Chapter 430
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Chapter 430:
Waiting on the runway was a massive Gulfstream G650 private jet, its tail painted with the subtle, interlocking crest of the Collins family. A line of flight attendants in crisp uniforms bowed respectfully as they approached the stairs.
“Welcome aboard, Mrs. Collins,” the lead attendant said with a warm smile.
Hearing the title sent a fresh thrill of adrenaline down Jocelyn’s spine. She tightened her grip on Gaston’s hand and walked up the stairs.
The interior of the jet was a flying palace of cream leather and polished mahogany.
The moment the heavy cabin door sealed shut, the plane surged upward, tearing through the clouds and leaving the freezing New York winter far behind.
Jocelyn settled into a massive leather recliner and looked out the window at the shrinking city below. The suffocating chains of her past — Kieran, Aspen, her mother — were completely gone.
Gaston walked down the aisle carrying two crystal flutes of Dom Pérignon. He handed her one and took the seat directly facing hers.
“Where exactly are we going?” Jocelyn asked, taking a sip of the cold champagne.
“St. Barts,” Gaston said, his dark eyes locking onto hers. “More specifically, a private island three miles off the coast. It belongs entirely to the family p>
Jocelyn’s eyes widened. St. Barts was already the playground of billionaires, but owning a completely isolated island was a level of wealth that defied comprehension.
“For the next two weeks,” Gaston continued, his voice dropping to a low, possessive murmur, “there will be no paparazzi. No board meetings. No family drama. Just you, me, and the ocean p>
𝗦𝗁𝖺r𝘦 𝗒𝗈𝗎r 𝖿𝗮𝗏𝗼𝘳i𝗍е𝘴 𝖿𝗋оm
He reached across the space between them. His large hand wrapped around her ankle, his thumb slowly tracing circles against her skin, the heat of his touch burning through her thin silk trousers.
Jocelyn’s breathing hitched. The pressurized cabin suddenly felt incredibly close.
She set her champagne glass on the table, unbuckled her seatbelt, and gracefully swung her leg across his lap, settling against him.
Gaston’s hands gripped her hips, pulling her flush against his chest.
At forty thousand feet, completely isolated from the world, the honeymoon officially began.
The Gulfstream G650 touched down smoothly on the sun-baked runway of the St. Barts international airport.
Jocelyn and Gaston did not enter the main terminal. A sleek black luxury SUV was waiting directly on the tarmac and drove them straight to a private dock, where a twin-engine seaplane bobbed gently in the turquoise water.
Twenty minutes later, the seaplane flew low over the Caribbean Sea.
Jocelyn pressed her face against the small window. Emerging from the endless expanse of blue was a lush, emerald-green island ringed by a halo of blindingly white sand. Nestled into the cliffside at its center sat a sprawling modern architectural masterpiece of glass, teakwood, and white concrete.
The seaplane glided onto the water and taxied toward a private wooden pier.
As Gaston helped Jocelyn step out onto the dock, the hot, humid tropical air enveloped her skin, carrying the scent of sea salt and blooming plumeria flowers.
Two rows of staff in immaculate white linen uniforms stood at attention along the pier.