I fidgeted a little in my seat, stopping cold when my hand gripped something strong and warm, lean and fit. I lazily traced a finger on it, feeling a hill bulge from my fingertip, clearly an unmistakable muscle.
Slowly, I opened my eyes to check who I was snuggling.
It was -- oh, crap. Michael.
As if he was toxic, I jumped back in my seat, away from his presence. He was sleeping, so I quietly slipped my arm away from his.
For a moment, I looked at him, sleeping soundly without so much as a tiny breath coming through his nose. He didn't snore, and that was a miracle for a guy. Well, for guys I knew. Even my baby brother snored like the world was going to shatter.
Our chairs were leaned back to the fullest, so I had to pull mine up. A blanket was wrapped around me, then I covered myself tighter to protect myself from the cold.
Checking my crappy phone, I saw that it was already nine o'clock in the evening. We'd been in the air for three hours and I didn't die...
But that didn't mean I was still not terrified of the demonic flying machine in the air with me inside it, along with everyone else. When I opened my window, I saw everything was blue, black, and grey. Actually, it was so boring.
Although it was better than seeing planes crashing in the air and --
God, I had to stop thinking about that.
Closing the window flap with a loud jut, I felt someone tapping my shoulder and saw that it was Caroline, flight attendant extraordinaire. She was smiling down at me with understanding hazel eyes, a light green mug held in her right hand with black lettering, saying, Always Smile with a yellow smiley at the middle. She handed it to me.
"Here's the drink I wanted to give you. You've been asleep for quite a while so I didn't want to bother you. This is my mug, but I want you to have it for the moment. It's always been my favorite, but...yeah. I hope you forget about your fear and just smile and feel calm, all right?"
I stared at her with her mug in my hands. Usually, flight attendants gave their passengers Styrofoam cups for their drinks, or even plastic ones. But Caroline was kind enough to give me her favourite mug.
I felt so touched that I had to sniff even though this was so corny on so many different levels. I'd been very emotional on this plane, really. It was kind of annoying, but what could I do? I hated the plane.
"Thanks," I mumbled, taking a sip of some kind of hot chocolate mix.
Yay!
"Is this Swiss Miss?" I suddenly asked, curiously.
"Even better, I daresay," Caroline said cheekily. "Cadbury."
I grinned from ear-to-ear when I tasted the milk chocolate washing down my throat. "I've been thinking about this drink," I confessed, wiping the corners of my lips with two fingers. "Thanks so much. It's like you read my mind."
Caroline chuckled. "Don't mention it! I told you it'll make you feel better. Hot chocolate makes me feel like that when I feel awful. It's just factory-made chocolate, but to me, it has something else that's good. Also," she went on, pointing a thumb toward a sleeping Michael, "I didn't want wake you up because this lad seemed to be handling the situation with you quite nicely. He even said sweet words to calm you, actually."
Really? I started blinking.
"You just didn't hear him because you fell asleep the moment your head fell in contact with his chest. Everyone saw it, not that I want to embarrass you or make you blush" -- which, really, I was already feeling heat creeping up my pale cheeks -- "but it's true. We all thought it was very sweet of him. He didn't care if all of us saw it. He just comforted and hugged you. You've got a fine bloke in your life, miss. He's a keeper."
He was a keeper? Michael?
She knew Michael was the marquess? But of course she knew it. He was practically a celebrity back home. I started to tell her he wasn't my boyfriend or anything at all, when she suddenly excused herself to attend to another passenger.
My eyes went to Michael's sleeping, angelic form (jeez, did he certainly look like a total saint and god when he was sleeping.) I remembered him comforting and wrapping his arms around me tightly when I started to freak out, but I didn't remember him saying sweet things to me when I'd fallen asleep. It was completely -- and I mean, completely -- different for him.
This wasn't the Michael Cutting I knew. The one I knew was a total jackass who was a complete pervert with a gigantic male ego. But the one just now...he was very different. Maybe I wasn't looking clearly into him. Maybe he was a truly nice guy that just wanted to fit in.
Suddenly, Michael wriggled in his blanket, making me imagine he was in a cocoon. He finally took off his blanket and stretched his arms and back, yawning.
I blinked at him, carefully sipping my steaming Cadbury drink in my hands. I never left my eyes from his form, and when he finally felt my eyes on him, he turned to me.
A slow smirk creeped at the corners of his lips. "Hey," he greeted, his voice a little husky from sleep.
I blew on my milk chocolate. "Hey," I muttered back.
His eyes went from my face, to my mug. "What's that?"
"Cadbury."
"Could I possibly have some?" he asked, eyes never leaving the drink.
"Get your own!" I hissed, turning my mug away from his sight. I heard him laugh throatily. "It already has my DNA everywhere. Would you still want to drink that?" I demanded.
"Darling," Michael replied silkily, "when it comes to you, I would never complain about anything at all. Your DNA on the mug? I'd drink it. Even if you spat on it, I'd still drink it."
I tried to spit on it with a hefty hack of my throat like a teenage guy practicing his spitting hacks on the sidewalk. Of course, I didn't really spit on it; it would be totally gross. But I did a good job of making Michael believe it, as well as making other people stare at me. I grinned at all of them.
I saw Michael's black brow arch up, perfectly skeptical. "You think I'd believe you spitting into that thing?" he queried, jutting a chin toward my mug. I frowned.
Well, it certainly made the others believe it. That was why they all turned away slowly, wincing. I scowled; Michael guffawed.
There went my thoughts of him being a "truly nice guy." I ignored him then, sipping my drink while watching Pineapple Express on the TV in front of my seat.
I kept on laughing like a hyena, while Michael teased me. I said I loved James Franco here because he kind of resembled Kurt Cobain from Nirvana, in some way, but Michael only said that he was better-looking in Spider-Man than in that movie, because James looked like a total druggie, which he was.
So we continued our playful banter and --- shocking as it was -- Michael was a very fun person to talk to, plus he was witty and...charming.
I was surprised to know that we talked for about two hours, laughing most of the time till it was time for us to sleep again after the flight attendants served us our meal for the night.
^^^^^
When I awoke it was Michael's face that loomed over me, grinning impishly while wiggling his eyebrows and saying, "Good morning, sunshine!"
I rolled my eyes, barely containing my excitement for breakfast to come. When it did, Michael told me, "Sweetheart, you better eat till you fill up your stomach. Wouldn't want you to starve, you know."
To my shock, I really didn't mind him calling me his sweetheart.
^^^^^
We arrived at Stansted at exactly 4:55 AM with me feeling all draggy and hazy, while Michael was as well.
We weren't very excited to arrive in London, but we were already here, so what was the point of going back? Plus, I really didn't want to ride a plane again just to head back to the United States. That would be suicide.
People were bustling in and out of the airport, then suddenly, everything seemed so foreign to me. Well, considering that I was in a foreign country and this was my first international trip ever, I thought I shouldn't be that surprised.
But man, was I feeling different. The people's voices were different. More...well...accented, for lack of a better word. Some of their accents were very hard to understand -- it was too thick to even comprehend.
"You'll get used to it," Michael said.
Yeah, like I'll be staying here long enough to comprehend it, I thought grumpily, but I was too tired to voice out my thoughts.
My legs were still a little wooden-like when the plane landed, but I followed Michael to the baggage claim area, where he walked his way there, impatiently waiting for his luggage to pop out anytime.
I stood beside him, though I was tapping my foot and looking around like I was an ant lost in a giant cave. When Michael saw his black luggage, he groaned as he remembered that there was still one more to claim, which was mine. He put on his shades, pushing it up the bridge of his nose and crossing his fit arms.
We hadn't spoken much ever since we'd arrived in London; that was because we were so exhausted and I really wasn't in the mood to talk to him again, especially because I still felt weird around him. The fact that we got along very well on the plane honestly scared me.
I slightly moved away from him, looking for my luggage while he was still rooted on the same spot, lazily waiting for my suitcase. On my side, directly fifteen feet away from Michael, were about five preteen girls who were squealing.
I pushed my shades up my nose, tapping my foot. I didn't need hormonally-induced tweens right now, thank you very much.
One of the girls gasped, pointing behind me. I tended to ignore them and look for my luggage.
"Is that...who I think it is?" the girl about fourteen shriek-whispered to her friends.
The other four swiveled their heads to look, and they sucked in a breath. "It is! Oh my God, he is sooo fit!" a blonde squealed.
Jeez, what was up with the squealing?
Anyway...luggage...luggage...lu --
"He looks way fitter than before, doesn't he?"
Oh, for God's sake.
Who were they talking about anyway?
I shook my head, groaning.
"Careful, Jane! Auntie Maggie might whisk you away if she hears about your fantasies again," one of them joked.
"She won't. Anyway, I think I'd died and gone to heaven, girls!" Jane said.
All of them laughed.
"So...he's been in San Ricardo, California, all along? That is so exciting! I wish I went there. Must be amazing. Oh, and to be with him!"
Slowly, I turned to face all of them. My eyes and fingers twitched when I saw them looking at an infinitely bored Michael Cutting.
Of course.
Here in England, he was known as some sort of celebrity. Not only because he had a title, but because he was incredibly good-looking and drove girls crazy (even me, although for totally different reasons of course.) In America, he was known as one of the coolest guys in California.
My, how things changed when you left for a different country.
I really didn't care much about the girls "fancying" Michael, but it was kind of annoying when all they talked about behind me was him, him, him.
Some of the citizens of Great Britain began to hear the news that the young and dashing Michael Cutting was finally home from America.
Desperate to get away from all this, I squealed when I saw the Vuitton pop out, circling slowly around to come to me.
With a little happy jump, a clap of my hands, and a wide grin plastered on my face, I ran to my luggage and gripped the handle.
Someone offered to help me, but I only looked like I'd rip his head off. So he raised his arms and stayed the hell away from me, letting me do my own thing.
Soon, I regretted refusing the guy's help. The thing was heavy! With a frustrated sigh, I pulled with both hands harder, until someone placed a large hand on my own.
"Let me do it," Michael quietly piped in behind me.
I scowled at him but left him to lift it up for me, effortlessly. I huffed and whisked the handle away from him. "Thanks," I said gruffly.
He grinned, taken by surprise. "You're welcome."
I stalked away -- as far as I could get -- from him. I saw the five teenaged girls looking at me with such disbelief when they saw what I'd dine to their crush. I shrugged. Well, whatever. I wasn't from England. I wasn't English; I didn't want to be here.
I was my own person. And I most certainly did not have a lord.
But I was engaged to one.
Aaaargh.
Tapping my foot impatiently and waiting for him to move away and come to me, I glared at the people through my sunglasses, even though most of them didn't even bother looking my way.
Although there was this one guy with eyeglasses on and a suit, staring at me like I was insane.
"What are you looking at?" I snapped.
Quickly, he spun around, grabbed his suitcase and dashing off to the other direction, trying to get as far away from me.
"Tell me, Keller, are you on your period to be in such a state to be firing away at people like that?" Michael asked in amusement, his eyes scintillating through his shades.
There weren't that many people in the airport, considering it was only four in the morning. It tried to control my rising temper and composure from exhaustion.
At least, I tried to reign them in. That is, until I yawned of course. I forgot to cover my lips with my fist, so that made Michael totally laugh like an idiot in front of me. He was one to talk. Ha. He yawned right after me!
It was already 5:20 AM, and I really wanted to sleep. Understanding me since he was feeling the same way, Michael walked me down the large hall and out of the airport where the people were waiting for their cars, families or friends who were ready to fetch them.
Again, some of them stared Michael.
"Aren't you feeling a little unsettled that these people are staring at you?" I asked, following him from behind.
He looked over his shoulder. "It's tiring, honestly, but nothing out of the ordinary. And believe me, no one really minds whether you're a nobleman or not. It doesn't work that way anymore -- they just have their knickers in a twist because I haven't been home in a long while."
"Oh."
"Anyway I'm used to it, and so will you." I gulped. "Whether you like it or not -- but I am positive you won't like it one bit -- you'll be stared at and talked about once they know you're my bride. Right now, they're curious as to who you are and why you're with me."
"Oh."
"Soon, they'll be talking about you and taking pictures of us or you alone. You'll be featured in magazines -- you'll be a celebrity here. Sort of, since I'm sure this will all die down soon enough."
Thank God for that.
But okay, now I was nervous. I even blanched.
Seeing my expression, Michael chuckled.
"Oh, here's our ride," he said, tipping his chin forward to a black and shiny Rolls-Royce Phantom.
"Holy. Crap."
"Ah, I see you're shocked that we're riding this thing," Michael remarked.
I didn't speak. I just trailed after him like a zombie.
As we got inside the car, I scooted to the edge of the cream-coloured leather seat, leaning back. My feet rested on the footrest below me, watching some BBC soap opera on the black television at the centre from above.
There were dark, shiny, granite-like wood on the edges of the front seats' behind. The carpet was cream, soft and plush under my shoes.
"Good morning, miss," said the chauffeur in the driver's seat, tipping his black hat to me with a smile. I gave a tired smile back, nodding my head.
"Welcome to London! We're very glad that you and Lord Cutting had a safe flight." He looked at Michael. "And it is so good to have you back home, dear boy."
With a yawn from me, the driver only chuckled and left me alone. Michael patted the driver's shoulder happily, grinning all the way. "To my flat, Jerry," he said, leaning back.
"Of course, Lord Cutting."
And on their conversation went, making me fall asleep. Dang, but I didn't even get to see London first-hand.
^^^^^
"Mother of God," I breathed, staring at a giant house looming over me.
It was made of bronze-coloured bricks piled up in a massive way, with black rails and grills, a gate of the finest metal, plus a white door with a gold knocker, white windowpanes, and clear glass mullioned windows.
The whole place reached two floors only, but it sure was big. There were other houses on each side of the flat (this word for "apartment") but I was caught off guard by the one in front of me.
I held on to my luggage that Jerry took out of the trunk for me, while Michael talked on the phone. He was saying, to the other line, that we'd arrived in Bathurst Street in Hyde Park.
Michael was talking to Frederick on the phone, I figured. It was already 10:36 PM where he was and I ached for home. When Michael was done talking to his cousin, he told me that Frederick sent his regards to me. When I only nodded, and he saw the look on my face when I gaped over his place, he smiled.
"Home sweet home."
We went up the portico steps with me tightening my jacket from the cold and him pushing the key inside the doorknob of his house.
When we entered, the house was very silent. "Is anybody else living here?" I questioned curiously.
Michael nodded. "There's Mrs. Moore, the housekeeper and Jerry, plus some of the other few servants. Mrs. Moore, though, is on leave because her daughter has just had a baby and will be helping along in the country."
"The country?"
"Countryside. Provincial?"
"Oh. How nice," I mumbled, my eyes roaming the place.
I was very uncomfortable with his sudden kindness. Was he always this nice in reality?
I was slightly worried, but then he came back.
He winked flirtatiously. "You know me, babe," he said, using his American accent. The one I remembered very well.
I smiled inwardly. That was better.
Michael led me up to my room, which was all modern. I had a 3D television, my bed was queen-size with a thick white duvet and clean leather furniture all round.
All in all, the house had five bedrooms, six and a half massive bathrooms, the servants' quarters, a kitchen, dining room, living room, study room, a backyard with a swimming pool, and a garage that could house five cars.
This, Michael said, was his bachelor's lodge.
"Though I no longer will be a bachelor anymore, will I?" he asked with a wicked gleam in his silver eyes.
I rolled mine.
He left me to change and sleep, so I did just that. I locked my door in case he came barging in, then I took a shower in the beautifully modern bathroom.
After that, I changed into the sleepwear that was packed inside the suitcase. Dammit. It was a long nightgown with a kinky slit on the left side, revealing every inch of my long and tanned leg.
I snarled at this but when I tried to look for a decent sleepwear, I saw that everything was somehow sexy and revealing.
Finally ignoring what I was wearing (it was either that or wear what I'd been wearing for hours), I plopped my whole body on the bed, sinking myself into the warm and soft duvet.
I fell asleep instantly, dreaming of a light-haired, green-eyed princess being saved by a handsome, raven-haired knight with silver eyes.