Farraway Mist ?A Wattpad featured story?

Chapter 28: The Life Of A Rock Star

George and Scout had come close to having their first real fight on the morning they left Surrey. They were settled in the car, on their way to the airport in London.

"Hey, I've been wondering," Scout began.

"Hm?"

"How are we going to travel on the plane with Bandit and Jess?" she asked. "I mean, obviously we wouldn't put them in cargo or anything, but we don't have crates for them. Did you buy them tickets or what? How does that work?" She turned to George curiously.

"Well," he began cautiously. "Now don't get in a strop--"

Scout sat up. "Things didn't go very well last time you began with that phrase, if I recall," she said, looking suspiciously at her boyfriend. She blinked at him, waiting.

"We, um, that is to say, you, and I, and Jess and Bandit, of course," George said with an ingratiating smile, "will be traveling separately, that's all." He nodded.

"Separately?" Scout repeated. "Separately how? Like you booked us our own row of seats or something?"

"Sort of? But not exactly," he faltered.

"How?" By now she was sitting ramrod straight, far away from the comfort of George's arms, where she'd been when they'd begun this conversation.

Fuck.

"We're traveling by private jet," he finally admitted. "But it's just a little one, I promise," he continued quickly.

"It's just a little one?" Scout repeated. "George, I told you and told you, I was fine to travel commercial, I told you I didn't need a private jet, didn't I? It's extravagant, it's a complete and total waste of money! I mean, in this day and age, when there are people dying because they don't have access to fucking clean drinking water, for Christ's sake, for us to be leaving such a massive carbon footprint, traveling by fucking private jet--!" she glared at him, furious.

"No," she finally said.

"What?" he asked, sure he'd misunderstood her.

"I won't go," she said firmly. "I'm buying my own ticket and going alone. I'm not going to spend god only knows how much to fly on a fucking private jet because you have some kind of paranoia about me being slightly uncomfortable on a commercial flight."

"You'd leave us?" George asked reproachfully. "You'd really leave me and Jess and Bandit at the airport and go off without us?"

Scout blinked at him, trying to hold on to her anger. "George, when I say something, I have to know that you're listening to me, not just treating me like some kind of idiot, bun-in-the-oven incubator without a brain or opinion of my own, you know?"

George sat back, beautiful dark blue eyes looking wounded. "That's so unfair," he said. "I love you and want you to be well-cared-for, is that so wrong?" he asked. "What if your feet start to swell, and you need to put them up and you can't because there isn't enough room? Or you need to walk around? You know how narrow the aisles are on those commercial flights, even in first class! What if you need to lie down, hm?" And now he was sitting up, looking pretty furious himself. "Or, or, you might feel sick, because you know you still feel nauseated sometimes. You hate to do that in front of other people, you know you do." His voice got soft. "You're 'a private hurler', you said so yourself." He blinked at her. "Scout, please." He placed a gentle hand on her arm. "This way you get the exact food you want, exactly when you want and need it, with people at your beck and call, with me to wait on you hand and foot--"

"I assume I would've had that anyway," Scout said with a small attempt at a smile.

"You would, you would," George answered, rubbing her arm, nodding. "But you know what I mean. And when I started thinking about Bandit and Jess, when you told me they'd be welcome at your parents' house and they could come with us, I realized that a private plane really was the best thing for all of us. I mean, think how much they'd suffer on a commercial flight. Look at them, darling."