She (38 page)

*

I try desperately to keep my nerves down as we go through the usual motions in the airport: check-in, security, arriving at the departure gate, and boarding the plane. But not even my super spacious seat in business class (
nice touch
,
Logan
!) can distract me from what’s arisen within. Flying…in the air…with nothing holding us up but luck…OK, and maybe a bit of science, but still, my nerves begin to terrify me more and more the closer we get to takeoff. My fear of flying is kicking my ass!

Under the guise of reading a magazine my mind strays into the dangerous territory of possibilities…us dying being the forerunner! Abruptly my mind takes me back to sitting in Logan’s man’s den when he first told me about our weekend away, and I'm drawn to remember what was playing on the television at the time. Ah, yes, that’s right, it was LOST…the television show that begins when an AIRPLANE CRASHES!

You shitty little fucker
, I say to my mind.

I toss up whether or not I should tell Logan about my internal plight. He’ll want to know, I know he will, but on the other hand I wonder if drawing more attention to it won’t just fan the flames. I’m indecisive right up until I see the cabin crew close the door, locking me in this aluminium tomb, and then I speak up.

“Um, Logan…nothing to be alarmed about,” I say, perhaps more for me than him, “but I have a small confession to make…”

While I’ve been flicking through a travel magazine, Logan’s been reading a French newspaper, open at the business section. He folds the corner down and peers over at me, warily. His expression confuses me and momentarily makes me falter.
Why is he looking like that
, I wonder. Then I find out.

“You didn’t fart did you?” he asks quietly.

I stare at him, my eyes wide. “No!” I cry out as quietly as I can, before laughing awkwardly. “Why would you think that?”

He grins and shrugs, folding up his newspaper. “You said you had a confession, and farting on a plane is the worst confession I can think of. It should be a sin,” he states clearly.

“You’ve obviously had some bad experiences,” I note.

He nods, looking put out. I pull a face that shows I agree with his disgust, and he tells me, “When you fly as often as I do perhaps it comes with the territory, but it shouldn’t.”

“No,” I concur. Logan’s managed to point out the
one
thing that could make being locked in an aluminium tomb even worse! “I, uh, haven’t flown as often as you,” I tell him what he already knows, leading on to the part that he doesn’t, “And, well, quite frankly, I’m scared shitless,” I confess.

He looks surprised. “Right now?” he asks.

I nod.

“You’re scared shitless right
now
?” he makes absolutely sure.

I nod again.

“
Gemima
!” he scolds. His voice softens instantly, “Baby, why didn’t you tell me you don’t like flying?” He takes my hand in both of his own and holds it tightly, reassuringly. I definitely feel comforted, but I don’t fail to notice the cabin crew taking their seats for takeoff.

Hmm
,
fair question
,
Logan
,
why didn’t I tell you
? “I…I don’t know,” I muse. “At first I thought we were going to Versailles, so I didn’t think it’d be necessary. And once I found out it was, I…I guess I just pushed it to the back of my mind so that I wouldn’t think about it. You know, it’s a coping mechanism,” I tell him. “I
definitely
want to go,” I make sure he knows. “I just…might need a little distracting, that’s all.”

“That’s all? You’re sure?” he asks, looking concerned. His distraction is working already: just the way he looks at me with his eyes filled with care makes me swoon.

“I’m sure,” I say, truthfully.

“OK…distractions…” he thinks through some options, then unexpectedly and making my heart beat fast for
good
reasons, he turns and smiles at me, having the perfect thing in mind to take
my
mind off of flying. “I have something,” he tells me needlessly. “Something I think you’ll love, and something you’ll want to turn over in your mind, no doubt.”

“Uh-huh, and what might that be?” I ask with a grin.

“I named a hotel after you,” he tells me casually.

I hear his words but they fail to impact me. I play them over in my head several times until I register them properly. OK, now I’ve
heard
his words, but I fail to accept them as truthful.

Logan amends, “It’s not called ‘Gemima’, so I suppose what I
should
say is that I named a hotel in your honour rather than
after
you. But you’ll enjoy the gesture none-the-less, I’m sure.”

I stare at him and go through the same internal protocol as a moment ago. First I get a grasp of his words, and then I deny them completely. Surely,
surely
, they’re not true?

“You’re joking, right?” I grin. “You’re just trying to distract me,” I say. Fair dues, it worked!

Logan smiles at me, and when he talks next I know he is being honest, even though his words are incomprehensible. “I’m quite serious, baby.” Logan’s smile increases and his eyes shine with glee as he watches his words sink in.

Named a hotel? In my honour? A
hotel
? My mind does backflips; it is well and truly distracted!

“Wh-what?” I stammer. “You’re messing around with me,” I accuse, finding his words hard to accept.

“As much as I’d
love
to be messing around with you,” Logan smiles seductively, “I am telling the truth. I named my most recently completed hotel in your honour.”

“But…but…” A
hotel
? Slowly I come to terms with it. A hotel is so…so big! “Which hotel? Is
that
where we’re going now?”

“Nope, we’re not going to one of my hotels this weekend,” he tells me. “The hotel I named in your honour is in Tokyo,” he tells me.

Ah, the one he visited in Japan before our first night together. “Hotel Forty-Nine,” I remember.

“Yes,” he smiles. “You see, you already know.”

“Yeah, I know about it,” I tell him. “But how is that after
me
?” I wonder. Without giving him so much as a second to respond, I continue, “Look, I know that sometimes in the morning before I’ve put on my makeup I can look a little hagged, but I do
not
look forty-nine, Logan!”

He’s laughing at me. “It’s not about your age. And I’ve
never
seen you look hagged.”

“So, why, then?”

He shifts in his seat, twisting to talk to me face on. “Do you remember when you first heard that name?”

I think back…after our first lunch date! “Yes, when you were on your phone to your PA…you told her you finally had a name for the hotel in Tokyo.”

“Exactly,” he says. “It was during that lunch date that I decided to name it for you, because forty-nine is the number of the table we were sitting at…”

My mouth drops open. “You’re shitting me?”

“No!” he laughs. “Dead serious, Gemima. I was in love with you, even then. And I had such a wonderful time with you. I felt like I knew that there was something special between us, so when Cheryl called I took the plunge.”

I’m speechless, and only vaguely aware that the plane is moving. “I…I…”

Logan grins at me and then leans over to kiss my wordless lips.

“I don’t remember seeing a table number,” I finally utter.

“It was on my side of the table,” he tells me. “A four and a nine.”

“Logan…this is a
big
deal!” I whisper, and he nods, pleased with himself. “Is this, like, for real?” I ask, sounding like an adolescent.

“Totes for real, baby,” he replies accordingly, his patience endless.

“Oh my god!” I exclaim loudly, unintentionally alarming a few surrounding passengers.

Holy shit
! My boyfriend has named a hotel in my honour after only one date! Maybe if we’d been together for a few years then I wouldn’t be so shocked. But now? So soon? I’m struck dumb by his confession; I can’t believe it! And yet, I do…and I
love
it! It’s so big, so romantic, so Logan-like! He must’ve been as sure as I was that something spectacular was blossoming between us. We were right, both of us!

I lunge at him and shower his smiling face with kisses. “I don’t know what to say,” I tell him. It’s fair to say that no one has ever made such a public declaration to me before now. I settle for, “Wow!” And, “Thank you, Logan. You’re full of the most
surprising
surprises!” I look at him in my state of shock and Logan smiles at my reaction. Or should that be
over
reaction? “How long were you going to sit on it before telling me?” I wonder.

He shrugs and grins. “A few years, maybe.”

I smile at him. Again. Every part of me is flooded with joy at the mere mention of spending
years
with Logan!

“I’ll take you there one day, if you like?” he offers, kissing the back of my hand.

“I’d like that very much,” I tell him. “Though I might have to get over my fear of flying first…”

“I think you may have already done that,” Logan says smugly. “We’ve been in the air for over thirty seconds and you haven’t even noticed!”

I dart my head around and peer out of the window.
Jeez
, he’s right! Paris has been left in our wake, already!

I beam at Logan. “You did it! You distracted me!”

“I’m glad,” Logan smiles, and then adds, “And, no, I didn’t make up that story
just
to distract you. It’s true.”

“Whatever could you have up your sleeve to distract me for when we land?” I tease.

Logan doesn’t miss a beat, saying quickly, “I’ve already thought of something.”

“Care to share?” I pry.

“Certainly,” he nods and looks at his watch. “I’ll share in approximately one hour and fifteen minutes,” he tells me.

“I know we’re going to Nice,” I say. I not only saw our destination at the check-in and the departure lounge, but I also heard the captain mention it earlier. “I’ve never been before,” I tell him excitedly.

“We’re not going to Nice,” Logan chuckles.

Huh
? “Did you override the computers in the airport and pay off the captain to say so, then?”

“No, what I mean is, we
are
flying to Nice but we’re not staying there. It’s a pitstop,” he says, and after that he says no more on the subject. Distracting me yet again, he shows me the front of the newspaper that he was reading.

“Is that Buddy?” I ask, taking in the black and white photo of two men shaking hands in what appears to be a huge, empty field.

“Yes,” Logan smiles. “He landed a very big contract today. Pipped me to the post.”

“Did he?” I’m shocked.

“It has been known to happen,” Logan laughs. “I think I can convince him to bring me in as a sub-contractor. That’s what we usually do when we out bid one another on the same project,” he informs me.

“It must be nice to work in the same field as your best friend,” I say considerately. I’d
love
it if Amber worked at Pierson House with me! “Though, I suppose being in competition with him must be difficult at times.”

Logan shrugs. “We’ve been in competition for the best part of twelve years now. We’ve managed to perfect our game-faces.”

“Hmm, well, I wouldn’t like to be in competition with you,” I tell him.

“Why not? I’d let you win,” he says.

“Not much of a competition, then, baby,” I laugh. “But we will be working together soon enough.”

“Yes, Amelie told me the good news. She said she was putting her
best
employee onto the project, and naturally I assumed that she was talking about you. I think my assumption took her a little by surprise. I suspect she doesn’t know how serious we are,” he says.

I grin at his words. Somehow ‘serious’ although the correct terminology, doesn’t seem to fit our fun and playful relationship. In reference to Amelie, I say, “I haven’t professed my love for you in front of her. Although…” I trail off, remembering that I showed her my designs for Logan’s birthday present. That in itself must’ve let her know we’re a bit serious.

“What?” Logan narrows his eyes; he’s curious.

“I, uh, let her in on your birthday surprise. She’s giving me time off to see it completed next Wednesday,” I tell him. “So, she knows that we’re serious enough to buy extravagant birthday gifts,” I tease, smiling at him.

“Extravagant, huh?” he asks, and I nod, satisfied.

“Perhaps if she knew just how madly in love with you I am, she wouldn’t give me the account. You are, after all, very good at distracting me, Logan!”

He laughs. “True. But you’re a professional, no?”

“I can be swayed into some very unprofessional behaviour for the right client,” I let him know.

“Interesting,” he says, looking thoughtful. “So what you’re saying is: you can be persuaded to mix business with pleasure?”

“Oh, absolutely,” I assure him. “You will be my client, and it will be my
job
to satisfy you…” I leave my sentence hanging, and I revel in watching Logan’s eyes gleam with a sudden burst of desire. I cool his carnal flames, by adding, “Amelie would want me to.”

Logan laughs again, knowing as well as I do, that Amelie Clemence will have no idea about the exact interactions between us as client and designer.