His Discarded Bride #thefictionawards2019

Part Four

CHAPTER THREE

Leilani sat in her seat and struggled with her embarrassment. She was behaving like a fool and told herself to get a grip. Even if this man were in her league, she had no time for romantic dalliances on this trip. There was a lot she would need to accomplish, and to flirt with her companion on the plane wasn't part of the plan. Slowly, she felt her colour return to normal and hoped Renato would soon be bored of her. She had been winging this trip, and she needed to put thought to the next few days. Her plan of attack was loose at best, and she would need to start with finding accommodation.

Massaging her temples gently to dislodge a headache, she then reached for her handbag that was at her feet; she scrummaged around in the bag. She couldn't find the Neurofen, and, under normal circumstances, she would have tipped out the entire contents to find them. However, in such a confined working space, she just shuffled everything from the front of the bag to the back in hope of finding a cure in a pill.

"Do you need some assistance?" his voice was close to her ear; he had leant in to speak, and she felt a little frisson of excitement at the innocuous question.

"I'm fine, thank you," she closed her bag and shut her eyes. If only she could relax a bit, maybe the headache would go away. She just hoped upon landing that finding accommodation wouldn't be too difficult. She didn't need anything fancy, just somewhere to catch up on some overdue sleep. Over the last week, she'd barely caught a wink, and when she did, she always woke up with the recent events foremost in her mind. By the time this flight was over, she would be desperate for a good night's rest.

Renato wasn't used to such inattention as this. If it weren't for Vittorio's demands, he wouldn't have given this woman a second glance. Maybe he should just offer her the business proposition. He thought of all the work needed to get her up to the Favalli standard. She would need a thorough makeover. Leilani wouldn't stand a chance in his world looking like she did, and improvement was nothing that a few professional stylists and a personal trainer couldn't fix. He certainly wouldn't push surgery on her; he needed a wife, not a high society clone. It would, of course, be good to know if she were fertile. Thinking about her late entrance on the plane and her disorganised bag, he mentally jotted down the need for organization and time management activities, not to mention Italian language classes.

Not for one second did he doubt that she would be his wife. He was, however, impatient for the pursuit to be over with so that he could get on with other pressing business matters that he was sacrificing to chase his bride-to-be.

He glanced her way, and she appeared to be once again dozing. How on earth she could sleep under such uncomfortable conditions, he had no idea. He ran his thumb across her hand, and the side of her wrist where her skin was soft and smooth. She didn't stir. He leant across her body and pulled her head towards his shoulder, and she murmured and attempted to sit upright.

"Relax; you are tired. Lean on me. You will be much more comfortable," he insisted and gently tugged her towards him. She allowed the movement and promptly fell asleep against him.

He could hear her soft rhythmic breathing and settled in against his seat while she slept.

Groggily, Leilani woke up from her nap and realised that she was once again resting on Renato's shoulder, and it felt so good. She lifted her head and apologised, "I'm sorry; I can't believe I've fallen asleep on your shoulder twice."

"Don't worry. This time it was I who insisted and pulled you towards me. These planes are so uncomfortable; I'm surprised you were able to sleep at all."

"Yes, well, I've had a stressful time of late and haven't been sleeping well. I guess the lack of sleep is finally catching up," not to mention a headache that wouldn't relent.