SAINTS DON’T MOAN

Chapter 7

•Penelope•

The silence on the jet wasn't really awkward but I felt out of place in here.

Miguel sat across from me, with his legs stretched out as he lazily went through a document. He hadn't said much since takeoff but he did offer me a glass of champagne and smiled when I refused it.

Jerk.

Right now I needed noise to ease my nerves that were practically screaming profanities at me because I was alone with Miguel.

I wanted him to flirt with me or at least pay me a little mind like he did back at the parish but the man didn't budge, not when I unbuttoned my shirt twice

“Are you going to ignore me all through the trip?” I asked, finally breaking the tension that had settled like fog between us.

He looked up, one brow raised. “I didn't think you wanted to talk to me.”

“I don't but it is pretty boring here and if we are going to spend the next few weeks together, we might as well build a nice rapport.”

That earned a small smile. Barely. But it was something.

Miguel closed the file, setting it aside. “Ever been on a plane before?”

I nod my head. “I have but the last time I was on a plane, I got motion sickness and cried during takeoff.”

“That’s dramatic.”

“I was freaking traumatized.”

He chuckled low in his throat. “Good thing, you've passed the first step of plane jitters.”

“Thanks, Dr. Ramirez. Your observation is duly noted.”

He leaned back, eyes drifting over me not in the creepy way, but it managed to make me nervous.

“Have you ever thought about being a caregiver?” he asked, his voice dropping to an octave.

“Not really, why?”

“Ive seen you handle the kids and the elderly and you do it so well.”

I shrugged. “A couple of years back I thought I'd die, and when I didn't I decided to help as much as I could and I enjoyed doing it.”

I didn't know why I blurted that out, it didn't matter to him but the way he tilted his head as he listened made me want to tell him more but I bit my tongue.

“I’m glad you survived, and I think that's pretty lovely. Your decision to help people.”

“Thank you.”

So what do you want to know?”

“About you?”

“Sure.”

I considered that, there's a lot I didn't know about him and I couldn't ask outrightly.

After dinner last night, I had taken my time to go through i********:, and Raya was right. Miguel was popular for picking and dumping ladies.

Not that there was any scandal involving a woman but I saw the different ladies he paraded.

“You’re a doctor, you own a house, probably forty, you're extremely rich, a philanthropist but yet from what I've read, you're unable to keep a woman. What’s your deal?”

He smiled at that, slow and amused. “You did your research.”

“That’s what you got from that?”

He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “My deal. I'm not forty, sweetheart.”

“What?”

“I’m forty-three and between the both of us, I have been married before.”

Wait what?

“It was pretty brief and in my early twenties, we split up after realizing we weren't a good match.”

“So you decided to ward yourself off women?”

“That's not what I said. Women are pretty special to me but there's only woman for me, and she's stubborn, extremely stubborn.”

I scoffed, but it didn't do anything to hide the panic growing in me. I could feel his gaze burning through my shirt and I gulped down the glass of water immediately.

“What else do you do? You know besides being a doctor?” I asked trying to change the topic immediately without showing how much his words affected me.

“I take pride in my investments, mostly in real estate stocks and a few patents.”

God, this man was swimming in money.

“How do you have time for all of this?”

And still nag me all day at the parish, I wanted to add but decided against it.

I didn't want him thinking I enjoyed it.

Miguel laughed. “I am a man of vision, and I think I'm too old to live without prioritizing.”

“Yeah, yeah whatever, old man.”

He held my gaze, then said, “Giving nicknames, are we?”

I looked away, hiding the blush that creeped on my face.

He's been calling me a variety of names for the past week. From shell, to princess, to sweetheart and now I call him old man he makes it sound like it is special.

“You’re not what I expected,” I said after a moment.

“And what did you expect?”

I glanced back at him. “The posts on social media makes you seem like you're self absorbed but caring. And you're anything but that.”

“So you did stalk me on social media, does that mean I'm taking a place in your head, Shell?”

There it was again, that nickname. It affected me more than the others, maybe because it was rare or just plain but if had more depth.

I picked at the edge of my armrest. “Yeah I take that back, definitely self absorbed. I just wanted to know what you were like, okay?”

“I appreciate you taking the time to try to know me despite the image being portrayed online,” he said simply. “That’s rare these days.”

“I know how that can feel.”

Yes, I wasn't a celebrity but I was aware of brutal social media could be to people, I mean I witnessed it first hand.

“So what do you say, we drink to getting to know each other.” He said, waving over an attendant.

I huffed out a laugh. “You’re not getting me drunk today, Dr.”

“Okay then not today but definitely one day, I will get you drunk and I will get you to be open with me, now these are two different things. I don't need you to be drunk to get free with me.”

His honesty made me quiet. There was something about how plainly he said it, no shame, no apology. Just facts.

“You’re intense,” I said.

“You’re stubborn, Shell.”

“I’m not.”

Miguel shifted, stretching his arms behind his head. His watch caught the light, and I couldn’t help but notice how calm he looked, even when talking about himself like he was filling out a personality test.

“What about you?” he asked.

I blinked. “What about me?”

“What’s your story? Why did you join the convent?”

“I’m just keeping my promise.”

“Honourable.” he muttered sternly.

I looked at him again, those ombre eyes were too clear, too focused.

He wasn’t asking because he was curious he was asking because he wanted in.

“I’ve always wanted to go to Oakridge,” I said quietly.

He nodded. “I’m glad I could make that dream true for you, and I am certain you'd love it there.”

The certainty in his voice was evident, he said it like he already knew what I wanted to do the minute we landed.

I was about to question him about it when the attendant returned with a tray, Miguel's whiskey.

She bent to hand it to him, the glass halfway between her fingers and his when the plane suddenly lurched.

The tray clattered and the ice hit one of the floors while the drink poured down the front of his shirt.

“s**t,” he muttered, steadying the glass so it didn’t completely tip.

I tried to calm myself but it was impossible when the cabin rattled again.

I began to whisper a prayer, as fear gripped me but it didn't last long when another turbulence even longer than the first two started again.

Before I could tell myself to breathe, I was on my feet, crossing the space between us.

My fingers dug into his shoulders as I practically fell into his lap, my face pressing into the warm, whiskey-scented fabric.

“We’re going to die,” I whispered, hating how shaky my voice sounded.

Miguel’s arm came around me immediately, his palm flattening against my back. “Shell,” he said softly, like we weren’t bouncing through invisible potholes in the sky, “relax. It’s just turbulence.”

“It doesn’t feel like ‘just turbulence,’” I mumbled into his shirt.

His chest shook with a quiet laugh. “I promise, if the pilot was worried, we’d be on the ground already.”

I pulled back just enough to glare at him. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“Yes,” he said, grinning. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

The seatbelt sign dinged above us, the sound sharp, and I clung tighter without thinking. He didn’t seem to mind, just shifted so I was wedged between his knees, his hand still moving slow and steady up and down my spine.

After a minute, the plane evened out, the rattle easing into a low hum. My breathing finally started to match his.

“Better?” he asked.

I swallowed, nodding, but didn’t move. “I’m still not letting go until we land.”

He smirked, tilting his head. “Guess I can live with that.”

I knew I'd regret saying those words.