Chapter 25

DORIAN'S POV****

I stood by the car in front of the airport waiting for Amara. She was late. My patience was thinning out, but not with her. I just didn't like waiting. Especially when I could see that frazzled look on her face the moment she finally jogged up.

“Sorry! Traffic was insane,” she panted, tugging her bag over her shoulder. Hair sticking out in all directions. Her cheek was pink from running.

“I hope we didn't miss the flight,” she said.

“We're flying private.”

We went to where the jet was waiting. I held the door open, letting her stumble in. Her eyes widened when she saw the private jet.

“It's big,” she whispered.

I let her take it in, standing a little behind her. “Welcome aboard,” I said.

She glanced at me, then back at the cabin. We took our seats.

I noticed the subtle tremor in her fingers, the way she kept taking shallow breaths. Flight sickness, probably the first time stepping into a life that wasn't just surviving.

I slid into the seat next to her. “I'll sit here,” I said. First time flying?”

She swallowed hard and nodded, gripping the armrest like it was her only anchor.

“You're nervous,” I said.

“A little,” she admitted, staring out the window at the tiny runway below.

I rested a hand lightly on hers. Just a touch. Enough for her to feel it. “It's fine. Just relax.”

Her lips twitched. A small, nervous smile. 

Adrienne, my jet attendant, appeared from the back, clipboard in hand. “Coffee? Water? Ginger tea?”

I gestured. “Ginger tea for her. Light, won't upset her stomach.”

Amara's hand went to her stomach before she even realized it. “Oh… uh, thanks.”

Few moments later, Adrienne returned with the ginger tea. She sniffed it, wrinkled her nose, and took a tiny sip. “I… I think this helps,” she murmured.

“Brace up, we're about to take off.”

She nodded. She squeezed her eyes shut, gripping my hand tighter as we took off.

“You can release me now,” I whispered in her ear. “We're in the air.”

“Oh, sorry.” She chuckled, nervously.

“It's okay,” I said. “Now, close your eyes. You need rest. We're about three hours out, and you'll feel better if you rested your body.”

“No, I'm fine. I'm sure I can help you with something,” she protested, but her eyes betrayed her. I knew she didn't run late earlier because of traffic.

I raised an eyebrow, “I insist.”

Her shoulders sagged, finally giving in, letting herself slide deeper into the seat. I watched her settle in, blanket pulled up, eyes closing. She wasn't used to being cared for. She didn't know how to just let go.

I let her rest, my chest rose and fell with each breath. She'd spent years holding herself together. Now, she didn't have to. Not here. Not with me.

A few hours later, the jet touched down smoothly. Amara stirred in her seat, blinking against the sunlight streaming through the windows. She looked fragile. Flight sickness, nerves, exhaustion– it was written on her face. 

“Adrienne, get the bags,” I said.

She nodded and moved.

We stepped out into a crisp German air. Amara flinched at the cold. I took off my coat and placed it on her.

At the hotel, I approached the reception desk. “Guten Tag Wir haben eine Reservierung unter Wellington.”

(Good day. We have a reservation under Wellington)

The receptionist smiled politely, tapping the keyboard. “Ja, Herr Wellington. Ihr Zimmer ist bereit. Möchten Sie Hilfe mit dem Gepäck?)

(Yes, Mr. Wellington. Your room is ready. Would you like help with the luggage?)

“Yes, bitte,” I said, glancing at Amara. “Das ist meine Assistentin. Sie wird bei mir bleiben.”

(This is my assistant. She'll be staying with me)

Amara peeked up at me. Her eyes wide. “You speak German?” She asked.

“Enough to not get us lost,” I said, a small smirk tugging at my lips.

The hotel's porter stepped up with our bags. “Follow me. We'll get you both settled.”

Amara's eyes darted everywhere – the marble floors, the chandelier, the elevator. “You okay?” I asked.

“I… yeah,” she said, but her eyes cracked slightly. “Just wow.”

The porter rolled the luggage in and lined the bags neatly by the wall.

“Enjoy your stay,” he said, then left us alone.

I took the key card from my pocket and swiped it. The door unlocked with a soft beep. I pushed it open.

Amara stepped in first. She looked around once, then turned to me.

“A penthouse?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said simply.

She let out a small laugh. “Of course it is.”

I walked in after her and dropped my phone on the console table.

“There are two rooms,” I said, pointing down the hall. “Yours is the one on the right. Mine’s across.”

She nodded, already taking her jacket off.

“You should take a shower,” I added. “Freshen up. We’ll have dinner soon.”

She glanced at her watch. “Already?”

“In about thirty minutes,” I said. “I need to finish some work first.”

“Okay,” she said easily. No hesitation. No overthinking.

She grabbed her bag and paused. “What should I wear?”

“Whatever you’re comfortable in,” I said. “It’s not a meeting.”

That made her smile.

“Good,” she said. “Because I’m exhausted.”

She headed to her room, closing the door behind her.

I sat down, opened my laptop, and checked my emails. Work didn’t slow just because I crossed borders.

But my attention drifted anyway.

This trip wasn't about work entirely. It was about making her comfortable, without letting life overwhelm her.