Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Seven
Aurora’s POV

I stood in front of my closet and stared at it like it was mocking me.

Rows of plain jeans, a few dresses that had seen better days, and tops that screamed “casual, not honeymoon.”

Sure i’ve bought some dresses but they were all, dinner dresses and whatnot.

What the hell was I supposed to pack for Miami?

I grabbed my phone and hit Jennifer’s contact.

“Jen, I don’t have anything to pack,” I blurted out the second she answered.

She snorted. “You mean you don’t have anything. Now, that's a problem I would like to solve. I’ll be right there. Don’t touch a thing.”

“Jennifer—” But she had already hung up.

Thirty minutes later, she stormed in like she owned the place, carrying a giant duffel bag that looked like it could swallow me whole.

“Where did you even get that?” I asked, eyeing it suspiciously.

“Don’t ask questions. Just trust me.”

Before I could argue, my phone rang. It was an unknown number. I stepped into the hallway to answer.

“Hello?”

The call lasted less than a minute—a nurse from Nico’s clinic updating me on his next appointment.

By the time I walked back into the room, my suitcase was zipped, standing upright, and the duffel bag was already shoved in the corner.

“What did you pack?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“Clothes. Shoes. Lingerie. Trust me, Aurora, I’ve got you covered.” She winked.

I groaned. “Why do I feel like I should check it?”

“Because you’re a control freak,” she said sweetly, then clapped her hands. “But guess what? You don’t have time. You’ve got a flight to catch, babe.”

“If I find out that you packed something scandalous, I'm going to skin you alive.”

“Horried. Now will you get out of here before you miss your flight. Go, go, go.” The plane was going nowhere and we both knew it. The perks of being engaged–married to the Ceo of an Airline.

I didn’t even have the energy to argue. Fernando was already waiting outside, loading my suitcase into the car. My heart raced the whole ride, nerves mixing with excitement.

When we pulled up to the private section of the airport, my breath hitched. Conan was there, standing at the base of the stairs to the jet, his hands in his pockets, looking like he’d stepped straight out of a magazine cover.

He walked forward, offering his hand. “Mrs. Grey.” 

My heart jumped at that, this will take some getting used to. I rolled my eyes but smiled as he helped me out of the car. “That still feels weird.”

“You’ll get used to it.” He tugged me closer, pressing a quick kiss to my temple before guiding me up the staircase.

Inside, I froze for a moment. It had been years since I’d been on a plane as a passenger instead of a flight attendant. The soft leather seats, the quiet hum, the scent of luxury—it felt strange to be on the other side of it all.

Then my stomach dropped.

“Welcome on board to Grey Airlines.” a familiar voice said, dripping with fake sweetness.

One of my old colleagues stood at the front, tray in hand, a fake smile plastered on her face. Out of all the flight attendants in the world, it had to be her.

“Dalia,” I said, my voice tight.

Her eyes flicked to Conan and immediately softened into syrup. “Mr. Grey, welcome aboard. Please, let me know if there’s anything you need.”

I bit back a groan. She was blatantly ignoring me, talking only to him as if I were invisible.

Conan’s gaze sharpened. “Excuse me,” he said coolly. “Did you just ignore my wife?”

Dalia froze, her smile faltering. “Oh, I didn’t—”

“You did,” Conan cut her off. “Leave us. Someone else can take over.”

Her jaw dropped. “Mr. Grey, I—”

“That wasn’t a request.”

The color drained from her face as she muttered something under her breath and disappeared into the back.

My eyes widened. “Conan, you didn’t have to—”

“Yes, I did,” he said firmly, turning back to me. Then his voice softened. “Did I tell you you look beautiful today?”

Heat crept up my neck. “No.”

“Well, you do. Absolutely stunning.”

I smiled despite myself and leaned against his shoulder. The stress of the morning, the call, Jennifer’s chaos—it all melted away. Within minutes, my eyes grew heavy, and I drifted off.

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

I woke up to the sensation of movement, strong arms around me. My eyes fluttered open, and I realized Conan was carrying me down the stairs of the jet.

“Conan!” I whispered quietly. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

His lips curved slightly. “I didn’t want to disturb your beauty sleep.”

I squirmed. “Put me down, people are staring.”

“No.” His grip tightened just enough to make the point.

“Conan—”

He smirked. “You think I’m letting you go now? Not a chance.”

Despite my protests, a small part of me melted.

We slid into the car waiting on the tarmac. I leaned toward the window, expecting to head to a hotel. But when we pulled through the gates of a sleek, modern beachfront villa, I frowned.

“This isn’t a hotel.”

“No,” Conan said casually. “It’s ours. I bought it.”

My head whipped around. “You what?”

“A vacation home,” he clarified, glancing at me. “For us.”

I blinked. “You bought a house. Just like that.”

He shrugged. “You’ll get used to that too.”

Inside, the place was breathtaking. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the ocean, soft lighting reflected off marble floors, and the faint scent of sea air drifted through open balconies.

“Where’s my room?” I asked carefully.

Conan’s brow arched. “Our room.”

My face heated. “Right.”

He leaned down, brushing his lips across my ear. “We’re not sleeping apart.”

I swallowed hard, my nerves tangling with anticipation.

“You should get ready,” he said, pulling back. “I had something brought for you.”

In the bedroom, a garment bag hung on the door. I unzipped it to find a silk slip dress in a deep emerald green that shimmered under the light. The neckline was soft, the straps delicate, and the fabric clung to curves I usually tried to hide. The shoes—sleek black heels with thin straps—were simple but elegant.

I slipped it all on, staring at myself in the mirror. For once, I didn’t just look… fine. I looked like someone who belonged next to Conan.

When I stepped out, his eyes raked over me, and his jaw actually tightened.

“You look so beautiful,” he said simply.

I had a permanent blush on my cheeks as we left the house.

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

Dinner was at a steakhouse with dim lighting and soft music humming in the background. We laughed more than I expected, teased each other about stupid things and shared a bottle of wine.

Halfway through dessert, an older couple at the next table leaned over.

“Young man,” the older gentleman said with a smile. “Don’t let the night end without dancing with her.”

His wife nodded eagerly. “Come on, dear. One dance. For us.”

Before I could protest, Conan stood and offered me his hand. “Shall we?”

I rolled my eyes but placed my hand in his. “If I fall in these heels, it’s your fault.”

He pulled me close onto the small dance floor, one hand sliding to the small of my back.

“You won’t fall,” he murmured.

We swayed slowly to the music, his eyes locked on mine. For once, there was no tension, no drama, no secrets hovering over us—just the two of us, moving in sync.

I let my head rest against his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath the fabric of his shirt.

“This doesn’t feel real,” I whispered.

“It is,” he said firmly. “And it’s only the beginning.”

When the song ended, he tilted my chin up and kissed me—slow, deliberate, the kind of kiss that left no room for doubt.

The old couple clapped softly, but I barely noticed. All I could think was that maybe, just maybe, this was where I was supposed to be.