CHAPTER FIVE
Thieran POV
Argh. My head.
I groan softly, shielding my eyes from the dim cabin light. I shove off the blanket draped over me with dramatic flair and blearily look around.
A window.
Plane.
Oops.
Next to me, Rami is seated, looking at a laptop screen, every inch of him serious, focused, and painfully handsome. He always looks like that.
"Ram—"
"Don't. Just take a shower."
He doesn't even glance up.
Geez. It's strict around here.
I huff, grumbling under my breath as I drag myself toward the small, private shower tucked into the back of the jet. The headache pounding behind my eyes is lethal. Like vines wrapping around my skull, squeezing.
I let the water pour over my face, bracing my hands against the wall. I'm never drinking again. Not until next weekend, anyway.
After a while, I towel off, wrap myself in a robe, and slink back to the main cabin. Rami's still typing, still focused, still frustratingly perfect.
Naturally, I decide to ruin that.
I plop myself on his lap without warning.
He sighs—the deep, patient kind—but moves his laptop slightly to make space, guiding me to sit properly.
"Your hair is still damp," he says, and I feel a warm current of air rush past me.
I blink as he lifts a hand and uses his ability—gentle and controlled—to dry my hair with warm air. His fingers brush through it expertly, like this is something he does all the time.
Which, okay, he does.
He finishes by tying my hair into a high ponytail using a glittery, sparkly ribbon from around his wrist. Pink, of course.
"You keep those on you just for me, don't you?" I tease.
"No comment," he mutters.
Once he's done, I immediately go full puppy mode. I wrap my arms around his neck and lean in close, batting my lashes.
"I don't think I did anything that warrants you sending me back into Dad's clutches," I say, voice high and sweet.
Innocent. Convincing. Probably.
Rami doesn't take the bait.
"You should've thought about that before you made a mess. Your table-dancing activities are currently trending."
I gasp.
"Rami! No! Dad's going to trap me in the greenhouse again! I can't live like that. I need air. And attention."
He avoids my gaze, dead silent.
But I know him.
Eventually, he sighs.
"Fine. I won't say anything about your activities."
Victory.
I grin and press a dramatic kiss to his cheek, which he accepts with a tired eye roll.
He shifts slightly and opens a nearby compartment, pulling out a bottle—pale pink and gleaming.
"For your headache. Take it. Then let me work."
I accept it without hesitation and drink it in one go. The relief starts almost immediately, a soft cooling sensation that numbs the pain behind my temples.
I stay curled in his lap, my legs tucked sideways across him, leaning into his chest. My head finds its usual place beneath his jaw.
The laptop hums quietly as he types, the glow of the screen illuminating the sharp line of his jaw, the dark piercings adorning his ears, his brow, and that lip ring on his bottom lip.
It catches the light as he moves.
I stare at it longer than I should.
I wonder what it would feel like to kiss someone with a lip ring.
I wouldn't know. I've never kissed anyone before.
I'm nineteen years old and I've never kissed anyone.
At my age, Dad was already married to Father. And look at me. A walking hormonal train wreck with glitter in my hair and no idea how to navigate this.
What can I do though?
There's only one person I want that way.
Just one.
I lean against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall, the comforting rhythm of his breathing.
The sound of his heart is steady and grounding.
And as my eyelids get heavier, I fall asleep to the one sound that makes me feel safe.
His heartbeat.