3

The red string. I remembered the legend as I boarded the plane, the air stale with the sweetness of wine and spirits. A red string of fate ties the hands of lovers together. The string is unbreakable, bridging all time, all space, and even transcending death. This eternal bond is invisible to the eyes of the two lovers. Only those with pure hearts and untried in the ways of love possessed the ability to see the red string.

"Brilliant," I muttered to myself, lost in thought, "Not only am I being stalked, but now I'm officially a prude!"

A flight attendant murmured a greeting, her thick Parisian accent slurring her words so she spoke in a soft purr. The aisle was cluttered with businessmen in black and delicate women with long legs and sweeping cheekbones. The four of us boarded, our Californian hair and clothes a startling contrast. Cady prattled loudly with Taylor, her lips smacking with a pop as she chewed bubblegum.

"Like," she said in-between pops, "I totally didn't know we had to know French."

Taylor smiled sweetly, and giggled.

"What were you doing in French for three years?"

Cady shrugged, the bubble she was blowing bursting. The sticky pink gum popped into Sadie's dark locks, and the black girl shook with frustration. She bowed her head, tears sliding down her cheeks and falling on her wrinkled, coffee stained white dress. I glared daggers at Taylor, who laughed at Sadie in her moment of insecurity. The blonde's eyes glittered sadistically, and I shuddered.

Passengers starred disapprovingly on—the four of us were blocking the aisle. The attendant cast Cady a venomous glance, and squealing, the brunette sat in the first available seat. People sighed with relief, and the situation settled. I cast a glance down the row, debating about where I should sit.

There were three empty seats in the very last row. I swallowed— Taylor's gaze flickered to the seat. Smirking she wrestled my hand into her grip. I blushed, embarrassed with the unwanted attention.

"Let's sit together!" she twittered, pushing aside passengers like royalty. I stumbled as she wrenched my arm, colliding into her. Taylor accidentally bumped into a suave young man dressed handsomely in a crimson silk shirt. His ensemble was reminiscent of the bourgeoisie, his sleeves flaring at his wrists. His muscular chest gleamed where the buttons were unfastened, and his tunic accentuated his toned stomach.

"You should be careful, cherie," he said calmly, his voice like a thousand bells, "But I can't blame you—you must have such difficulty seeing over those large, pendulous breasts."

I snorted, poorly masking my laughter by pretending to cough. The stranger's focus slid my way, and I gasped. He had the countenance of a Botticelli angel. His ebony eyes were mysterious, drawing the light around him. But his face—oh, his face was the fountain of his beauty, and was haloed by thick, blonde hair that fell in loose curls by his shoulders. I was enthralled and terrified by the sight of him. He was the boy from the terminal.

"Do I know your friend?" he asked, my eyes never straying from his. Sadie approached silently, and sensing the mounting tension, leapt to my rescue

"Yes, Aime fainted earlier," she interjected, "I'm very grateful for your help at the café."

"My pleasure," he replied, "Calling security was the least I could do."

His eyes drank me in, lingering at times as they passed over my body. I blushed. Butterflies were convulsing in my stomach.

"Th-th-thank you," I finally uttered. He was drawing me to him, and I was so sleepy. Taylor's nails dug painfully into my palm, and I yelped. She growled at the teenager, and I watched as an ugly shade of purple rose to her cheeks.

"Creep," she said, gritting her teeth. Turning, Taylor stomped all the way down the aisle before sitting with Cady. She was fuming so forcefully I might as well have seen steam rising from her ears. Taylor suddenly went rigid. The angry purple was replaced with white, and she pointed at the stranger, shaking uncontrollably. The boy had disappeared. I gaped perplexed where he had stood.

"He must have returned to his seat," Sadie said firmly, "Or gone to the bathroom. We're in the rear of the plane after all, right?"

Her cool intellect calmed my nerves, and I felt a growing admiration for the brunette. On the surface she was supercilious, but as I now realized, her disdainful demeanor was a defense mechanism. She must incredibly shy, I thought. She stood bashfully, her eyes downcast.

"If you don't want me sitting with you I understand," she said, "I don't want to be a bother."

"No worries."

"You mean, I can?"

"Absolutely."

"Really?"

"Only if I can have the window seat."

"Deal."

---

Hey--I wanted to thank everyone for the reviews and for reading. I have a question for you all. I'm struggling with the length of my chapters. On one hand, I want my chapters to be crisp and to the point. But on the other, I feel like trying to condense my style is leaving the story incomplete in places and confusing. Any advice? Thank you all so much. This concludes the blurb. See you on the flipside-- Chelsea Lynne, aka chuppie