My Dark Romeo: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance(19)

Oliver raised his hand in a hello motion. Zach sent me a smile so impatient and impersonal you could mistake me for a maid giving him room service.

Romeo parked himself in a recliner. “Make yourself comfortable. Takeoff is in ten minutes.”

I did just that, refusing to look intimidated. It helped that there was a charcuterie board.

Rows of shortbread adorned a crystal plate beside it. I pushed the tray away. For obvious reasons, I found the treat rather off-putting these days.

“Did the shortbread offend you, Dover?” Oliver gestured to an imported snack basket in front of him. “It’s all yours.”

First Shortbread. Now Dover. Lovely.

I wanted to politely offer him the finger.

Then I spotted shrimp chips and abandoned my dignity quicker than the chick who’d turned Jesus Christ into a monkey in the Ecce Homo.

I’d emptied half the bag when Romeo’s sharp voice sliced through the silence. “Miss Townsend, are you feeding yourself or your clothes? There is a time and place for scarfing down a village’s worth of sustenance with your mouth open. I suggest you refrain from indulging your poor manners during your stay in Potomac.”

“Or what?” I punctuated my question with a chip, tossing it past my lips and grinding it between my molars as loud as humanly possible.

“Or you’ll find yourself in a miserable position under the scrutiny of the viperous DMV media.”

“I’ve already found myself in a miserable position. With you. The first time we met. In front of all of Chapel Falls.”

“As I recall, you enjoyed every second.” He slanted his head, producing a matte-black rectangular tin from his pocket.

“You must have drugged the shortbread.”

“I stand corrected. You do have a talent. Deliberate misinterpretations.”

I frowned. “When did you accuse me of not having a talent?”

Oliver threw his head back and laughed. “This is fantastic. Turns out Bruce won’t have to kill you to land your job, after all. Your wife will do the job for him.”

Bruce?

Swapping notes with the man who wanted to kill my future husband seemed like a swell idea, but before I could request a last name, they moved on to discussing stocks.

With that, I pressed the chip bag to my lips and tilted my head back, finishing it down to the last crumb.

Romeo unwrapped a new pack of gum and transferred each cube into his tin container with deft fingers, forming a perfect, straight row. Then he offered a piece to each of his friends, forgetting me.

And I was the one with poor manners?

I glared out the window, trying to find some silver lining to my situation.

Anything.

First, we’d make beautiful babies. No way anything that came from his sperm and my eggs could be anything less than aesthetic perfection.

Second, from what I’d gathered, neither Romeo nor I cursed. Our child would exit the womb speaking like a fourteenth-century duke, hopefully sans the misogyny.

And third…there was no third.

Lord, even the second kind of sucked.

I slumped in my seat, depressed.

After takeoff, Zach spoke to me first. Romeo appeared to be typing emails on his phone, and Oliver’s snores drifted from the couch.

“You’re not suicidal, are you?” He didn’t seem like he genuinely cared, but the fact that he’d asked made me want to sag with relief.

At least someone recognized the horridness of my situation.

I shrugged. “Murderous, more like. Why should I be punished for Romeo’s bad behavior?”

“Potomac is nice.”

I shot him a glare. “What’s so nice about it?”

“Its proximity to New York, mostly.”

That earned him a chuckle.

Why couldn’t Zach force me into marriage?

And what was it about tall, dark, and handsome men with the emotional capacity of an ingrown toenail?

“Don’t encourage her, Zach,” Romeo warned. “Once she starts talking, it’s impossible to stop her.”

Since my future husband was dead set against having me around, I got up and slipped into the cockpit. I’d always wanted to visit one. Growing up, my parents thought it uncouth to peek inside just because we always flew first class.

I slid past the door. “Mind if I look around?”

“Not at all.” The co-pilot waved. “I’m Scott.”

“And I’m Al.” The pilot saluted me with two fingers.

I explored the small space, the many buttons, the thick white clouds we pierced through, surrounded by an inky night.

“You can sit by my side if you’d like.” Scott scooted to give me space. “A bit tight, but you can squeeze in.”

I hesitated.

Momma wouldn’t approve. It was improper to sit so close to a man.

Then I remembered I was engaged to be married to the reaper of hearts himself, and being inappropriate was my new lifelong goal.

“Okay.” I slipped into his seat, cemented to his side.

I leaned down, inventorying the array of buttons and screens. A map lit up his side.

My fingers fluttered along a central console full of little switches. “It looks like a spaceship.”

“Nice, huh?” I heard his smile.

Al released an impatient sigh. I had a feeling Al wasn’t a fan of his co-pilot cozying up with me.