Holly is as excited as a young child on a magical Christmas morning as we take our seats in the front of the airplane. Her eyes are wide as she looks all around and appreciates the many things that I normally take for granted.
Kicking out her feet, she squeals, “Look at all of this leg room!”
I nod, completely enamored by her.
When our flight attendant hands her a hot, wet towel, she bugs her eyes out at me before asking, “What is this for?”
“Just to refresh before we take off,” I answer as I use mine to wipe my hands.
She leans over to say, “I want to bury my face in it, but I worked hard on my makeup.”
I had noticed she is wearing a lovely shade of red lipstick that perfectly accentuates her floral dress, but hadn’t said anything other than a generic, “You look great,” when we met at the terminal. Even those simple words had made her cheeks flush to match her rosy lips.
Evidently, she hasn’t had enough sincere compliments in her life, so I’ll need to remedy that.
She uses the towel on the back of her neck. Tipping her face up and closing her eyes, she savors it before murmuring, “Ah, so magnificent.”
“Yes,” I answer, thinking more of the woman than the towel.
When the flight attendant comes around to collect the used towels, Holly seems to not want to give hers up. She quickly scrubs it up and down her arms and uses it to wipe her hands before reluctantly handing it over.
Holly digs around in her carry-on bag before pulling out some index cards and a silky eye mask. She hands the cards to me before saying, “Here. Study these. I want to look the part of a first-class passenger, so I bought an eye mask to wear while I nap––or at least pretend to sleep.”
She leans in to add, “I may be a bit too excited to be up here to actually fall asleep.” As an afterthought she adds, “But if I do, don’t let me miss any treats from the flight attendants.”
Moments after she leans back and slides down her mask, our flight attendant brings a tray of champagne flutes. I hold up my hand to decline, but Holly’s intuition must be on overdrive because she lifts the silky mask to see what’s going on.
When she makes an excited grabby hand motion for a glass, I shake my head before saying, “I didn’t think you’d want any in your condition.”
I glance down at her stomach. As soon as comprehension dawns, her entire body deflates. In a flat tone, she says to the friendly woman, “I better not. Thank you, though.”
Feeling bad for Holly, I lean up to whisper in the flight attendant’s ear. The woman nods and swiftly turns around to head to the front galley.
Holly crosses her arms in an obvious snit. “Is she going to jot down her phone number for you? You’re not going to be able to flirt like that while we’re pretending to be a couple––at least not until it’s time for the big breakup scene.”
I opt to ignore her outburst, which only seems to incense her further. She snaps, “Have you memorized your cards?”
“Not yet,” I answer calmly.
When the flight attendant returns, she hands Holly a champagne flute. Holly glares at the glass in confusion, refusing to accept it, until the woman says, “Your ginger ale, ma’am.”
Holly’s face immediately brightens as she accepts the drink. “Oh, thank you!”
After taking a sip of the bubbly liquid from the fancy glass, she admits, “That was very sweet of you.”
“I have my moments,” I answer dryly. At her side-eyed grin, I add, “I just didn’t want you to miss out on any of the benefits of being in first class.”
She nods, before saying, “Yeah, because this trip will most definitely be my only chance to enjoy it.”
It doesn’t have to be. I almost voice the thought out loud, but I need to admit the truth to her before I declare my feelings to her and allow things to turn serious between us. Testing the waters, I ask, “Have you thought about trying to track down the baby’s father?”
“Oh, you mean the guy who took advantage of me when I was too drunk to have enough sense to stop him?”
I have to force myself not to double over as her words hit me straight in the gut. I can’t believe this is what she thinks. Her fuzzy perception of our night together couldn’t be further away from my clear memories of it.
Although I know I need to set things straight with her and explain what truly happened, I’m terrified of losing her––and our baby––before I really even get a chance to know either of them. I know in my heart that I didn’t take advantage of her or the situation, but if that is what she believes, telling her who I am now would risk everything.
Cursing the situation, I huff out a breath and stare at the ceiling. I spend the rest of our plane ride trying to figure out how to make her understand without blowing up our very-real-to-me relationship before it has time to truly begin.