Enemies to Lovers, page 6
‘Shit,’ I blurt.
‘What?’ Sonny asks, as though I might have just seen a ghost or something.
‘There’s a Birkin over there,’ I tell him in a breathy voice. ‘An actual Birkin, in the classic Hermès orange.’
‘A Birkin?’ Sonny repeats back to me. ‘Isn’t that a pubic wig?’
My head turns around like an owl so that I can stare at him in disbelief.
‘What? No,’ I reply quickly.
‘Are you sure?’ he replies. ‘Google “pubic wig” and see what comes up.’
‘Obviously I’m not going to google “pubic wig” – it’s a handbag,’ I correct him. ‘It’s the handbag. Do you know how hard it is to get one of these?’
Sonny shrugs.
‘It kind of looks like you just walk over and take it,’ he says with a shrug, turning to the gatekeeper for confirmation.
‘So long as you sign it out, yes,’ he says, with a level of chill that makes no sense to me.
‘Fuck off,’ I can’t help but blurt. ‘I can take this with me?’
‘So long as you sign it out,’ he says again. ‘I was told you were allowed to take anything to help you look like a rich couple.’
The gatekeeper doesn’t flinch as he says this. It’s almost as though he fulfils all kinds of weird and wonderful briefs.
‘For a Birkin, I’d actually marry him,’ I joke, nodding towards Sonny.
The gatekeeper clearly isn’t into jokes, although I suppose he doesn’t know Sonny, or our history. I would rather be single for the rest of my life than entertain the idea of marrying him. But I can joke about it for a Birkin.
‘It kind of seems like you were born for this role,’ Sonny says.
For a second, his words mean nothing to me, but then I realise it’s a dig.
‘Why do you say that?’ I ask.
‘You’re clearly big on material things,’ he replies – ironically, as he casts his eye over all the tech on offer.
‘Right, because your clothes are clearly so cheap,’ I reply – they’re obviously not, you can tell by the way he dresses.
‘They’re not cheap – however you define that – but they’re functional and they’re not walking billboards,’ he replies. ‘You’re holding a shoe that looks like a sock that has the brand name plastered across it, and you just pointed out a handbag, by name, that must be expensive if you’re too scared to even touch it.’
Ugh, he thinks he’s so smart, and so moral, and so sensible. Sonny is the kind of guy who gets his takeaway coffee from a giant coffee chain in a reusable bamboo cup, and takes pictures with trees on hikes – in places he drove to in his diesel-guzzling car. Sure, every little helps, but Jesus Christ, he’s not exactly, well, Jesus Christ, is he?
‘Says the man lusting over gadgets, knowing full well we’re here to pack for our trip, and that we’re not even allowed to take our phones on said trip, so you’re basically just looking at that stuff for fun,’ I point out in retaliation.
Not being allowed to take our phones, laptops, iPads or even our smartwatches is something that freaks me out a little bit. It’s not that I’m a millennial, who always has her phone in her hand (although I suppose I kind of do, so it might be fairer to say it’s not only because of that), it’s because we have no idea where we’re going or what we’re going to be doing when we get there. We’re not allowed to call home – we’re not allowed to call anyone. It does make me wonder about what the hell we’re getting ourselves into.
Sonny just smirks at me.
‘Did you ever think, when you woke up today – wherever the hell you woke up today – that we would be doing this?’ he asks.
‘Arguing in what is essentially a cupboard?’ I reply. ‘I’d never rule that out.’
‘That’s par for the course,’ he replies casually. ‘I mean working together, taking this trip, doing… whatever the hell it is we’re doing.’
‘I suppose we’ll find out more about what is expected of us later, when we read through the rest of our folders, and I’m sure Addison and CJ will have more to say…’ My voice trails off for a second. ‘But, no, I never thought I’d be essentially going on holiday with you. And I definitely never could’ve imagined I would agree to do it.’
‘It’s amazing what we can endure when it seems like our jobs are on the line,’ he muses. ‘Oh, by the way, thanks for that. Getting the cheek slapped off me by a wrestler, in a room full of people, and then almost losing my job over it. Just…’
Sonny kisses his fingers like a chef.
I chew my lip thoughtfully. No matter what I think he did or didn’t ask for, it was never my intention for him to get slapped, so I suppose I should apologise. If it was anyone else, I would have already. I just hate to give him any sort of satisfaction in any way, because for some reason he always seems to come out on top.
‘I am sorry about that,’ I tell him, mustering up the sincerity I have deep down. ‘She just overheard us talking and jumped to the wrong conclusions, and I didn’t correct her, so, yeah… sorry.’
Sonny stares at me for a second, his eyes narrowing before his face dissolves into a smile.
‘Apology accepted,’ he tells me. ‘I’m sure I’ll find a way to get you back.’
God, I hope he’s joking. Somehow, I think not, but let’s hope he waits until after our trip, because this is surely too important for us to mess around with.
‘Am I signing out the bag or what?’ the gatekeeper interrupts us.
I walk over to it, slowly, like it’s a bomb I’ve been tasked with disposing of. I wipe my hands – not that they’re dirty – on the sides of my dress before picking it up. Wow, I don’t know if it’s heavier or lighter than I imagined, somehow it’s both, and it just feels so perfect and the smell, my God, that fresh Birkin smell (as I’ll be referring to it from now on).
‘She’s taking it,’ Sonny tells the gatekeeper on my behalf. ‘Man, imagine if we could get girls to look at us the way they look at bags, right?’
I laugh to myself, at Sonny, trying to bro-down with the gatekeeper.
I hook it on my arm and admire myself in the mirror. Oh, wow. It just looks… it makes me look… I don’t know. It’s perfect.
‘Right, well, if the two of you can get a move on,’ the gatekeeper tells us.
‘Yeah, sure, sorry,’ I babble. ‘Let’s grab what we need.’
I grab the large cases I was given and begin scouring the rooms for the things I need. It’s great to be able to grab all sorts of lovely toiletries and make-up items I would never dream of buying for myself. Then, when I get to the clothes, I think about Sonny trying to sneakily pack for the cold weather, so I do the same. I wonder where we’re going, and if it’s somewhere cold, I wonder what kind of place it will be? I’m thinking – or hoping for, rather – toasty log fires, hot chocolates, big fuzzy jumpers. Imagine.
Whatever it is, we just need to make the best of it but Sonny is right, I never would’ve imagined the two of us doing this in a million years.
With a moment to myself, I sit down on the floor behind one of the shoe racks and grab my phone from my pocket. I open Google and type in ‘pubic wig’ just to see what Sonny was on about. The first thing that comes up is an article titled ‘The Merkin – the pubic wigs used in the movies’ – oh, he’s such a clown. Something tells me this is going to be a longer week than I first thought.
8
Everything feels so up in the air – quite literally too. I’m on an aeroplane with absolutely no idea where I’m headed.
I glance around what I’m assuming is the first-class section of a commercial aeroplane (although I have no reason to believe anyone else is on board), where Sonny and I are the only passengers. It’s just me, him and a couple of flight attendants. It’s certainly luxurious – I was worried I was going to feel overdressed in my cosy black and gold Versace tracksuit, clutching at my orange Birkin bag so hard my knuckles turn white when I hold it – but we fit right in. The seats are so plush, and nicely spaced out with dividers that can go up and down if you want privacy. It’s like sitting in a little living room – just, you know, one that has been squashed on to an aeroplane.
Everything in here just feels nicer (although the last time I was on a plane, it was a budget airline, so my perspective might be off). The lighting is modern and bright, casting a soft glow over everything inside the cabin, and the air feels cool – and smells great too, almost as though they’re diffusing some kind of coconut scent into the cabin to get people in a holiday mood. Well, it’s that, or it’s the scent of pina coladas on my breath, because I’ve had two or three already, and boy are they strong.
It’s a peculiar sensation to be surrounded by empty seats. It’s almost eerie. It’s sort of like when you watch a zombie movie, and you see the familiar but in a new way – like an abandoned supermarket. It’s sort of like that on the plane, usually cabins are packed with excited holiday goers. This one feels abandoned, like the zombies might not be far away.
Secrecy really is everything, though. We were led from the airport to the plane wearing black plastic visors that only allowed us to see our feet and the tarmac below them. Then, once we boarded, we were seated in here, alone, with no clocks, and we had to have the shutters closed during take-off so we couldn’t see where we were going. And then, of course, there’s the fact that we had to leave our tech at home, meaning we have no idea what time it is, but we must have been up here a while, because I’ve watched a couple of movies already. Thankfully, we get to use the in-flight entertainment, otherwise I would be going out of my mind.
It’s a bit disorienting, not knowing where we are or how long we’ve been in the air. We’re allowed the shutters open now but there’s nothing to see, obviously, just the dreamy expanse of blue sky and pillowy clouds you would expect to see out of a plane window. It’s a gorgeous sight to behold, but it also makes me think of how removed we are from the world below. It’s almost as if we’re suspended in a void, in a place between places, with no idea what comes next. Anyway, judging from how high up we seem, it doesn’t seem like we’ll be landing any time soon. The only thing to do is sit back and try to enjoy the ride.
I steal a glance at Sonny, who is currently gazing out of the window with a contemplative expression. His features are bathed in the soft light, and for a moment, I’m struck by how surreal this situation truly is. More so than I was five minutes ago. I can’t believe, in all of this madness, that he is here too.
I turn my attention back to my screen, to see what other movies are available. I may as well start another one.
I shift in my seat, the plush cushioning beneath me a stark contrast to how generally uncomfortable I’m feeling right now. Well, if you’re going to suffer, why not suffer in luxury, hmm?
Sonny plonks himself down in the seat next to me. I wondered how long it would take him to feel so bored that harassing me would feel like something fun to pass the time.
Sonny’s appearance is, as always, a balance between effortlessness and intentionality. He’s wearing a designer plaid shirt, that hugs his frame on the tight side, and a pair of chinos. He looks smart but relaxed – far smarter than I do in my tracksuit, but we’re on a plane, we need to be comfortable, and if we’re going somewhere cold then it will be perfect for when we land. Well, coupled with my coat, obviously. I wonder if Sonny might be cold, but I’m sure his winter coat will be up to the job, plus, with his over-pumped muscles, and all the hot air inside him, I’m sure he’ll be able to keep himself warm just fine.
‘I heard a rumour,’ he says in a low voice, ‘that they disorient you by flying around in circles after take-off. You know, just to mess with your sense of direction, so you have no idea where they’re taking you. We’ve been on this plane for hours – maybe we’re only going to Iceland?’
I raise an eyebrow, intrigued, but with a double dose of scepticism.
‘Well, that seems like overkill,’ I reply. ‘Most people wouldn’t notice, or care about the direction they were going in, because they wouldn’t know what to do with that information if they had it. Plus, by the time they’ve blindfolded you, and made you take off with the shutters closed, who even knows if they’re north-west or not?’
Sonny chuckles to himself.
‘Yeah, I wouldn’t have a clue, but this is Eden we’re talking about,’ he reminds me. ‘Eden, where you’re not even allowed to bring a watch.’
‘What do they think we’re going to do with a watch?’ I reply. ‘Are they a Las Vegas casino?’
As a flight attendant approaches, I try to look casual, even though we both know there’s more to our conversation.
‘Can I get you any more drinks?’ she asks with a polite smile.
‘Oh, she’s had enough,’ Sonny jokes, charming the pants off her with one flash of his smile.
Sonny nudges me gently as the flight attendant walks away.
‘We need to be careful what we say, they’re always listening,’ he tells me, whispering so quietly I almost can’t hear him. ‘And I’m pretty sure there are microphones next to the speakers in the seats. It seems like they’re for calling the flight attendant but better safe than sorry.’
The second flight attendant passes us next. He gives us a friendly smile as he strolls by. Friendly but… is there a look in his eye? Is he on to us? Sonny returns the smile and gives my knee a loving squeeze. I respond with a polite smile, but once the attendant is gone, I snatch up Sonny’s hand and practically throw it back at him.
‘Oh, yeah, this is going to be easy,’ he says sarcastically. ‘Love of my life.’
‘Urgh, excuse me while I go throw up,’ I reply, standing up, because now feels like a great time to stretch my legs and nip to the loo.
Ah, well, as great as first class (or whatever class we’re in) is, a plane loo is still a plane loo. Small, claustrophobic, and with a silver loo that looks like it might suck you down into it if you flushed prematurely. Still, they’ve made an effort to make it nicer, giving it a real towel, and a variety of fancy soaps and lotions to choose from. I guess even the rich need to pee – just don’t expect them to wash their hands with something bright green that smells of toilet cleaner.
After washing my hands, I open the door and am taken aback when I see Sonny standing there.
‘Erm, hello?’ I say, caught off guard.
Sonny doesn’t say a word, he simply steps into the tiny toilet with me, essentially pinning me against the sink. I thought it was small when it was just me in here. Now the man mountain is in the mix, I can feel my ribcage digging into my vital organs. Probably.
‘Hi,’ he says simply, but with a smile. ‘I figured this might be our last chance to chat, without anyone hearing, before we get there… wherever there is.’
I keep having these moments, these little blips, when what we are doing really sinks in, and it sets my mind racing.
‘This is so surreal,’ I say, leaning against the sink for support, but giving Sonny any extra room somehow just allows him to fill it even more. ‘I’m trapped in an aeroplane loo, in the middle of nowhere, with my worst enemy – no offence. I’m heading who knows where, doing who knows what, but I know that I basically have to spy on people, which was never part of the job I thought I signed up for but, no, we can’t just review gigs and ask actors about their latest movies, we’re supposed to hack their emails and rifle through their knicker drawer and… and…’
Sonny, who has his hands on the small of my back, because where else is he going to put them right now, gives me a bit of a reassuring squeeze.
‘First, none taken on the “worst enemy” thing,’ he tells me, stifling a smile. ‘Second, take some deep breaths. You’re going to use up all the plane’s oxygen if you keep hyperventilating like that. Look, I get that this is all weird, but we’ll figure it out. It’s not exactly going to be a walk in the park for me either. I mean, have you met you? If you’re not insulting me to my face then you’re getting people to hit me in it. But do you know what, I’m going to suck it up and get on with it, because it’s my job, and I’m a professional. We went over our backstories, and we’re a couple in crisis, so we’re supposed to hate each other a bit. Let’s just rein it in a little, and play it all by ear.’
His calmness is almost infuriatingly rational.
‘You’re right, you’re right,’ I say, breathlessly but calming down a little. ‘It’s just another bloody work event that you will also be at, pissing me off as per, but do you know what, I’m going to do a better job than you this time.’
‘We are supposed to be working together,’ he reminds me.
‘I mean, we’re never supposed to be competing,’ I remind him. ‘And yet you always try.’
‘Well, like I said, it’s good that we’re supposed to be a couple who hate each other, that we can do,’ he points out again. ‘So just chill out, let’s just go with it, make it up as we go along – we were up almost all night going over our backstories.’
We were, although separately, I hasten to add.
‘You never know, you might have fun,’ he practically threatens me.
‘With you? Ha! We’ll see about that,’ I reply with a scoff.
As our conversation tapers off, I suddenly feel very aware of Sonny’s body being pressed up against mine, the two of us still squashed in this tiny cupboard of a room, like it’s a totally normal thing.
My hands are on his chest, because there really is nowhere else to put them – well, I’m not going hook them around his neck, am I? I can feel his hard pecs under my fingertips – not that I’m trying to, I just can. His size and strength are undeniable up close. Ugh, I hate that I’m noticing, that I’m paying any attention to his body whatsoever.
‘What?’ he teases, grinning like he’s reading my mind.
Before I can retort, there’s a loud bang on the door.
‘Hello?’ I hear one of the flight attendants call. ‘Hello? Come on out, come on, you can’t do that in there.’
