Paris With Dad's Best Friend - Flora Ferrari Page 0,2

do my duty for my best friend. We’ve known each other for longer than Sara has been alive, so there’s no way I should jeopardize that relationship. It’s wrong to want his daughter. I know that. But at the same time, I look at her and I can’t help it. There’s a primal, animal need in me for her to be mine. I want to make it that way. God help any boy who tries to hit on her on this trip – this wedding in Paris, of all places, just about the most romantic scenario anyone could dream of. If they do I might just have to play the protective chaperone and knock their lights out.

Chapter Three

Sara

Tomorrow comes quicker than I could have imagined – what with trying to get to sleep but tossing and turning with excitement, and then sleeping in as a result, it ends up being a mad dash to get to the airport on time. Dad drives me there so I don’t have to pay to leave my car in the parking lot, and I’m still brushing out my hair and checking my makeup as we drive.

“I don’t know what you’re bothering for,” he snorts. “You’re only going to be sitting on a plane for hours. Everyone looks terrible when they get off a plane.”

“Not me, Dad,” I tell him with a knowing smile. He’s a typical Dad, no idea about fashion, looks, or the latest trends. Unlike Mark, who has always kept himself in good shape and still looks amazing. I wonder if it’s because he’s never had kids.

We pull up outside the airport in the drop-off zone and I struggle to grab my suitcase out of the trunk, almost dropping it with the unexpected weight. I’d forgotten how much I packed into it. My purse falls off my shoulder and hits the back of the car, a dead weight clunking against my arm, giving me one more obstacle to deal with.

“Need a hand?” I look up to see Mark smirking at me. He doesn't wait for a reply, stepping in closer, he grabs the handle of my suitcase and waits for me to let go before hefting it down to the sidewalk. I watch his muscles move under the sleeve of his black shirt and find myself unable to stop staring. I might need to come up with some excuses to watch them flex a few more times before the end of this trip.

“Thanks,” I manage to tell him, despite the fact that I can’t tear my eyes away from his biceps long enough to meet his eyes.

“You two have fun,” Dad yells out of the car window. He’s already waving at us, which I take as a hint for me to close the trunk and step out of the way. I can see why – it’s a busy airport, and people are already getting impatient in the line behind him.

“See you soon, Dad,” I say, feeling a little sad to wave him off. The truth is, I really was looking forward to this trip with him. But getting to spend it with Mark instead? Well, it’s one hell of a consolation prize.

We walk through the airport to find our check-in desk, Mark insists on pulling my suitcase behind him as well as his own. I use the crowded area as an excuse to occasionally fall behind him and check out those arms of his, ogling them when I’m sure that he can’t see me. Check-in is quick and easy since we already did the first part online, but not long after that we get into the line for security checks – and that’s when things really slow down.

There’s something about seeing a line that snakes every which way in front of you and never seems to end that can really put a damper on your enthusiasm for your travel.

“Don’t worry,” Mark says. “We’ll make the flight in time. We’ve got a couple of hours yet.”

I sigh, but nod and crease a smile for him. I guess he’s right. There’s nothing for it but to wait, shuffling forward a step or two every few minutes as the line keeps moving onwards.

I let my eyes focus off somewhere in the distance and let my mind drift. In this boring atmosphere, I soon start fantasizing about a new life that might be much more exciting, a life with Mark. It’s just a dream, of course, because I know he’ll never see me that way. But