STUCK WITH MR. BILLIONAIRE FOR CHRISTMAS novel Chapter 8

Chapter 8

DANTE:

Martin was a sly fox.

M M

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He knew every detail of this trip including the absurd condition and chose to drop the engagement bomb at the last possible second. Classic move. Give us no time to argue, no room to back out.

Never in my life had I imagined I’d be an engaged man especially during Christmas. And certainly not to the one woman who made my blood pressure spike just by existing.

But here we were.

I watched Cinnamon smoothly slip that ring onto her finger without hesitation as if she’d done it a thousand times before. She was a great actress, which made me wonder what else about her was performance.

The helicopter’s rotors whirred to life, vibration humming through the hangar.

I buckled in, keeping my gaze fixed on the window.

I could’ve taken the jet but that was too much for a two hour flight. I wouldn’t dream about booking first-class seats on a commercial flight. The thought of sharing space with strangers, families rushing home for the holidays, crying babies, people who’d talk your ear off about their Christmas plans, made my skin crawl.

It was also the one mode of transportation I’d spent twenty years avoiding.

My fingers tightened around the armrest.

“So.” Cinnamon’s voice cut through the headset. “What’s the plan when we land?”

I didn’t look at her. “We’ll go over it when we arrive,

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting right now.”

The helicopter lifted off the ground. My stomach dropped with it.

She shifted in her seat, leaning closer. “Mr. Moretti, I need to know what we’re walking into. Who are we meeting first? What’s our story? How long have we been engaged?”

“Ms. Wealth-”

“And where did you propose? Because if someone asks and we give different answers, this whole thing falls apart.”

My jaw clenched. “Can you be quiet for five minutes?”

“Can you give me actual information instead of vague non-answers?”

The ground fell away beneath us. We climbed higher. The city shrank below, buildings turning into toys, roads into threads.

My lungs constricted.

I focused on breathing in through my mouth and out through my nose, trying to stay controlled.

“All you need to do,” I said through gritted teeth, “is be seen, not heard. Charm your people. Don’t embarrass me. And for God’s sake, don’t get on my nerves.”

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Chapter 8

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She laughed.

Actually laughed.

I turned my head slowly. She’d pushed the microphone aside, leaning into my space, those chestnut eyes locked onto mine without blinking.

“Mr. Moretti, that’s not how this works.” Her voice was soft but exuded confidence. “Especially with our pretense as a couple. We have to make it believable. So please, get off your high horse and let’s figure this out together.”

Cinnamon didn’t stop. She continued rambling but I could no longer hear her as her voice had become distant.

My chest squeezed, lungs refusing to expand properly.

I was twelve years old again.

***

The helicopter banked left, Dad’s hand steady on my shoulder.

“You alright, kiddo?”

I nodded, even though my stomach churned. “Fine.”

“Good. Your mom’s going to love this surprise. She thinks I’m stuck in meetings all weekend.” He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Wait till she sees us walk through that door.”

The helicopter jolted.

Dad’s grip became firmer. “Just turbulence. Nothing to worry about.”

The pilot’s voice crackled through the headset, strained. “We’ve got a problem.”

Another jolt. Harder this time. The helicopter spun.

I was so scared, my body shaking. “Dad-”

“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

It wasn’t okay.

Alarms blasted. Red lights flashed across the console. The pilot was shouting something I couldn’t understand, words swallowed by the roar of failing engines.

We dropped fast, the ground rushing up to meet us, trees and rocks and impact.

Metal shrieked. Glass shattered. My head slammed against something hard.

Then silence before a ringing in my ears started. Smoke choked ny lungs.

“Dante.” Dad’s voice, strained. “Dante, look at me.”

I turned my head. Blood streamed from a gash above his temple soaking his collar. His face was pale, too pale.

“We need to move.” He unbuckled my seatbelt with shaking hands. “Now.”

He dragged me out of the wreckage, stumbling, wobbling with every step.

He got me twenty feet away. Set me down in the grass.

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Chapter 8

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“Stay here.”

“Dad-”

“Stay. Here.”

He turned back toward the helicopter. Toward the pilot still trapped inside.

“Dad, no!”

He didn’t stop.

Flames licked up the side of the fuselage. Smoke billowed black and thick. He reached the door then the world exploded.

Fire. Heat. A shockwave that knocked me flat. When I looked up there was nothing left but burning metal and ash. No body. No Dad. Just smoke rising into the sky like a funeral pyre.

***

“Mr. Moretti.”

Hands on my arms. Shaking me.

“Dante. Breathe.”

I gasped, dragging air into lungs that refused to cooperate.

The cabin came back into focus. Cinnamon’s face filled my vision, eyes filled with concern.

“Just breathe,” she said, voice soft. Grounding. “Everything’s okay. You’re safe. I’m here.”

One hand covered mine on the armrest. It was warm.

The other moved to my thigh, rubbing slow circles through the fabric of my pants.

Her eyes stayed locked on mine. “In and out. That’s it. You’re doing great.”

My pulse slowed. The vice around my chest loosened.

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