Dropping his shirt, he asked, “Does it not meet your expectations?”
I waved a hand. “Believe me…you are above and beyond my expectations.” I cleared my throat uncomfortably, realizing what I’d just said. He didn’t seem to notice anything abnormal. “Well. Now that you are attired comfortably, shall we figure out which plane will take us to Egypt?”
Leaving behind a trail of dreamy-eyed airline employees entranced by Amon’s power, his GQ looks, or a combination of the two, and, clutching two tickets to Cairo that we had neither paid for nor showed passports to attain, we made our way through the airport. It wasn’t long before I noticed the effect Amon had, not just on employees but on almost every person of the female gender he met.
Amon had an aura of power, and, at least to me, he radiated all things warm and sunny. I suspected this was either a natural part of him or a reflection of the gifts of the sun god. We were all like sunflowers turning our heads toward a very handsome sun. The idea irritated me and I realized it was because I selfishly wanted to keep all of Amon’s warmth for myself.
Once we were on board, the flight attendants began showering us with a little too much attention. Amon basked in it.
The first hour passed and the flight attendants had become a constant annoyance. By the time the fourth attendant came by just to check on Amon a second time, I was fed up and interrupted her before she said anything. “We’re fine, thanks.” I hissed at Amon, “I liked you better bald.”
Amon thought my reaction was hilarious. In response, I grabbed the pillow off his armrest and jammed it behind my head, folding my arms across my chest and closing my eyes so I didn’t have to watch the never-ending parade of Amon devotees.
Still chuckling, Amon grabbed the blanket given to him by one of the attendants—whose perfume he’d declared rivaled an Egyptian queen’s—tucked it around me, and leaned over to whisper, “A desert lily need not turn jealous eyes toward the common violet.”
I didn’t respond and was soon lulled to sleep by the drone of the engines.
The clattering of silverware and the soft murmur of voices woke me. Opening my eyes, I saw a large man across the aisle digging into his dinner and was jolted back to reality. Bringing my palms to my eyes, I rubbed and wondered if I had just dreamed these past two days.
“Excuse me,” the flight attendant said as she practically shoved her ample bosom in my face so she could have better access to my traveling companion. Obviously, it wasn’t a dream. I was alert enough to hear Amon exclaim over the dinner she was going to be bringing him. Rolling my eyes, I tapped her on the shoulder.
“I’d like to use the restroom, please.”
“Oh, of course.”
Once in there, I locked the door and wet a towel to press against my cheeks. I didn’t look like myself. My normally confident, shoulders-back stance and healthy frame looked hunched and sickly. There was a definite gray tinge to my skin, made worse by a sheen of sweat. My chestnut-brown hair hung in limp, fettucine-like strands, the shine long gone. My carefully applied makeup was smeared, and the circles under my eyes looked like wrung-out tea bags.
Taking out the small makeup case I’d fortunately brought with me, I fixed my face the best I could and pulled my hair up into a loose ponytail. What have you gotten yourself into? I allowed myself a brief moment of hysteria for agreeing to go to—I could barely even think it—Egypt, with a who-knows-how-many-thousands-of-years-old mummy prince who was too hot to handle in more ways than one.
When I had repeated the mantra “It is what it is” to myself a dozen times, I was ready to return to my seat.