Chapter 115 Welcome aboard.
Mia’s POV
Nate emerged from the driver’s side, casual in jeans and a light sweater, his smile warm as he approached. Behind him, excited barking emanated from his vehicle–Einstein, Schrödinger, and Marie Curie clearly sensing their friend’s presence.
“Morning, everyone,” Nate greeted, nodding to the assembled group.
Gas could barely contain himself, prancing between my legs and the SUV, his entire body vibrating with excitement. So much for tearful goodbyes–he was clearly ready to abandon me for his canine companions without a backward glance.
“Traitor,” I told him, though I couldn’t help smiling at his enthusiasm.
Nate laughed. “Don’t take it personally. Einstein brought his favorite tennis ball as a welcome gift.”
“I see where his loyalties lie,” I said, crouching awkwardly to give Gas a final scratch. “Be good, okay? No teaching the others your bad habits.”
In response, Gas licked my face and then promptly trotted over to Nate, looking up expectantly as if to say ‘let’s go already!‘
“I’ve got everything he needs,” Nate assured me, pulling Gas’s favorite toy from his pocket as proof. “Food, medications, bed, excessively squeaky banana.”
“The essentials,” I agreed, feeling a strange twist in my chest as I prepared to say goodbye. I hadn’t been apart from Gas since adopting him, and despite his obvious excitement about his doggy vacation, I’d miss his warm weight against my legs at night.
“He’ll be fine,” Nate said gently, seeming to read my thoughts. “We’ve got all kinds of adventures planned.”
“I know.” I straightened with effort, my balance increasingly precarious these days. “Thank you again for doing
this.”
“Anytime,” he said simply. “Have a good flight. Take care of yourself. Avoid caffeine and-”
“Soft cheeses, I know,” I finished for him. “Dr. Matthews gave me the whole list.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Sorry. Doctor habits die hard.”
“Mia!” Scarlett called from the car. “Morton’s having an aneurysm about the schedule! Say your goodbyes before he starts calculating fuel costs or something equally mind–numbing!”
“She’s not wrong,” Morton called good–naturedly. “Wheels up in exactly seventy–three minutes.”
I turned back to Nate, suddenly awkward. “Well. Guess this is goodbye for now.”
“Au revoir,” he corrected, the French rolling off his tongue with surprising ease. “It means ‘until we meet again.“”
“Right.” I nodded. “Au revoir, then.”
An unexpected impulse made me step forward and hug him quickly. He smelled like cedar and something clean I couldn’t name, his arms gentle as they returned the embrace.
A moment I thought I saw Kyle. But I must have seen it wrong.
“Take care of my boy,” I said as I pulled away.
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“Always,” he promised. Then, with a glint of mischief: “Though I can’t guarantee he won’t come back speaking French. Einstein’s been watching Parisian dog shows on YouTube.”
I laughed, the tension broken. “As long as he doesn’t develop a smoking habit and an existential crisis, I think we’re good.”
Nate’s laughter followed me as I waddled to the car, where Scarlett was practically bouncing with impatience. I turned to wave one last time to Mom, who stood on the sidewalk with a mixture of pride and worry etched on her
features.
“Call me when you land!” she called.
“I will!” I promised, sliding into the luxurious leather interior of the Escalade.
“Finally,” Scarlett sighed dramatically as the driver closed the door behind me. “I thought we’d never escape. No offense to your mother and Dr. Hottie, but we have a plane to catch.”
“No offense taken,” I assured her, buckling my seatbelt. “Though you might want to stop calling him that, especially around his face.”
“Why? It’s accurate,” she said, utterly unapologetic. “Besides, I have a theory he secretly enjoys it.”
“Scarlett,” Morton said mildly from the seat beside her, not looking up from his tablet, “perhaps we could focus on Paris rather than Dr. Pierce’s appearance?”
“Fine,” she acquiesced with exaggerated reluctance. “Paris it is. Mia, prepare yourself for the shopping
experience of a lifetime. I’ve already made appointments at Chanel, Dior, and this absolutely divine little boutique that makes custom maternity cocktail dresses.”
“Sounds exhausting,” I said honestly.
“That’s why I’ve also scheduled daily spa treatments,” she countered without missing a beat. “Pregnancy–safe, of course. Prenatal massage, reflexology, the works. Morton vetted the whole staff personally.”
I glanced at Morton, surprised. “You did?”
He shrugged, a faint smile softening his usually serious demeanor. “My wife can be persuasive.”
The casual way he referred to Scarlett as ‘my wife‘ caught me off guard. Despite attending their wedding, I still hadn’t fully adjusted to the reality of Scarlett Wallace–wild child extraordinaire–as Mrs. James Morton III.
“Don’t let him fool you,” Scarlett said, linking her arm through his. “He was the one who insisted on the private prenatal yoga instructor at the hotel.”
“The what now?” I blinked.
“Twice weekly, in the suite’s meditation room,” Morton explained matter–of–factly. “Studies show prenatal yoga can significantly reduce third–trimester discomfort and improve sleep quality.”
Scarlett beamed at him proudly. “See? Isn’t he just fill of useful information?” She turned back to me. “The man reads medical journals for fun. It’s disturbing.”
“I find them interesting,” he defended mildly.
“You find tax code interesting, darling,” she patted his arm affectionately. “Your bar for ‘interesting‘ needs serious recalibration.”
Their dynamic still fascinated me–the buttoned–up financial genius and the free–spirited socialite, somehow fitting together perfectly despite their differences. What had started as a business arrangement had clearly
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evolved into something genuine, something real.
It made me think of Kyle. And our own contract marriage.
Were things different if we’d actually communicated, if we’d given each other a real chance beyond the paperwork. The thought brought a familiar ache, one I pushed away quickly. That chapter was closed, sealed with divorce papers and twin boys I’d raise without him.
The drive to the private airfield passed quickly, Scarlett detailing our Paris itinerary with characteristic enthusiasm. By the time we arrived, I felt simultaneously exhausted and overwhelmed by the sheer number of activities she’d planned.
“Don’t worry,” she said, catching my expression as the car stopped beside a sleek Gulfstream jet. “Most of this is optional. If you need to rest, we can cancel anything. Except the Leblanc meeting, obviously.”
“Obviously,” I agreed, grateful for her understanding despite her excitement.
The “luggage guy” Carlos materialized as we exited the vehicle, efficiently directing a small team that transferred our bags from the car to the plane. Morton led us toward the gleaming aircraft, where a uniformed flight attendant waited at the bottom of the stairs.
“Mr. Morton, Mrs. Morton, Ms. Williams,” she greeted each of us professionally. “Welcome aboard. We’re ready for departure whenever you are.”
