a small security hut and after the driver flashes a badge, a security guy walks to the chain link fence and opens a large gate. We drive right through, up to a small airplane hangar that’s set back from the larger runways. The driver pulls up in front of the hangar and stops.
“Here we are, Miss Madison.”
“Uh, okay.” I hesitate, peering out the window while he gets out and opens the door for me. He has my bag over his shoulder.
“Follow me, please.” He leads the way confidently, as if this was something he does every day, just strolling onto a freaking airport tarmac. I follow him to the other side of the airplane hangar where—hidden from view until now—a small jet is waiting. It has two large cursive letters emblazoned on its gleaming white tail, a D and an F. They’re just like on the cufflinks for Destino and Fortuna. Standing next to the jet is David.
When he sees me, his face breaks out into a smile. Instantly, I’m reassured.
“I’ll take it from here, Hank.” He grabs my bag from the driver and shakes his hand, slipping him a tip in the process. “Lilly,” he turns to me. “It’s good to see you. Follow me.”
I just nod, totally bewildered by the morning’s turn of events. David mounts the steps of the small jet and I carefully go after him, hanging onto to the slim railing. The jet is already running noisily and the wind is whipping around me so I hold on tight.
“Good morning, Miss Madison!” A perky flight attendant whom I’ve never met before—but who nonetheless knows my name—greets me the second I step inside.
“Oh, uh, good morning. Cindy,” I add, catching sight of her nametag.
“Please, go on through and make yourself comfortable,” she gestures after David to the jet’s interior.
I’ve just been following one person after the next today, and I still have no clue where I’m going.
Inside, my bewilderment grows. I haven't been on too many commercial airplanes in my life, so those still hold a sense of wonder and excitement for me. This private jet is a whole new level. A sleek grey carpet lines the aisle. At the front are two enormous, comfy-looking leather chairs, one on either side of the aisle. A single chair is probably the same size as three regular commercial airline seats combined. In front of each chair, there’s an entire table. Not just a tray. A table. The seats are a dark grey, matching the carpet, and the tables are a shining black material.
David doesn't hesitate and proceeds immediately to the two big chairs. He throws my bag behind one and sinks down in it. I'm still standing, staring, at the front of the aisle.
“You going to come sit down or just look?” He grins and motions to the seat next to him.
“Sorry!” I hurry over to the big chair and sink into it, feeling it envelope my body. Behind the two big chairs are long benches on either side, also in a sleek, black and grey motif. “This is unreal,” I whisper to David.
“Glad you like it,” he replies with a smile. David looks very casual today. I like it. He’s wearing summery clothes, a pair of simple khakis and a short-sleeved polo shirt. He looks like he’s going on vacation. I feel some measure of relief that my old floral dress doesn’t look too out-of-place next to him.
I’m dying to throw my arms around his neck and kiss him, but I’m feeling shy. For one thing, I’m still not sure where he was last night and why he didn’t come back at all. Plus, Cindy is only a few feet away and I’d feel embarrassed if I were to jump on David in front of her. So, instead of kissing him, I talk.
“So where are we going?” I ask. “Mike was super secretive about the whole thing. For a second this morning, I thought you were going to send me back to Parkville. But then I figured I wouldn’t need my passport for that. It’s lucky I actually brought it with me to Vegas,” I babble on. My nerves are clearly getting the better of me.
“We’re headed to Monte Carlo,” David replies.
“Oh!” I hadn’t expected that answer. If I’m honest, I couldn’t find Monte Carlo on a map, but I don’t want to admit that to David. I feel myself color slightly at the thought of this.
“It’s a lovely spot,” he goes on smoothly, ignoring my blush.