Us for Life - Feltson

Chapter 7

They were in the airport in Los Angeles, waiting there at a time in history when even VIP lounges have line ups. As they queued for yet another security screening, Emma drifted closer and closer to Tom until she was near enough to wind both her arms around one of his and lean in to rest her chin on his shoulder.

Looking straight ahead, he smirked and asked, "Are you sure you want to do that? In a public place? If anyone notices, we won't be able to take it back."

"Oh, they'll notice," she said. "That's why I did it."

He laughed, still looking ahead as she gazed at his profile. His beachy free spirit look was alluring in its way, but she was absolutely mad for his elegant image. At this moment, he was dressed the part of a suitor off to present himself to his intended in-laws. His friend had trimmed his hair. His face was cleanly shaven, and he was wearing a suit topped with a light mid-length cashmere coat. He was lovely -- perhaps, too lovely.

"Unless," she said. "Unless you want to take it back."

Hearing the note of sadness in her voice, he moved to look at her upturned face, and kissed her, softly and slowly. "There," he said. "Now, it's irrevocable. If anyone snapped a picture of us here, it'll be all over the world in minutes."

"Oh," she chirped. "I don't want it to look like we've been outed against our will. No, no." She was letting go of his arm, standing back and reaching for her phone. 

"You're posting something yourself?" he asked. "What are you saying?"

"Nothing much," she said, beaming into her phone. "Just a subtle hint." On her screen was a photo of Tom from behind, crouched on the side of the road, changing the tire.

"Ah, my good side," he said.

She elbowed him in the ribs. "Oh give over. Your arms look amazing in this shot. And I won't tag you in it. I'll caption it simply, 'Rescued!' and leave it to the Internet to sort the rest out themselves. There. Now no one can say we're sneaking around."

"Rescued," he muttered to himself, reaching for his own phone. "Well you know what they'll do next. They'll check all my feeds to corroborate it."

"What are you posting? You have to let me see."

"It's cute. You'll like it."

"Cute?" she nearly shouted, alarmed. "Am I vomiting in it? Or dressed in a lobster apron?"

"Your face isn't even visible -- "

"Tom, you have to show me." She had begun to scuffle with him, grabbing at his hands and laughing.

"Elegant. Remember to be elegant, Watson."

She stopped struggling and opened her own feed. There it was, a photo she didn't even know he'd taken. It was at the lookout, while he'd been holding her in his arms on the bench as she got over being sick, moments before he kissed her so beautifully and then choked out a proposal. The only part of her in the frame was her knees, bent over his legs, her ankles crossed and her feet resting of the bench. The caption said only, "Rescued."

She rose to her toes and kissed his cheek. "That is lovely. And you are sweet."

He shrugged. "It's been known to happen."

The queue moved forward and they shuffled ahead.

"Say, have you read much Jane Austen?" she asked.

He grimaced. "My idea of old-fashioned British writers is more like Ian Fleming."

She scoffed. "James Bond. I should have known."

"But I've done enough period pieces to be conversant in our nation's literary history, or something like that. Try me, college girl."

She had to wait until they'd cleared security, but when they were seated in the waiting area on the other side, she leaned into him again, almost whispering. "If this were a Jane Austen novel we were in, do you know what they'd call what we're doing? There's a single word for it. And it is the height of scandal in polite society."

"Polite, are we? One word?" he said. But then he was distracted, taking his phone out of his pocket again. "Sorry, Em. I've got to turn off the alert on my name. Seems the Internet is onto us, one way or another, and this won't stop buzzing."

"Oh, Tom. You put a news alert on yourself?"

"Don't sneer at it," he said. "When false accusations come for you, it's better to know sooner than later. Believe me."

She hummed her sympathy. "Well, never mind that. You have no idea how Jane Austen would describe us right now, do you?"

He shook his head. "Tell me."

She was whispering into his ear now, raising a shiver along his arm. "You and I are in the midst of an elopement."

He grinned as she sat back from his ear. "That's perfect."

"And in that spirit," she said. "As soon as we're in London, let's go to a registry office and bring this elopement to its inevitable conclusion."

He sat back. "Registry office? You want a desk wedding? You don't want some flash celebrity event? People flying in from all over? Drones snapping unauthorized photos? Quarantines and security checks and seating plans?"

"Exactly," she said, shaking her head. "I'm not a little girl. And maybe if no one had ever made a fuss of me before, I'd be looking to celebrate myself. You know what I mean. It's not as though no one has ever dressed me up in a fancy dress and taken my picture before. It's not as though you and I haven't been photographed together. I won't feel like I missed out on anything. For us, a splashy wedding is -- well, it's just another job, a photo op for other people, a different kind of show."

He pressed his forehead against hers. "Bless you, Emma Watson. If an elopement is what you really want, then have it."

"It is."

"At least let me stop and buy you a ring," he said.

She was shaking her head again. "Precious gemstones are some of the most unethically sourced commodities in the entire marketplace. I cannot in good conscience -- "

He had taken her face in both of his hands and kissed her quiet. "Alright," he said as they came apart. "Of course, you're right. Can I at least round up an heirloom ring from my family for you to wear? Something that already exists and can't hurt anyone?"

She pursed her lips, considering. "I can accept that. But we don't need it to elope."

"So before we see anyone or do -- anything -- in London, you want to elope? Officially, legally?" he clarified.

She nodded. "Yes."

He squeezed her tightly. "Then we will."

--------------------------

The flight lasted all night. Sleeping in first class is easier than in the other sections, but it was still a rough night. As the sun came up, Tom was awake first, a shadow of beard growth on his face, leaning against his knees with his elbows.

"How do you still look perfect after sleeping on an airplane?" he asked Emma as she stretched and tipped her seat upright.

She grinned at him. "Hardly. But you, darling, you look like you need a cigarette."

He groaned. "I do. But if I'm going to be living with a pregnant princess and then a bunch of kids, I can't keep smoking."

She pounded him on the back. "It's true. But not urgent. Go ahead and take care of it once we've landed."

He nodded. "Perfect as always. And me unworthy as always."

She took both his hands. "Enough. And if you're not up for eloping today -- "

"Oh no, it's today, before you snap out of it," he said. "You are too good for me. That is globally understood. And, it is all the more reason why I am never letting you go."