Progress, Sam thought to herself as she climbed into the passenger seat, which she supposed was why she decided to tell him...
“You’ll never believe this... I was helping Marco set up a date with Nyla! How wild is that?” Then she rushed on with, “I hope I didn’t make us late for the flight.”
The only indication he’d registered what she’d said about Marco and Nyla was that his hands visibly loosened on the wheel.
“No,” Nikolai answered, his voice completely casual. “Plane will wait.”
THE PLANE turned out to be not a commercial airliner, but a private jet with RUSTANOV ENTERPRISES painted across the side in large black letters.
“A late wedding gift from my cousin,” Nikolai explained while she gaped at the jet awaiting them in a hangar behind Indianapolis International Airport.
“Is that where we’re going?” she asked, as they walked up the air stairs to the plane’s main entry door. “To Texas? To an event for your cousin?”
“No,” Nikolai answered. And that was all he said.
Sam opened her mouth to once again try to extract some answers other than “you will see” and “no” to her questions, but her thoughts trailed off when she saw the inside of the plane.
The front quarter-half of the cabin was taken up by sumptuous, side-by-side leather seats like those she’d seen in the first class section of the commercial airplanes she’d flown. But instead of seats, the other side of the plane was taken up by a conference table and a thin couch. That seating area, Sam noticed, was just wide enough to sit on—but not wide enough to stretch out on without fear of rolling off in the middle of the night.
“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Rustanov,” a cheery voice said behind them.
They both turned to see a smiling male flight attendant holding a tray with two glasses of what looked like champagne.
“Don’t worry, it’s sparkling cider,” the attendant said, handing the flute to her with a wink. “And congratulations, to you both!”
“Thank you,” she said, taking the glass.
The flight attendant went on to introduce himself as Dave before asking if there was anything they needed before he went to prepare dinner, which he’d be serving at a small dining table just behind the row of seats.
“I’m good, thanks,” Sam answered, settling herself into her seat. She jiggled the lever at the side, pushing her back against it.
“Is everything all right, Mrs. Rustanov?” Dave asked.
“Please, call me Sam,” she answered, ignoring Nikolai’s displeased look. “And it’s nothing. I was just hoping these seats leaned back a little further, maybe turned into a little bed.” She had heard some seats in first class converted into beds on some airlines, but apparently these didn’t.
“No, our seats don’t convert because there’s a bedroom just on the other side of that door,” Dave explained, pointing to a closed wooden door at rear of the cabin. “So when you’re ready to go to sleep, let me know and I’ll fluff the pillows for you.” He winked again.
Sam’s cheeks flamed as her dream of getting a semi-comfortable night’s sleep died a quick death.
After an extremely awkward dinner, she opened the upper compartment above the seating area and found what appeared to be a plush lap blanket in a neat fold. She opened it with an angry snap, hunkered down into the back row’s window seat, and pulled the blanket over her, squeezing her eyes shut. Sam hoped this would be enough for Nikolai to take the hint and leave her alone.
There came the sound of heavy footsteps, then Nikolai’s voice above her. “That seat looks not comfortable. You don’t want to sleep in bed, zhena?”
“No, just like you don’t seem to want to tell me where we’re going. Or why,” she answered, keeping her eyes closed.
“You are not same as other women. You don’t like surprises,” he said.
This time Sam did open her eyes, if only to let him see how not amused she was by this entire situation.
“I don’t like being confused, and I don’t see why you can’t just tell me where we’re going.”
“Like I say, you are woman who does not like surprises. I will, how you say, make note for future.” Judging from all the twinkling going on in Nikolai’s eyes, Sam was fairly certain he was incredibly amused by the whole situation. But then again, he was the one holding all the cards, wasn’t he?
She closed her eyes again with an annoyed huff. “Goodnight, Nikolai.”
Silence. And then she felt the seat beside her compress underneath Nikolai’s weight. Her stomach tightened. Apparently, Nikolai was fully prepared to take an aisle seat if it meant getting the last word on their sleeping arrangements.
“Good night, zhena.”
ONE MISERABLE NIGHT of sleep, two more meals, and about eight back-to-back episodes of Veronica Mars later, they eventually made it to the tarmac of Athens airport. Athens, Greece.
“Welcome to Greece, zhena,” Nikolai said, waving an arm toward the city’s skyline beyond the airport, as if it was his gift to her.
Sam, who had been half-way afraid they were headed all the way to Russia, gaped in amazement.
Greece!
She’d never been farther than Canada in her life, and even then it had been for work—a special seminar in Calgary on how to provide counseling services to women with refugee status. Not exactly a glamorous getaway.
Sam watched as the plane slowly came to a stop. What kind of work obligation could have possibly brought Nikolai to Greece? Then she remembered what her friends on social media often went abroad for.
“So… I’m assuming we’re here for somebody’s wedding?” she asked Nikolai, as she divested herself of the winter coat she’d put back on before deplaning. No need for coats here. The air was warm and balmy—at least in the seventies.
“No,” Nikolai answered, producing both of their passports out of nowhere. He took her by the elbow. “Come, zhena. We must go through passport control and customs before we meet car.”
Well, that explained why Isaac has asked for and never returned her passport. But…
“Why are we here?” she asked for what felt like the millionth time.
“I think you will soon—how you say—figure it out,” Nikolai answered.
But she didn’t figure it out. Not that she didn’t try. She scoured her head for possibilities and put them to Nikolai: a charity event, a movie premiere, a hockey game—even though she was fairly certain hockey wasn’t a thing in Greece. Every guess was met with a firm “no” on Nikolai’s part, as if she wasn’t even in the vicinity of the right answer. And by the time they pulled up in front of a multi-tiered, white stucco and stone hotel, she was even more frustrated than when they’d departed Indiana.