Page 38 of Jaded Princess

11

NO COFFEE FOR YOU

“Miss?”

I smacked at the fragrant, soft pressure on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Miss, but the plane has landed.”

Turning in bed wasn’t supposed to be this hard. It felt too upright, overly stiff, not at all like the regular hotel mattresses I’d been marshmallowed into—

“Miss!”Thwack.

“Ow—hey!” I blinked and swatted at air this time, as Andrea was smart enough to have backed off the instant my eyes opened.

Or … so I thought. My hand had fisted, and I might have swung at her instead of slapped.

“Oh, God,” I said, shifting straighter. “Did I hit you? I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Andrea said, rubbing at her arm. “I’m glad you’re awake.”

“That’s not … I didn’t…”

Too late. Andrea was already making her way to the galley at the back of the plane—yes, a private plane, not in bed at a hotel, or in my apartment. Did I rent an apartment anymore?—and I rubbed at my eyes, uncaring of whatever makeup I smeared across my cheeks.

Somehow, I’d fallen into a deep slumber. I remembered the wake time before, with Theo across from me, the scar bridging his nose whitening with anger, my cheeks boiling with heat-fueled rage. In essence, what was quickly becoming a typical Scarlet-Theo teté-a-teté.

I spun around in my seat. “Is Theo awake?”

Andrea paused in pouring a seltzer, hissing as it hit the ice. “I don’t believe he slept.”

She resumed pouring and clinking, steadfastly not looking in my direction, and it was all too tempting to read into her actions. Instead, I flipped back around and aimed my attention at a random magazine stacked beside me in the armrest. If I were flipping the pages a little too aggressively, well, no one knew that but me.

The crackling and bubbling came closer to my ears, and Andrea set the drink, with a lime curlicue on top, beside me. “There’s a change of clothes for you on the lounge behind you.”

“Oh?”

My wrinkled, navy blue formal gown must not be adequate dress anymore. The stitching was starting to rub under my arms, and I had to admit, it wasnotlike sleeping in a nightgown. Especially upright.

“I have clothes in my bag….” I glanced around. “Wherever it is.”

And frankly, where was Lurch, anyway? I hadn’t seen him at all during the flight, which was probably a good thing, since he probably was the Andrew that stole my phone.

“These will be more adequate.” While perfectly polite, Andrea’s expression communicated the necessity of less dilly-dally and more gung-ho. “The pilot says it’s about forty-five minutes until our descent.”

I sipped the seltzer—wishing it were coffee, but I’d accidentally hit Andrea and probably didn’t deserve the service—while padding over to the long, creme-swirl of a couch, where an unobtrusively folded stack of clothes was waiting. I didn’t have to touch them to understand the complexity of the stitching and the utter softness of the fabric. When I pressed my fingers into the top piece, it crinkled musically with the tissue paper stuck between it. Unfolding the shirt, a waft of my usual perfume hit my nostrils, the tissue floating silently and fragrantly to the floor.

I checked the tag. It was an expensive silk blouse, European, and in exactly my size, lightly spritzed with my perfume.

How did Theo remember…?

Then I frowned. The better question would’ve been,how did Theoexpect?

He had my presence on this plane so preplanned that these clothes had been ready for me the instant I touched down in Los Angeles. And oh, itirked.

Only one person had the capability of checkmating me, and damned if he would win the next round.

I unzipped out of my dress and slipped the blouse on. Anddouble-shit,his taste was on point.