"Sometimes, we are so smitten with happy endings, that we believe we'll end up with one too."
Ambrosia Bellemore never believed in happy endings, even though the books she read said otherwise. The closest she ever came to magic was when she found th...
"Really?" She says, her mouth turning down into a frown, and then into a pout. For a second, I'm almost afraid she's going to cry.
"You skadooshed my self confidence like a bug." She says, cradling her head on her palm.
"Just being honest, Ambrosia."
And then she starts to cry. My eyes widen in horror as she literally starts wailing next to me. Every pair of eye on the plane turns in our direction. Some look irritated, some accusing, and some even had the audacity to look amused. I turn around from the eyes to focus on Ambrosia.
"Ambrosia, hey, stop crying. Please, I'm sorry." I pat her back frantically, hissing urgently.
The wailing increases in volume.
"Ambrosia, I was joking. Please, stop crying." I plead.
Jesus, that woman had the voice of a banshee.
"Shut her up for Christ's sakes, boy!" A middle aged man hollers from the seat beside me.
"I'm no boy, understand?" I hiss at him dangerously, giving him my most sinister glare. He gulps and sinks into his seat.
The air hostess rushes to our side immediately, her eyes frantic.
"Sir, is there a problem?"
"No, everything's fine. The weather is good, we'll get there right on time." I say, smiling up at her.
"I meant the lady, sir."
"Oh, she's just..." I trail off, clueless.
"Well?" She raises a fake eyebrow at me.
"Uh, she's...pregnant! That's it! She's just pregnant!" I exclaim hurriedly. Half of the eyes on us turn understanding, I even get a few condolescences and a dozen patronising smiles.
The wailing banshee looks up at me, the voice dying in her throat. Her eyes are red and puffy, also surprised and horror struck. She plops her head back into her hands and wails louder.
"She's your wife, sir?" I look up at the air hostess again.
"Wife? Of course, yes! I married her, so she's my wife, absolutely!" I laugh nervously, a little hysterical.
The air hostess gives me a look that says she doesn't believe a single word I said, but she lets it slide.
"Can you quiet her down? The other passengers are complaining about the noise." She says, hurrying away from the terrible noise but not before giving me a last warning glance.
Here we are again, Ambrosia causing disturbance and I being asked to quiet her down.
Even though I have to admit I've always had a hand behind her causing that disturbance, but never mind that.
I turn in my seat to face Ambrosia, leaning down to whisper into her ear.
"Quiet down and I'll give you a promotion."
"To what?" She wails, but quieter this time.
"Chief personal assistant?" I whisper hastily.
"That's not even a thing." She says, sobbing.
"Okay, fine. I'll double your cheque."
The wailing turns quieter, but even more shrill.
"Fine," I huff in annoyance. "Twice the amount for the next six months."
The wailing dies completely.
Ambrosia sits up straight, wipes her tear streaked eyes, and glares me right in the eye. It takes all of me not to gulp and shrink away.
"Ed Sheeran wouldn't treat me this way," She says, our foreheads almost touching. "Or Shawn Mendes. Or Charlie Puth."
"What?" I ask, heady from her smell of cinnamon and maple syrup.
Don't sniff. Don't inhale. Don't breath.
"They think I'm perfect and they can treat me better. And they don't want my attention." (A/N: Popular song references)
I pull back, shaking my head. She leans back into her seat and closes her eyes. I lean back into mine and finally allow myself to smile.
~•~
I wanted this chapter to be lengthier, but it felt like a great place to stop. What do you think about this playful side of Calum? Is something changing? Next chapter, Venice!
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
