Honeysuckles and Wolfsbane

Chapter 2: Taste of Something New

Evading my family's numerous staff members was quite the task. I had to sneak around the landscapers, the workers in the vineyard, and even our chauffeurs. The idea that all of this was going to be mine someday just made it even worse. I didn't want any of this.

When the expectations are this heavy, it really shouldn't surprise them that I needed some breathing room. Some fresh air. Something new. I wanted to be something for me, not carry another burden of my last name.

I had never been to the airport before. At least not a public airport. I had only ever flown to nearby countries on the Romano private jet for various business endeavors. It was lonely.

This was exciting, though! All the people bustling around. I had never seen so many people in one place before. I glanced at my ticket in one hand, passport in another. I didn't know what took me so long to do this. Freedom felt palpable.

I won't be held down anymore.

I blinked really hard, trying to blink away my only friend, exhaustion. I didn't want to sleep. The nightmares weren't mine. At the very least, they inspired my lyrics.

The gate wasn't too far from me. Travelling light worked in my favor. I got to the plane before the doors closed. Wow, this was a tight squeeze. Were all airplanes so squished? Okay, I was seat 34B.

34B.

22…26…30…

I held my guitar under my arm, trying not to hit anyone by accident. The customer service lady said that I could take it as a carry-on, but I didn't know where I was going to put it. Did it go in the bins? It was at this moment that I thanked my mom for granting me her shortness. It didn't feel as cramped.

There was a scent of cloves and sweet oranges that cut through the smell of stale airplane. As I went further down the aisle, the smell got stronger. It was warm and sharp like spiced wine. The smell was so mouthwatering that I forgot where I was for a moment.

Oh, row 34. There we go. Apparently, B is a middle seat. Wish I would've known that. I really hope whoever I sat next to was cute. I glanced down at the dark-haired man sitting by the aisle. I inhaled and realized that he was the source of that delightful scent.

This man was looking down, reading a book, jacket draped against the armrest. He wore a short-sleeved shirt that showed off his heavily tattooed arms. The ink disappeared past the seams of his sleeves. He noticed me and looked up, but I averted my eyes immediately.

I wasn't staring at him. No way.

I kinda stood there for a second, trying to figure out where the hell I was supposed to put my guitar. It was in a hard case, so I wasn't worried about it getting damaged, but I glanced at it and back up at the open cubby.

Would it even fit?

“Is this your seat?" a gravelly voice asked.

I met his gaze for a moment, rubbing the back of my neck. “Uh. Yeah." I paused, clearing my throat. “Sorry, I'm just trying to find a place to put this."

His eyes darted down to my guitar case. “There should be some space."

I looked up and got up on my tiptoes to jam it in the cubby. The man put his book in his backpack that was being stored under his seat.

“Here, let me help you with that," he offered, standing up right next to me. Wow, he was tall. Unbelievably broad shoulders. I could just barely see the curvature of his collarbone. I could hear his heartbeat thundering against his chest like it was racing, but he gave no indication that it was any more than a resting heartbeat. Hm. Strange.

My instant reaction was to decline. “No, I got it."

He gave me an incredulous expression and tilted his head slightly to the side. Finally, he shrugged. “If you insist."

“Ma'am, we have to depart soon. Please get your items in the overhead bin," a flight attendant instructed.

I glanced at my seat neighbor. “On second thought…"

“Sure," he replied, getting out of the way so I could sit down.

“Thanks." I sat down in my seat, taking my small bag with me. I put it under the seat in front of me like I saw the other passengers do. There. See. I'm a natural. No one else can tell that I haven't flown before.

“Is this your first flight?" the man asked, sitting back down in the aisle seat, fishing his book back out of his backpack.

“Am I that obvious?" I asked sheepishly, tucking some of my curls behind my ear.

He shrugged. “A little. Normally someone would check a bag for a guitar," he pointed out. That's when I noticed his American accent.

“So, I didn't want my guitar to bounce around in the cargo bin. Sue me," I replied with a roll of my eyes. “Are you from New York?"

His eyes darted up to mine, they were such a light brown that they could've been amber. He raised his eyebrows at me.

“Your accent. It's American," I mentioned. I could feel an embarrassed flush creep up my neck. “Never mind." I broke eye contact and looked away, buckling up my seatbelt as instructed by the flight attendants. I never get flustered by random guys. Maybe I was just out of my element.

“Brooklyn."

I looked back over at him curiously.

“I'm from Brooklyn," he answered finally. “My name is Rob, by the way."

“I'm…" I paused before saying my name. Oriana is quite an uncommon name, so my name is now, “Olivia…Yep. Olivia."

“Are you sure?" he asked, raising both eyebrows in an expression I can only assume was amusement.

“I know my own name," I reassured myself mainly. “It's Olivia. Got it, Robert?"

He laughed out loud. The sound took me off guard for a moment. “My name's not Robert."

“It's not? See, now I think you're not too sure about your own name," I replied playfully.

“Rob as in Robin. Not Robert."

“Robin, huh?" I asked. “That's cute." I didn't even mean to say that out loud, but I was glad that I did because I noticed Robin's eyes widen and he gave me this look of surprise.

“Cute? Yeah, that's why I go by Rob," he stated, cracking open his book. It was then that I noticed he wore a wedding ring. He looked a little young to be married. He was maybe twenty-six.

Oh, no. Pump the brakes, Ori. Pump the brakes. I tore my eyes away from him, but a few moments later, my eyes fluttered back over to him. He fidgeted with his ring, twirling it around his finger absentmindedly as he read.

“What are you reading?" I asked, suddenly realizing that I didn't bring myself any entertainment. I doubt my fellow passengers would be pleased if I broke out my guitar.

Robin tilted the book so I could read the cover.

“The Count of Monte Cristo?" I asked. I knew it was a classic. I also knew that my father had a first edition in his library. A signed first edition from Dumas himself.

“It's only the abridged version. It's a long flight, but not THAT long of a flight," he answered. “Have you ever read it?"

“No, I can't say I have," I answered honestly. I was always too busy starting fights to pick up a book. “Reading has always been a little too quiet for me."

I watched Robin's bottom lip curl in something reminiscent of a smile. “I could've guessed that."

“Oh yeah?"

His amber eyes looked me up and down. “Yeah. You're dressed like you're ready for a rock show."

I glanced down at my attire, and he wasn't wrong. I was wearing my trusty studded jacket and heavy combat boots. “Something like that," I replied.

Not the best choice for a long plane trip, but at least I looked good. We talked back and forth for a little while. Playful banter. Maybe I flirted with him more than I should've been.

Eventually, I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore. Robin went back to reading and I leaned against the back of my seat. It really wasn't very comfortable, but I still had another seven hours on this flight.

'Blood red skies. Every strike of lightning accompanied screams. Human screams. The tremble of earthquakes. The plagues that swept across the earth. It did nothing to sate the horrible hunger. I craved the taste of death.

Across the bloodstained battlefield stood a lioness. The muscles bunched and contorted as she shifted back into her goddess form. It was Sekhmet. I had seen her many times. She haunted my nightmares. Trying to tell me something that I didn't want to hear.

Wake up. Wake up now. Now.'

I woke with a start. When I woke up, I was much more comfortable. My head rested against a firm surface, that wonderful scent of spiced oranges and wine filling my lungs. I hummed and slowly opened my eyes, inhaling that mouthwatering aroma. I was greeted by a soft, tender throat.

While I slept, I must've unconsciously rested my head in the crook of Robin's neck. He was quietly reading his book. I could hear his hammering pulse, but it didn't seem out of the usual for him. I quickly pulled away from him. “Oh, s**t. Sorry."

He shrugged. “It's fine. It's a long flight. You okay?"

I shook off that lingering sensation. “Yeah. Fine. Sorry about that."

There was an announcement to prepare for the descent into JFK international airport. Once we landed, Robin got up to open the overhead bin. He handed me my guitar case. “Nice meeting you, Olivia."

I wanted to correct him before he left, but I thought better of it. “Nice meeting you too, Robin."

He threw his backpack over one shoulder, shot me a friendly smile, and left. And just like that, that lovely scent of oranges disappeared into a sea of stale airplane, dust, and sweat. I look out my phone to find Claude's address and left the airport.

And I thought Venice was busy.