SCARLET MEETS MILA

19

I hate flying.

Scarlet's luxurious private jet doesn't help. Sitting in a cuddle buddy seat beside the window, I'm left snuggling up to a complimentary blanket with a heavy chest and aching stomach.

Harlow and Fox sit near the front, arguing about the time difference. At the same time, Scarlet isolates herself with a large sketchbook further up. She sits in her familiar black gown and occasionally checks the time on her diamond watch.

With sixteen hours of flying ahead, I wonder when the professional Scarlet will start blending with the informal Scarlet. Surely, the heels and makeup have to come off at some point. I mean, how much longer will it take for the thick, hip-length black hair to be dragged up and into a messy bun?

She doesn't seem human, which is exactly what makes me question our so-called relationship. Willow tells me to go for it, and of course, I want to, but the inaccessible energy she projects keeps me at more than an emotional distance.

I guess a one-time thing with the occasional flirt wouldn't hurt. After all, Scarlet doesn't seem like the type of person to take things any further than a one-night stand.

Despite wanting more than a single night, familiarity is off the table. I can't have someone walk into Maisie's life and disappear again. It's not fair. A famous billionaire isn't someone I could even consider introducing to a delicate little girl who would likely fall in love.

Maisie would die for Scarlet's pretty heels and sparkly bracelets. She would swoon over her as if a goddess and detest me when she inevitably disappears. Women like Scarlet don't have time to stick around. They take what they want, and when they're done, they move on and hunt for their next meal.

A single glance up at her numbs every moral I have.

She flicks her wrist over the paper below and slides a ruler across the page to slash a precise graphite line. I wish I could see the art she's creating, but that would mean walking over to her and making the first move.

Really, I wish that she'd look up at me and signal for me to join her. I wish she'd whisper into my ear and smirk just as she did last night, but she hasn't looked at me since telling me to go home. Willow told me she's probably playing hard to get, but something about her behaviour doesn't feel right in comparison.

After around an hour of silent working, Scarlet shoves the book under the table and stands to collect her phone and water. She doesn't look at me when making her way to the back of the vessel. Instead, she looks down at her phone and enters a large cabin with a huge bed filled with thick white blankets and pillows.

I sigh, imagining what she could be doing as if not having left less than thirty seconds ago. Before I can drive myself crazy, however, Harlow's sweet voice snaps me from my daydream "Mila, come here."

I drag a blanket around my shoulders and join the pair at the front. Harlow models booty shorts and a white t-shirt, while Fox sports a comfy-looking sweatpant ensemble. I feel more at home knowing I'm not the only one dressing for comfort rather than fashion.

"You could have sat with us, you know?" Harlow smiles gently. "We don't bite."

I smile back and sigh. "I know, I was just having some alone time," I admit, looking down into my lap.

Harlow's hand reaches across the table, and my eyes lift to meet her soft gaze. "She'll be fine." she squeezes my fingers gently. "Kids are far more resilient than we realise."

"How did you know?" I laugh awkwardly.

She shrugs. "I have a way of telling these things." Fox nods as if aware of Harlow's psychic ability. "Family is everything, and it's only natural for us to miss them when we leave."