet them in real life, and wonder where in the world they found men like that.
• Maybe we were closer to heaven in this cabin, because we'd obviously picked up a hitch-hiking angel.
• "Are you okay?" he asked, noting my mouth falling agape.
• "Er, yeah," I replied, clicking back into reality and trying to compose myself.
• Acting like a normal human being at some point today would really help.
• "Good. You were upset before, and I hope it's nothing too serious."
• Nothing too serious? Where do I begin? My dilemmas weren't of the life-threatening variety, but they were of the life-shattering kind. How much should I blurt to a stranger?
• "No, nothing serious," I lied instead, releasing my hand from his, after realising we were still clinging on to each other.
• "I hope you don't mind, but…" He reached out his hand, and brushing his fingers lightly along my temple, he plucked at something, and then cupped it in his hand as he showed it to me. It was a runaway diamanté, that must have come off my tiara and caught itself in my hair.
• Why hadn't the sales assistant noticed that? I wanted my ten pound back.
• "Oh, thanks," I replied, running my hand along the side of my hair to make sure there were no other stray wedding reminders.
• "You been to a fancy dress?" He chuckled, placing the diamanté in the cup holder to be disposed of later.
• "Something like that," I mumbled, trying to repress the memory of running out of a church in a wedding dress.
• "Where are you staying?" he asked.
• Was this a coroner’s inquest? As much as I could've fallen headfirst into his beautiful green eyes, he was still a stranger, and I was brought up that you didn't speak to strangers. Although that seemed to be commonplace on a plane.
• "You ask an awful lot of questions for someone that I don't know." I chuckled, noting a slight blush caress his sculpted cheekbones.
• "Yeah, sorry, I have a habit of not beating around the bush." He grinned, and I suddenly felt a tingle in my stomach. He could beat around my bush any day of the week.
• I suppose there was no harm in telling him a little info. "I'm staying at the Ocean View Hotel," I spoke, taking another gulp of wine, realising that it was definitely time for a refill.
• "Ha, what are the odds? I'm staying there as well." He grinned, sitting back and making himself comfy.
• Oh jeez, what if he was some sort of stalker? No matter how good looking he was, maybe he was a predator who got information out of women and then followed them for the rest of their holiday. He could have been one of those guys who got into bed with a woman and then asked her to carry some 'cargo' back into the UK for him. I'd end up in a Barbadian prison, surrounded by the unsavoury types and spending the next twenty years being grubby and half-starved.
• Nope, I'd had enough of men and their measly ways of wheedling their way in with me. This male was staying at arm’s length, and I wanted to enjoy my holiday in peace and quiet.
• Turning back to my window view, and feeling the weight take root in my eyelids, I realised there and then how tired I was, and I had to get some rest. Even though I would have to be wide awake when I got to Barbados, because of the time difference, I couldn't help the feeling of being utterly drained flooding over me. Nestling my head back in my seat, I got comfy and let my cares drift for a while. It had already been the most emotionally taxing day.
• *******
• "Becca… Becca…"
• I could feel someone nudging my arm.
• "Not now, Scott…" I mumbled, snuggling back in for some more sleep.
• "Becca, it's me, Jace…"
• Who the bloody hell is…?
• "Wha…?" I shot up in my seat and widened my eyes to try and focus as quickly as possible.
• I was met by the sight of Jace, grinning my way and setting up a knife and fork in front of me.
• "I'm sorry for disturbing you, but dinner had arrived, and I didn't want you to miss a meal in case you were hungry," he explained, handing me a napkin.
• "Wha…?" I repeated, wondering what day it was.
• "You've got a little bit of…" He pointed toward the corner of his mouth, and reaching up, I'd been drooling in my sleep!
• Mortified, I was certainly awake now, so I grabbed the napkin and got rid of any sleep-slop. I never drooled when I was asleep in my own bed, so why did my bodily fluids decide to make an appearance around this strange, hot guy. Not cool.
• Moving on swiftly from yet another amused look in his direction, my attention turned to the chicken dinner that was on offer before me. My stomach let out a low grumble, so in appreciation of the offering before me, I set to work on eating my meal before we landed.
• Jace was attentive and had ordered the food on my behalf, and also had arranged some fresh orange and a bottle of water for me to drink. I was grateful for the drinks, as my mouth was drier than the Sahara, and the orange juice and water were cool and refreshing. Although attentive, maybe he was being a little too attentive, so I was still on my guard with him.
• Even though I was on guard, he didn't seem to notice, as he sat and politely ate his evening meal, and then when we had finished and everything had been cleared away, he sat back and was reading a crime thriller book about something or other.
• Maybe he was picking up tips from a novel, on how to murder me and dispose of the body properly? That thought made me gulp, so sitting back and trying to ignore him, I decided that watching a film was a better option that risking listening to the radio again, or speaking to Jace, and him getting any more information out of me.
• Finally, we were ordered to fasten our seat belts again, because we were coming into land at Grantley Adams International Airport, and I would be relieved to get there. It had been a day and a half, and this was where the total relaxation and taking stock of my life, including my future plans, would take place.
• Once we landed, Jace stepped out into the aisle and opened the overhead compartment.
• "Is this your bag?" he asked, pulling it out and showing me my flight bag.
• "Yes, it is," I replied, wondering what he was doing with it.
• He wasn't a mugger, was he?
• "I'll carry it out for you," he offered.
• "No, no, it's fine," I quickly cut in, taking it off him and cradling it like a teddy bear. It had all of my important things in that bag, and I didn't feel like chasing it down in a strange airport as he ran away with it.
• "No worries." He smiled, and then set off to presumably find his own belongings.
• Taking one last look at his annoyingly beautiful backside moving away from me, I did a mental sigh of relief at keeping my bag with me, and then proceeded to disembark to go and track down my suitcase.
• I always hated this part. It was the ultimate dread that someone, somewhere along the line, had dropped my suitcase, and all of my clothes were lost in transit somewhere unknown. I'd already had to buy some extra clothes, and I didn't feel like shelling out for a whole weeks’ worth of wardrobe.
• Lo and behold, my suitcase came careering around to me on the conveyor belt, and the relief washed over me to see my bright pink case coming back to me in one piece.
• Grabbing hold of it, I'd forgotten how heavy the thing was, and the thought of lugging it about again didn't leave me feeling wonderful. Dumping it on the floor next to me, it was time to go and find the bus, which was transporting me to the hotel.
• Just as I was about to grab my suitcase again and make sure I was utilising the two wheels on the back of it, I felt someone nearing my side, and looking up, it was Jace.
• "Hi again." He smiled down on me, without a suitcase in sight around him.
• "Oh, hi," I replied, wondering whether he was stalking me now. Maybe my suspicions weren't that unfounded.
• "Here, let me help you," he offered, hauling the suitcase up in his strong hand, and looking like it was far lighter than the weight I had just experienced.
• "No, you really don't have to…" I began, starting to follow him as he strode away with my case. Looking around, this wasn't the way I was supposed to be going and seeing the queue for the bus moving further away from me, I caught up to him and placed my hand on the side of his arm.
• "What's up?" he asked, stopping in his tracks and acting like this scenario was totally normal.
• "I need to get the bus to the hotel, and the queue is that way," I pointed out, gesturing toward the reams of weary people, waiting to get on the bus and to their hotel. I knew the feeling well.
• "Sorry, I now understand that you're not telepathic." He chuckled, settling my suitcase down on the floor.
• "Eh?" A look of confusion swept across my face.
• "You said before that you're staying at the same hotel as me, so I thought I would give you a lift in my car."
• "You've got a car here?" I wondered, totally missing the point for a split second.
• What could possibly go wrong? Meeting a strange guy, in a strange place, and getting in his car with him. It didn't sound like a recipe for getting murdered, whatsoever.
• "My car is waiting," he began, taking hold of my case again as I finally snapped back from the nightmare scene that was playing out in my head.
• "No!" I half-yelped, taking my suitcase from him. "Thanks anyway, but I'll get the bus." I tried to sound calm about the situation, because there was no way that I wanted to rile a potential maniac.
• "It would be no problem," the could-be weirdo was starting to insist.
• "Really, it's fine." I smiled, trying to back away as fast as I could with a heavy weight in my hands.
• "Okay, if you're sure. I may see you around."
• Or you may not, stranger I didn't know anything about.
• Giving him a light smile as I tried to escape the situation as fast as possible, I headed to the queue for the bus. The passengers were starting to scramble on board, and I was thinking about how much more relaxed I would've been, if I now wasn't rushed and trying to jog to the vehicle before it left.
• Handing my case over again and finding a seat on board, I was pretty squashed between bodies in here. The sweaty confines meant that it was humid and stuffy on the bus, and even in the bright hue of the afternoon sunshine, with other people around me and the faint buzz of chatter being apparent, I did feel vulnerable being here on my own. I was looking forward to getting to the hotel.