it, so I thought we may as well make use of it, as you want to see the Ruins.” Again he subtly down plays the amazing fact that he has access to a private plane.
It’s a small plane, with only about ten seats, but it’s still impressive. We sit for about twenty minutes, while the pilot does his checks, then we take to the skies; I’m transfixed by the views, my face pressed against the window for the whole ninety minute flight. We are served refreshments by a quiet and noticeably uncomfortable young man, I imagine working on here he has to put up with a lot of rich, pompous ass’s so when he sees me, a rooky, clearly awed by the whole thing he relaxes considerably and even pops an extra olive in my Martini.
I barely have time to finish the drink, because I spend the entire flight glued to the window, with occasional outbursts of ‘wow look at that’ and ‘isn’t that beautiful!’ in Carlos’s direction. He laughs at my childish glee, but lets me revel in it.
The landing is a little bumpy, but all in all it’s an awesome experience, I’ve never been in any kind of private plane before, hell I’ve never even traveled in first class before!
Grasping Carlos’s hand I squeeze tightly, “that was so exciting!”
He gives me a suspicious look, as if no one can really be that excited by flying in a small plane, but then shrugs it off and gives me a quick peck on the lips before we depart.
As we descend onto the runway in Cancun, what appears to be the same Bentley that dropped us off in Fausto Vega, is awaiting us, “Isn’t it a fifteen hour drive to get here?” I ask perplexed. Carlos lets out a surprised laugh, giving me that same, ‘you can’t be serious look’. “It’s a different car” he says it slowly, as if he is still unsure if I have actually just said something that naïve.
I realise then just how stupid I was, I was all hyped up and not thinking straight; I got out of a silver Bentley and on to a plane, I left the plane and there was a silver Bentley waiting, I put two and two together and got ten!
“Oh yeah, of course not” I say bumping the heel of my hand against my forehead, as if trying to knock the sense back in.
Fortunately he seems amused by my oversight, as he ushers me in to silver Bentley number 1’s twin brother.
“Right so where do you want to go?” he asks, starting to list off increasingly bizarre words “Coba, Tulum, Xel-Ha, Chichen Itza, Dzibilchaltun? Did you have an area in mind?”
I look at him blankly; he is both figuratively and literally speaking another language.
“Shall I pick?” he offers.
“Yes! Please do” I say relieved.
He thinks for a moment while I study his face; when he concentrates he gets a small crease between his eyebrows and a far-away look about him. Letting my gaze rest on is eyebrows, I’ve never noticed it before, but they seem almost shaped. They are thick set and dark like his hair, but they follow a perfect line, with not one out of place, he doesn’t seem to be the type to get his eye brows professionally shaped, but then again, no one can have brows naturally that perfect.
“Ok, I think Coba, it’s close by, it’s not the biggest, but it’s not so touristy which is nice and you can still climb up to the top, which they’ve stopped you doing with a lot of the more famous ones” he speaks, breaking my intense concentration on his possible beauty regimes.
“Do you pluck your eyebrows?” I just have to know.
“What?”
“Your eye brows” I repeat pointing my finger at them, “it looks like you pluck them”
He ponders this for a minute before speaking “I don’t personally no”
“What does that mean?” I push him.
“Lauria at the Spa does them, although I’ll have to have a word with her, it’s not meant to be noticeable” he says, running his fingers across them.
“It’s not noticeable, it’s just when you really look at them they’re too perfect to be au-natural”
“You’ve been studying them?” he asks with a chuckle.
“No” I lie, “I’m just very astute”
“Oh yes, Ms. Mavers, that you are” he says sarcastically, silencing any argument I might have with a kiss.
It’s about a forty-five minute drive, but in the luxury of the hire car it goes by quickly; before I know it,