Her Inconvenient Groom by Niomie Roland
Chapter 10
“Wow,” Dustin said, trying to inject some humor into the situation. “Married only a few days, and already I’m getting the silent treatment.”
They were on their way to the Aix-en-Provence Aerodrome on Chantelle’s private jet. Sitting as far apart as their recliners would allow. Now and then she glared at him with a heat that could melt steel.
Her on-board doctor had sensed the tension, and after doing his checks and declaring her fine, retreated to the back of the plane. Anything to get out of the way of the lightning bolts zinging back and forth.
Next to Chantelle, the largest tortoiseshell cat he had ever seen lounged in a carrier, snoozing most of the time, only lifting her head to stare curiously at him through the bars. He’d asked her what the French regulations for importing an animal were, but she’d responded very tartly that while her cat had all applicable shots and chips, she hadn’t bothered with the tedium of filling out forms. When you had resources like hers, she pointed out, you knew how to get around annoying details.
Like laws.
Which he’d found out first hand, given that her penchant for working around rules was how she’d found him in the first place.
It was hard to believe he was actually here, mainly thanks to her assistant, Sienna, who had proven to be quick thinking… and a bit sneaky. Just when he was about to walk out of Chantelle’s hospital room and out of her life, Sienna had walked in and thrown him a lifeboat.
She gave him a warm, professional smile and announced, “Dustin, I just remembered your telling me about a tattoo convention you’re to attend in France next week!”
He didn’t know what she was up to, but he played along.
“Why don’t you catch a ride with Chantelle to France? I’m sure my boss would love the company. Hopefully, it’s not too late to cancel your flight reservations and get a refund.”
That wouldn’t be a problem, since he hadn’t booked any flight. He knew of the convention but hadn’t planned on attending. Immediately, he understood that Sienna was extending him a lifeline. Sneaky girl, he thought. He decided to grab that lifeline and hold on hard.
“Wait a minute,” Chantelle began. “What’s all this?”
“Dustin is headed to France as well. I’m only proposing that you offer him a lift there.”
“He never said anything about traveling to France before.”
But her assistant went on. “That may be but think of the environment. You don’t want to be accused of leaving a huge carbon footprint when you can decrease it by offering your husband a ride.”
“Sienna, that’s not the point. Dustin and I are strangers. You of all people understand exactly what this ‘marriage’ is about.”
Sienna’s expression was calm and unperturbed. Dustin got the impression she was the only person who truly knew how to manage her boss. “But he is your husband and the father of the baby.”
Her face curdled. “You know what I mean. Plus, I’m sure Dustin has other things to do. Like seeing about his family instead of following me around.” She gave him a hard stare, willing him to agree.
He was amused. “Well, fortunately for you, I really do need to get to this convention, as it would be a boost to my career and provide a chance to network with other artists. I will also admit to being curious whether traveling on a private jet lives up to the hype. I won’t mind accompanying you. Canceling my previous reservations won’t be an issue and my family will be fine.”
He paused, and despite himself noticed how pretty she was even in anger… or maybe because she was angry. How her cream-and-coffee skin flushed, how her light eyes flashed. The way they’d flashed when he’d kissed her, felt her mouth soften under his, felt her body tauten in response.
She gnawed at her lower lip as if biting back a cutting remark.
Have at it, he thought. I can take it.
But she had said nothing. Dustin figured that was as good as a ‘yes’.
Hence why, for the first hour or two of the flight, Chantelle seemed determined to pretend he wasn’t even there. In response to his attempt at breaking the silence, she muttered, “Remind me to fire Sienna.”
“You’ll do no such thing. She seems like a wonderful employee who cares about her boss.”
She huffed, but said nothing.
Dustin decided to needle her a bit, like a kid poking a caged tiger. “And besides, I’m enjoying this. Despite the fact that you clearly wish I would disappear.”
Chantelle rolled her eyes in response.
He stifled a grin.
“You’re a stubborn ass,” she announced. “You know that, right?”
“I’ve been told that so many times I’m half sure my kids will have it engraved on my tombstone.”
At the mention of the word ‘kids’, his eyes drifted to her still-flat belly and then slid away.
She protectively brought her hands down to cover her tummy. “You’re going to keep out of my way,” she reminded him for the Nth time. So often that he didn’t even respond anymore.
“First, I’ve booked an Airbnb, so I won’t darken your doorstep, if that’s what you’re afraid of. Second, I’m going to be busy at the convention,” he revealed. “Believe it or not, my trip will not be consumed by you, following you around to your pedis or… hair things… or… whatever you plan on doing.”
“I plan on working, as I do every day. I didn’t get to the place I am now, as CEO, by—”
“By lazing around doing eff-all,” he finished for her. “You’ve said that. Repeatedly.”
Quiet, and then, “You’re passionate about your craft. Your eyes light up every time you mention the convention or tattoos for that matter.”
He smiled. “I’ve wanted to be a tattoo artist for as long as I could remember. Well, no. I wanted to be the next Madame Tussaud.”
She didn’t hold in her mirth at his last comment. And seeing her in such high spirits, knowing he was the cause, made him join in on her laughter.
When her laughter subsided, she asked, “You’re a sculptor as well as a tattooist? Her eyes gleamed with amusement. And he thought that he had never before seen a more radiant picture.
“I wouldn’t call myself a sculptor, but I dabbled as a teen before tattooing stole my fancy.”
“How so?”
“I’d always liked graffiti and comic art but never thought of it beyond enjoying other’s work. When I was fifteen, I went into a tattoo shop and it’s like an entire new world had been opened for me. A world where I could partake in something I enjoyed. I started my apprenticeship at eighteen at a local shop, though my dad insisted I go to college and graduate.”
“Oh.” She looked almost taken aback.
“What?” he mocked. “Surprised that as an artist I didn’t pick up a tattoo gun second hand at a pawn shop, learn to give tattoos from YouTube videos, and open up a hole in the wall? There are people who value their craft, you know. Even if they aren’t members of the high-flying world of finance.”
“I am not a snob,” she bristled.
“Could have fooled me,” he muttered. “Sometimes your self-importance rolls off you in waves, pummeling everyone in sight—”
“Oh, first I was uptight, and now I’m self-important?” she answered hotly. “Has it occurred to you that your assessment just might have something to do with the fact that I’m a woman? Because I’m willing to bet that if I was a guy, those adjectives would be more along the lines of particular or businesslike or confident.”
She’s right, he thought. But before he could apologize, an attendant in burgundy livery arrived to announce that their dinner orders were about to be served, and bringing with him a tray of drinks, which he placed next to each recliner.
The menu they’d been presented with the day before the flight was extensive. And as Dustin ticked off his preferences, he was amazed by the details of the life of the rich that never crossed anyone else’s mind. Like the ability to ensure that fresh-caught ocean salmon would be prepped and on board, awaiting their departure. The last time he’d flown, he’d survived for hours on pretzels and sodas.
The meal arrived, and they lapsed into a sullen silence. Dustin felt bad for having annoyed her, even though it had been deliberate, a childish attempt to get a rise out of her. “I’ve been to France once before, you know,” he said, by way of peace offering.
She paused, her spoon full of consommé halfway to her lips. He’d noted she hadn’t ordered anything heavy.
“Really?” she said.
“With my mom and dad. We spent a few weeks in the summer down on the coast of Bretagne. I spent so much time sketching and painting. I think that was the year I first decided I wanted to be an artist.”
She was watching him intently, listening.
To his surprise he went on, “That was just a few months before my mom died. She died unexpectedly in her sleep….”
He expected the usual platitude of, I’m sorry, but instead she asked, “How old were you?”
“Ten.”
She sat back, surprise registering on her face. “I was ten when my dad died, too.”
Well, at least we have that in common, he thought. But the mildly fuzzy feeling of connection he felt didn’t last long.
She shrugged, pushed away her half-finished bowl of soup, and returned to the book she was reading.