A Sudden Crush

by Camilla Isley

  A Sudden Crush

  By Camilla Isley

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright Pink Bloom Press 2015

  All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express permission in writing of the author.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Dedication

  To A.

  Contents

  Dedication

  1. Honeymoon

  2. The Crash

  3. The Island

  4. Mr. Ogre

  5. Day 1

  6. Manny

  7. Hidden Treasures

  8. Lost and Found

  9. Wedding Night

  10. Day 2

  11. Pride, Prejudice and Naked Trolls

  12. Day 26

  13. Day 33

  14. Kiss the Rain

  15. Day 47

  16. Night 47

  17. Day 75

  18. Day 99

  19. Day 143

  20. One Last Night

  21. Ashore

  22. Dark Is The Night

  23. Cry Me a River

  24. Goodbyes

  25. Home Sweet Home

  26. Twice as Ugly

  27. A Cat Lady with a Monkey

  28. Price Publishing

  29. Monkey Business

  30. We Fall Together

  31. One Year Later

  32. Nominees

  33. On the Side of the Non-Angels

  34. About a Book

  35. Dear Diary

  36. New York, New York

  37. Angels and Demons

  38. Winner Winner Chicken Dinner

  39. Catch Me If You Can

  40. One Shoe a Princess Will Not Make

  41. Three Months Later

  42. Co-sign

  43. The One and a Half Year Reunion

  44. Feathers

  45. Going Home

  46. Walk of Shame

  47. The End

  48. The Last Page

  I Wish for You By Camilla Isley

  1. The Day After

  2. A Little Coffer

  3. Rules

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  1

  Honeymoon

  “Excuse me,” I say, trying to attract the attention of the man sitting next to me on the plane.

  He ignores me.

  I try again. “Um, excuse me?” I have to sort this out before we take off.

  Nothing.

  Is he brushing me off on purpose?

  I decide to gently tap my index finger on his shoulder. “Um, sir, excuse me…”

  This time I get a brusque, “Yes?” back.

  I start my pitch with a smile. “Hi, sorry to bother you—”

  “Then don’t.”

  I’m taken aback by this guy’s rudeness, but not enough to desist. “Sorry again. It will take only a minute, I promise.”

  He rolls his eyes in an exaggerated gesture, but I ignore his body language and continue. I have to try.

  “I got married today,” I say with a dreamy, I-cannot-believe-I-am-this-happy smile, “and we, I mean my husband and I, were held back at the reception for so long, the goodbyes took forever, and then there was an accident on the highway—“

  “You have a point?” the man interrupts with the same gruff attitude.

  “Yeah, of course.” I try to keep my cool, as I need to ask this ogre a favor. “My point is that we arrived at the airport super late and there were no seats left for us to sit together, so I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind switching places with my husband. He’s over there.” I point at Liam.

  The grumpy ogre takes a casual look at Liam and snorts loudly.

  “Was that a yes?” I ask hopefully.

  “No, miss, it wasn’t.”

  “It’s Mrs., actually, and—”

  “He’s sitting in an aisle seat,” the ogre says. “I want to be in a window one. Anyway, if you ask me, your husband doesn’t appear too bothered with his seating accommodation.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “That he seems pretty comfortable chatting with the top model next to him, not worrying too much about his annoying wife not being there to hold his hand.”

  “That…you’re the rudest man I’ve ever met!” I’m puffing with indignation. How dare he say those things to me? “You don’t know me, how can you say—”

  “I’ve known you the whole of ten minutes, and already I’ve had enough. I can’t help but imagine the poor guy is happy he’s having a break.”

  With that last nasty comment, the troll turns around, presenting me with his shoulders, and goes back to staring out the window.

  I turn to look at Liam. Admittedly, he seems pretty engrossed in his conversation. I can’t see the woman very well. They’re on the opposite side of the plane to the right, four rows down from me, and in first class four rows is a lot of space. I crane my neck backwards, but I see only the top of a blondish head. She must be tall for her head to pop out like that; it’s almost even with Liam’s, and he’s six-foot-two. What are they talking about? And why isn’t he trying to have her switch places with me?

  I push the request-a-flight-attendant button. This is not how my honeymoon was supposed to begin. So far, this journey has been a nightmare. We left the reception too late, and Liam got mad at me for wanting to say goodbye to everyone. And I will admit that at home my bag wasn’t exactly one-hundred percent packed. I was maybe eighty percent done, at the very minimum. But how was I supposed to know the movers had completely ignored my directions for packing, and that none of my things were in the right boxes at our new house? It took me forever to locate the stuff I was missing.

  Then there was traffic. Again, it was hardly my fault that some idiot decided to speed up on I-294, lose control of his car, and create the most prodigious traffic jam in Chicago’s history. But Liam is so fastidious about his pre-flight buffer time that, for him, arriving one hour before the departure was almost as bad as missing the plane altogether.

  To be fair, when we finally showed up at the airline desk we were the last two people to check-in, and we had to make do with whatever places there were left. No matter how much I whined with the clerk about it being our honeymoon, she said there was nothing she could do at this point and that we would have to try to switch places with someone else on the plane. Which is what I’m trying to do. Only I’m sitting next to a brute.

  I throw a sulky glance at him. He must be a couple of years older than me, and looks like a cross between a surfer and a lumberjack. He’s probably someone’s type, but most definitely not mine…too unrefined, too big, and too dark. He has mocha-brown eyes and longish black hair bleached light brown at the points. His strong jaw is covered by a three or four day’s stubble, he has a stubborn mouth, and his face is too rawboned. He’s wearing a horrible checkered reddish shirt rolled up at the elbows that leaves his tanned forearms exposed, a pair of faded gray cargo pants, and sneakers. He has a general air of unkemptness or wilderness
about him, and doesn’t look to me like someone who belongs in first class.

  Not that I’m a frequent patron; this is my first time ever. But Liam said we shouldn’t settle for our honeymoon, so here we are in plush, bed-like chairs half a plane away from each other. Right now, I’d give up this ridiculously large throne and happily sit in coach if it meant getting to be beside my husband.

  “Excuse me, miss, did you call?” A smiling stewardess is towering over me.

  “It’s Mrs., actually, and yes, I need some help. You see, I’m on my honeymoon…”

  “Congratulations!” she exclaims, including the brute in her felicitations.

  “Don’t look at me—I’m not the lucky fella,” he says sarcastically.

  “So you’re not sitting next to your husband?” she asks, the smile evaporating from her lips.

  “No.” Finally, someone who understands. “And that’s the problem. We were detained at our reception…”

  “Here she goes again,” the ogre grumbles, then resumes his out-of-the-window staring.

  I ignore him.

  “…then the movers had made a mess, and there was the accident on the highway…” I’m babbling; all the adrenaline from today is making me skittish. “So we were late for the check-in, and the only seats left were these two,” I conclude.

  “You didn’t check-in online?” the flight attendant asks, perplexed, almost shocked.

  Am I the only one who didn’t get the memo that online check-in is the new black?

  “I…should have, but I forgot,” I admit, turning scarlet. “With all the details from the wedding to organize, it skipped my mind.”

  “Madam, I understand completely,” she says sympathetically. “And I’m very sorry for the inconvenience, but the flight is fully booked.”

  “I know, but couldn’t we switch places with some other passengers?”

  “I’m sorry, madam, but it’s too late for that.” She puts the last nail in this journey’s coffin. “We’re about to take off, and the seatbelt sign is already on.”

  “Oh.” I want to cry. “But this is a six hour flight!” If it were a one or two hour connection, I wouldn’t care.

  “Again, I’m very sorry,” she says with a fake smile that I’m sure she reserves for customers she can’t accommodate. “Can I offer you some complimentary Champagne before we depart?” she asks, the smile never leaving her face.

  Free Champagne, wow! At least she’s trying to make up for it.

  “Yes, thank you.” I say, slightly soothed.

  “I will take one too,” chips in the troll.

  We both glower at him. The stewardess, because he just gave away her game by pointing out that in first class the bubbly is free for everyone. I, for making me feel stupid that I thought the hostess was giving me a special perk.

  “I will be back in a minute,” she says graciously. She shoots a cold look at my neighbor, her smile changing from fake to “I-politely-hate-you”.

  As she leaves, the security instructions begin to play in the background. I cross my arms on my chest and look around me only half listening to them.

  “…this aircraft has ten emergency exits…”

  Bored, I automatically reach into my bag to take a manuscript out―I’m a book editor, I love my job, I’m great at it, and I always carry a manuscript wherever I go. But when my searching fingers can’t find anything, I remember Liam made me promise to leave all work-related books at home. He’s a best-selling author, so we made a deal that he wouldn’t write a single word on our honeymoon if I didn’t edit a single word. So I left all physical book copies home. Only now we’re trapped on this plane for six hours, miles away from each other, and I don’t have anything to do. I could try to edit something on my phone, I guess, but I don’t want to be sloppy―no author deserves that―and I’m too tired to accomplish anything half-decent anyway. I even feel too tired to just read, which has never happened to me before.

  “…illuminated strips on the floor will guide you to these exits…”

  Joan, stay positive, I say to myself. The destination matters more than the journey.

  “…in the event of a loss in cabin pressure, oxygen masks will automatically drop from the panel above you…”

  Tomorrow I will wake up in a five star resort in a tropical paradise. There’s no need to stress about the plane ride.

  “…every seat is provided with a life vest. In first and business class, the vest is located under the armrest. In economy class…”

  “Here’s your Champagne, madam.” The stewardess is back with two plastic flutes filled with the sparkling liquid. “Sir,” she adds curtly. “I hope you have a pleasant flight. Let me know if I can assist you in any other way.”

  I mutter a thank you. The troll doesn’t even bother. So rude.

  “…personal electronic devices may be used during take-off and landing, providing all transmission functions are switched-off and the device itself is put into airplane mode….”

  I take my phone out of my bag. There’s a text from Katy, my maid of honor. She sent me a selfie of us together that she took just before we left. Yes, it was another one of the above-mentioned deferments. I reply with a waterfall of XOXOs and obediently switch the phone to plane mode.

  The plane accelerates on the runway and takes off. I calmly sip my Champagne and watch the Chicago skyline disappear beneath us as the plane soars higher and higher in the dark-blue sky. Relax, I tell myself. I need to let go of the stress of these past few weeks. After all, from now on this trip can only get better.

  2

  The Crash

  Several hours later, I am laughing my head off watching Sixteen Candles. It’s one of my favorite coming-of-age movies. It always cheers me up, even if I’ve seen it a thousand times and practically know it by heart. I’m glad they had it in the classics section, as I am utterly incapable of sleeping even though it’s almost two a.m. I have tried. I experimented with all the possible settings of my seat. It stretches out so far that it basically becomes a twin bed, but all the excitement of today is making it impossible for me to sleep. I feel like a kid who has eaten an entire box of candies before going to sleep…not going to happen! Liam, on the other hand, is fast asleep. After the takeoff, once the seatbelt sign finally turned off, I wanted to try again to see if we could somehow switch places, but he was already sleeping and I didn’t want to wake him.

  I concentrate back on the small screen and giggle loudly as Molly Ringwald escapes her horrific grandmother trying to grope her “boobies”. I’m not looking at him, but my mind’s eye can clearly see the ogre rolling his eyes with disapproval next to me. Rude, and with no sense of humor. Phooey!

  As I watch Sam confessing to her sister that she thinks she’s in love, the screen freezes and the text “PA – Public Announcement” scrolls across it.

  “Attention passengers, this is your captain speaking.” The metallic voice bursts out from my headphones and from the general speaker system of the plane. “We are entering an area of heavy turbulence.”

  Oh no!

  “All cabin service is temporarily suspended, and all passengers and crew are kindly asked to remain seated with your seatbelts securely fastened.”

  If the crew has to sit as well, this has to be serious. Where are we? I peek at the ogre’s screen, which has been on the flight map the entire time, and see that we are flying over the Atlantic Ocean somewhere between Miami and Puerto Rico.

  “Please make sure that all your personal belongings are safely stowed in the overhead compartment above you, or under the seat in front of you. Your seat should be in an upright position, and your tray table should be closed. For our passengers in first and business class, please return your TV screens to the compartment under your arm seat. I apologize for the inconvenience. I will inform you when these extra precautions will no longer be necessary. Thank you.”

  Perfect! Just perfect. They took away my only comfort. So far, I hate first class! In economy they get to keep th
eir entertainment. And for what? We’re not even shaking. I put away the TV screen, and since I don’t have a seat in front of me—only a plastic wall and an exit hatch—I carefully close each zip of my Prada hunter bag, buckle the leather straps at the front, and tie its shoulder belt to the seat’s armrest. I wrap the strap around three times and make a couple of knots, just to be sure. The last thing I need is for my bag to fly halfway across the plane, scattering my things all over the place.

  I cross my arms over my chest and, for lack of anything better to do, I study the patterns of the plane’s wall in front of me. I have to pee, I suddenly realize with horror. Why didn’t I go before? It’s as if in the moment they said I couldn’t get up, I suddenly felt I had to go. I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

  “Excuse me, can I go to the toilet real quick?” I ask a passing steward.

  “No, I’m sorry, madam. No one is allowed to stand at this point. I have to go sit, too. You will have to wait until—”

  “Yeah, I know. Until the seatbelt sign is off,” I interrupt him. “Thank you anyway.”

  He smiles and scurries away.

  After fifteen minutes, my bladder is about to explode. I could have totally gone to the bathroom without any problems. The plane is trembling a little bit, but nothing too serious. Why do they have to spread the alarmism? I look around me and see only worried faces. I glance back at Liam, and see he’s finally awake and looking at me. Gosh, I love him so much. He gives me a reassuring smile and blows me a kiss, causing my stomach to flutter. Was it the kiss or the air pocket? I’m not sure.

  I smile at him, then fix my attention back on the wall in front of me. All this wobbling is making me nauseous. If they don’t let us up soon, I’m making a break for the washroom whether the steward likes it or not.

  Abruptly, the plane drops down sickeningly fast. Screams erupt around me, my voice among them. I grip the armrests for dear life. Okay, now I am worried. The plane is vibrating badly, making all kind of ominous sounds. Suddenly all the plane’s oxygen masks drop down with a loud bang.

  This is not a good sign, is it? Aren’t the masks supposed to come out only in the case of an extremely serious situation? As if it wanted to answer my question, the plane drops again. I don’t waste any more time with philosophical musings. I take the mask and pull it on my mouth, securing the elastic behind my head. Now, besides people screaming, I see a couple of passengers crying, and some others praying.