Chapter Text
The turbulence was awful. Nearly two hours into the flight and Feyre had already spent a solid 45 minutes locked in the bathroom hugging the toilet, no idea how she was going to survive the remaining four hours it would take to get to New York. At least LA was a large enough travel hub to offer a direct flight. The idea of taking off and landing twice in the same day didn’t sit well with her heart or her stomach.
“Excuse me… miss?” A light knock came on the bathroom door and Feyre straightened herself up before opening it. A flight attendant with a curt blond bob was staring at her with an annoyed expression. “I’m sorry, but we only have so many toilets available on today’s flight and some of our other passengers have a need.”
If it hadn’t been for the nausea, Feyre would have snorted. A need , she thought, as if tearing out your insides from your ass was somehow a more pressing issue than doing it from your throat.
The flight attendant seemed to get Feyre’s predicament and her expression softened, but only a tad. “If you like, I have an open seat in first class. The turbulence tends to not have as big an effect there on our more gentle passengers.”
The words “first class” stopped Feyre from snapping at the woman for calling her gentle. This wasn’t the Renaissance. Her ovaries didn’t make her dainty even if her stomach couldn’t handle a few air miles. “Is it free?”
“Of course,” the attendant said.
Sold.
Feyre wiped her mouth up with a few tissues next to the sink and followed the attendant up the aisle to the front of the plane to her new seat. She was excited. She’d never flown first class before, but of course she had always wanted to. The drinks were free up there and supposedly, they got their own pull out TV’s and reclinable chairs. The site of plush leather cushions had Feyre drooling by the time the attendant stopped at her new spot.
The seat next to her was occupied by a tall, lean guy who looked to be about her age. He had dark hair with just a slight curl to the ends of it and he wore a deep violet button-up shirt. She couldn’t see much of his face, though. It was covered by an eye mask as he slept that said Batman on it in yellow writing. Feyre tried not to roll her eyes.
She sat down and clinked her seat belt into place, her hands searching for the magical promised land of free television at her fingertips, but the sound of her seat belt buckle seemed to be enough to rouse her co-pilot for the evening.
“I know what you’re looking for and it’s not there,” the man next to her said sounding not the least bit groggy. “Trust me, I tried.”
Feyre stopped her searching and looked at him, but he hadn’t moved a muscle. His hands rested comfortably over his stomach, his fingers interlaced. “You wanted to catch up on Keeping up with the Kardashians too, hmm?”
“Of course,” he said instantly. “The last episode I saw Lamar was going into that hospital in Vegas all unconscious and crazy at the same time Khloe got the call while she was at the courthouse to sign divorce papers. I’m dying to what happens. Next time, I’m flying American Airlines. They don’t stand for such cliffhangers with their in-flight television services.”
Feyre’s eyebrows shot up a mile high and she was glad his eye mask was still on so he couldn’t see the smirk threatening to break out on her face. She pulled her purse onto her lap and began digging for her Suduko book in lieu of television, still keeping one eye on the person next to her. “I’m surprised you didn’t pay for the internet service so you could just download it to your phone or whatever, but I guess sleep was more important than the latest Kardashian drama.”
Finally, the man lifted a hand to his face and pulled the eye mask up from one eye to look at Feyre. She wasn’t quite sure from the shadow of the mask and the dim lighting of the airplane, but his eyes looked dark, almost the same color violet as his shirt.
“Well I have to get my beauty rest,” he said, wiggling the mask with his hand. “Otherwise this handsome facade will go to waste.”
At that, Feyre did roll her eyes openly. “Oh yes, what a loss that would be for humanity. Tell me, is there a mirror on the other side too so you can stare at yourself while you drift off into dreamland?”
“No,” he said, a sly smile sliding up from the corners of his lips. “But maybe I’ll poke holes in it so I can stare at you instead.”
“I think that would defeat the purpose of the eye mask.”
“Hmm, maybe.” His smile intensified and he slid the mask off entirely and when he did, it took Feyre a moment to remember how to speak. He was handsome, much more so than his joking had implied. His cheekbones were high and his jawline sharp giving his face a chiseled, full look. But those eyes - damn if they didn’t draw her in with how much they sparkled at her, like diamonds written in the night sky. And before she knew what she was doing, Feyre had set her purse down and held out her hand.
“Feyre,” she said.
“Rhysand,” he replied, taking her hand and shaking it softly. “What brings you to first class, Feyre? Other than my pretty, pretty face of course.”
Feyre snorted. “You’re flirty.”
“And you’re beautiful, so I really need no excuse. Where’d you come from?”
“If you must know, my stomach decided coach wasn’t a good fit and when I spent a tad too long in the bathroom, the attendant suggested moving me up here for a change of scenery. Little did I know they’d stick me next to the most handsome man in the world to make me heave my guts up all over again with butterflies and cheesey pickup lines.”
Rhysand chuckled and pulled some crackers out of his pocket. “Want some?” he asked, offering Feyre the bag. “I find it’s best to come prepared for these sorts of missions and eating something generally helps settle the nerves.”
“So you fly a lot, then?” Feyre asked, taking a single cracker from the bag, but Rhysand pulled his tray table down and left the rest sitting there in neutral space. They could be his. They could be hers. Whatever she wanted them to be. Feyre decided she quite liked this.
“You could say that. It’s business, mostly, but I’m going to a wedding this weekend outside the city. Best mate of ten years is getting married to a real beast of a bride.”
“You’re kidding,” Feyre said and Rhysand looked at her waiting for an explanation. “I’m going to a wedding too and the bride is also rather… a lot to handle. She’s my sister, though, so I have to take it with a grain of salt.”
“You in the wedding?”
“Yep. You?”
“Afraid so, though I do look damn good in a tux, so I suppose it’s worth it.” He winked and Feyre couldn’t help but laugh. From anyone else it might have sounded creepy and too forward, like the guy in a bar who just won’t stop pounding you until you let him buy you a drink.
But the way Rhysand sat so casually in his chair like Feyre could turn him down and he’d be just fine - no pressure, just the ease of talking and enjoying the company of a pretty, amiable woman on a cross-country flight - had her leaning back into her chair and relaxing into the conversation. And she couldn’t lie to herself. Rhysand was a knockout to look at. If this was the prize she got for enduring a few hours polite conversation with a few confidence boosting compliments thrown her way, so be it.
Feyre reached out to grab another cracker with the arm that had been farthest from Rhys, as he’d told her to call him, and Rhysand gave a low, impressed whistle. “Nice tattoo,” he said pointing at her arm. He hadn’t seen it from where he’d sat until she moved for the cracker.
The tattoo was new and only just started, the bare bones of a much larger project Feyre would eventually take in a full sleeve down her arm and maybe even a little across her shoulder and back too. It was dark and full of swirling patterns and stars that mimicked the night sky.
For some reason, that had always stuck with her growing up when her parents would fight or her sister Nesta - the unbearable one getting married this weekend - was too horrible for Feyre to deal with. So she would simply look up instead of down and find the stars to help her dream of something else more pleasant and inspiring.
“Thank you,” Feyre said, holding her arm out proudly for him to examine as she shifted in her seat for him to get a better view. She tried not to notice the shivers that went down her spine when his fingers grazed over the skin where the ink sat. “I’d have done it myself, but they tell me at the shop that’s not a good idea.”
“You do tattoos?” Rhys said with something like awe in his voice, his eyes finally coming off the sky on her arm to look at her, but his fingers didn’t leave her skin.
Feyre nodded. “I’m an artist in general, but I just started tattooing a few months ago. My co-worker at the shop I got hired at inked me last month, much to my sister’s chagrin. I’m supposed to be her bridesmaid this weekend and the dresses are sleeveless. Whoops!” Feyre finished with clear apathy in her last word.
Rhysand cocked his head back and laughed, the sound rich and deep in his chest and Feyre found she liked the sound of it very much. “Screw her. It’s perfect on you.”
“What do you think?” Feyre asked, motioning with her arm. “I’m going to expand it and I can’t decide if I want to give it any color or keep it black and white?”
“Mmm,” Rhys said, the lone syllable rolling on his tongue behind closed lips in a considering haze as he took the tattoo in again. “I think you should add color - all of the colors, but just in little places here and there.” His hands moved along the length of her arm, his fingers stopping to rest on little stars tucked away behind the swirls of sky, little pockets she might hide the bright spots in one day. “You’re too vibrant a person to live in black and white, but not everyone will notice. That’s why you keep the color simple, to see who’s paying attention to who you really are.”
Rhysand gave her arm one last look, his hand sliding below the ends of the tattoo and past her elbow before coming to a pensive stop on her hand. Finally, his eyes slid up to meet hers and Feyre realized a second too late how stupid she must look because she could feel the smile a mile high on her face. Her cheeks flushed and Rhysand mirrored the smile before letting go of her hand and sticking to his own seat.
“How’s the stomach?” he asked.
“Better,” Feyre admitted. “Though still a little queasy.” Just not for the same reason as before , she failed to add.
“Well they say practice makes perfect. I should know,” Rhys said mischievously, and Feyre stopped him before he could get going.
“If you’re going to start singing about magic carpet rides and showing me the world to cure my qualms with flying, I’ll vomit in your lap.”
“I can agree to that if you promise to tattoo me when we’re both back in LA.”
“W-what?” Feyre stumbled. She hadn’t been expecting that, but Rhysand looked dead serious if not still a little mischievous. “I don’t know about that. I just started and, well let’s just say I’m not yet as good with a needle as I am with a paint brush.”
Rhysand held up his hands as if to say it was no problem, but there was a trace of disappointment behind his eyes and Feyre wondered what exactly it was for. Surely not for the tattoo. You could get those anywhere. But then that would mean…
“So tell me more about this wedding of yours,” Rhysand said interrupting her musings and negating the momentary awkwardness.
The rest of the flight passed as if in a dream. Feyre had never had an experience like it. Rhysand was as much a delight to talk to as he was to look at and when the captain came over the speaker to announce their landing in roughly twenty minutes, she found herself wishing for a reason not to get off the plane.
But then they did land and Rhysand was lingering a few steps behind her as they left the plane to enter the terminal and the moment all became a little too real for her liking. Fear shot through her along with a dozen memories of real life and a boyfriend gone incredibly sour. She took off the second they were out of the gate and lost herself in the crowd of New York’s busiest terminal before Rhysand even had a chance to realize what was happening. They hadn’t even said goodbye.
By the time she’d gotten the keys to her rental car, the guilt was overwhelming and she knew she’d made a mistake, but it was too late now to fix it. She vacillated over him her entire drive down to the Hamptons where her sister was getting married at her fiancé’s family estate. Apparently they were very rich.
She arrived far too late to make it to the rehearsal dinner, but she swung by her sister’s hotel room to let her know she’d made it in okay earning an annoyed scowl from Nesta at her tardiness. Her other sister Elain, who was sharing a room with Nesta, at least looked pleased to see her and gave her a warm hug.
And then Feyre was alone in her hotel room. All alone save for her hungry thoughts about that tall, snarky stranger with the violet eyes on the plane she should have said goodbye too. Her head hit the pillow with a deep sigh of regret aching through her body.
Feyre woke up and spent the entire morning at the house in the Hamptons with her sister and the other bridesmaids getting ready. They had an entire upstairs suite to themselves. Nesta was too overjoyed about getting married to even be angry about Feyre’s tattoo showing in the dress and overall the morning was pleasant.
It was nice to see Nesta so cheerful. Her sister, despite the rough exterior, had taken her fair share of knocks in life too and from what Elain had told her about her fiancé Cassian, he sounded like someone who could both fight Nesta’s storms and soothe them at the same time. She couldn’t wait to meet him, or her groomsman for that matter. She still didn’t know who she was walking with. No one had filled her in on the rehearsal dinner proceedings and Nesta had kept Feyre so out of the loop with wedding preparations that Feyre was clueless.
When they were ready to go down, Feyre and the other bridesmaids led Nesta out of the suite, carrying her large train and fluffing her dress as they went. At the top of the stairs, Elain suddenly grabbed Feyre by the shoulder and pointed below them to where a large party of groomsmen and parents were milling about, ready to walk down ahead of them.
“There’s your partner,” Elain said excitedly, pointing at a dark head right at the base of the stairs. “You’re walking third. He came late last night at the dinner, so he’ll know what to do. Don’t worry!” Elain squeaked off to help Nesta down the stairs in her dress and as they did so, the collective crowd below turned to Ooh and Aww at her.
Everyone, that was, except for Feyre’s groomsman who when he had turned around had passed his gaze over Feyre first and done a double take. Feyre’s heart skipped a beat when she saw those familiar violet eyes staring at her in her silky blue dress embroidered with diamond-like beading. She was so in shock when she reached the bottom of the stairs she couldn’t find anything to say. She stood immobile while the rest of the wedding party made for the doors to the garden where Nesta and Cassian would be married.
Rhysand was staring at her like she had stepped out of a dream. His tongue slipped out ever so slightly and ran over his lips, that same delighted twinkle she’d seen on the plane lighting up his eyes.
“So about that tattoo,” he said. “I was thinking maybe some mountains with a few stars overhead to give it a splash of… color?”
Feyre laughed so hard and so loud, Nesta heard and sent Elain running to ask why she hadn’t caught up yet.
“How dramatic,” Feyre replied, grinning ear to ear.
Rhysand shrugged. “What can I say? You inspired me.”
He offered her his arm and they took their place in the procession and when the music struck up a glowing symphony of violins that played a haunting, romantic melody, Feyre couldn’t help but wonder if she’d find herself walking down another aisle in a couple years’ time.
xx