Chapter 31: "Public Relations"
The sound of the engines faded into the distance.
Isabella stood frozen on the pavement, her chest rising and falling quickly as the quiet returned to the highway.
Aaron turned down toward her, a small, genuine smile pulling at his lips. "Well. Look at you."
Isabella blinked, turning her head toward the sound of his voice. "Is he gone?"
"He’s gone," Aaron chuckled softly, putting his hands in his coat pockets. "I have to admit, princess, I was worried you’d lost that sharp little bite you used to have when you were younger."
Isabella glared in his direction, her cheeks flushing a sudden light pink. "I am not a child, Mr. Kazarov."
Aaron let out a deep, booming laugh, a sound so rare his own guards exchanged surprised glances.
He reached out, slipping his hands under her arms, and effortlessly guided her back into the warm backseat of the Jeep. He climbed in beside her, pulling the heavy door shut, locking the noise of the highway outside.
"Driver," Aaron called out, resting his arm along the back of the leather seat. "Take us to the airport."
"Yes, boss."
"Wait... the airport?" Isabella asked, surprised.
"Yes" Aaron answered calmly, his gaze remained fixed on her. "We’re going to Russia."
...
The black Jeep pulled into the private terminal of the airport, the heavy tires rolling smoothly over the tarmac before coming to a stop near the tarmac steps of a sleek private jet.
In the back seat, Aaron set his phone aside and turned to Isabella. Her head was still leaning against the leather headrest, her hair a little tangled from the wind and dust back at the estate.
He reached out, his long fingers gently smoothing the loose strands away from her forehead.
She flinched slightly at the touch, but she didn’t pull away.
Without saying a word, Aaron unbuttoned his heavy black wool coat, slipped it off his shoulders, and draped it around her.
The coat was massive on her frail frame, swallowing her entirely, the hem pooling around her knees and the broad shoulders hanging down her arms. It smelled like his cologne and faint tobacco smoke.
He leaned close, his breath warm against her ear.
"Do not be alarmed by what’s outside, Princess," he murmured, a faint, dry amusement in his tone. "Just smile if you can, and leave the rest to me."
Isabella turned her head toward him, her cloudy green eyes wide with confusion. "What is outside?"
Aaron just offered a small, quiet smile she couldn’t see, reaching past her to pop the door lock open.
The moment the heavy door swung outward, a wall of noise hit her.
Shouts, barking voices, and the rapid, sharp clicking of camera shutters filled the morning air.
Dozens of reporters jostled behind a line of private security officers, holding microphones over the barrier and craning their necks to get a view inside the car. Bright flashes went off in a chaotic rhythm.
Isabella didn’t see the flashes, but the sudden storm of shouting made her gasp, her hand instinctively reaching out to grab whatever was nearest.
Her fingers found the front of Aaron’s shirt, clutching the fabric tight.
Aaron didn’t flinch. He offered her his forearm, letting her tuck her hand securely into the crook of his elbow. He stepped out of the vehicle, pulling her smoothly up beside him, making the movement look completely effortless.
He stopped on the tarmac, turning slightly to fix the collar of his coat where it was slipping off her narrow shoulder.
He pulled the thick wool close around her neck, looking down at her with a look of quiet satisfaction. She looked small, bruised, and thoroughly exhausted, like a stray cat someone had swept off the street and wrapped in a blanket.
Bending down slightly, Aaron pressed a quick, gentle kiss against her cold cheek.
Isabella started, her breath catching in her throat as a bright, hot blush spread instantly across her face. "What was that for?" she whispered furiously, her head tilting up toward him.
"Public relations," Aaron murmured back, his voice thick with amusement.
Her blush deepened, her cheeks turning bright red. "You could have warned me!"
"I did."
"No, you didn’t!"
"I told you something was about to happen, Princess," he said, letting out a soft laugh under his breath. "That counts as a warning."
Isabella let out a tiny, indignant huff, her fingers tightening on his arm. Aaron chuckled again, turning them toward the mobile stairs of the aircraft, shielding her body from the press with his heavy frame.
The reporters went wild, shoving their microphones forward as security guards pushed them back.
"Mr. Kazarov! Are you and Mrs. Carter in a relationship?"
"Is this why she left her husband?"
"Mrs. Carter! Are you divorcing Mr. Kingston? Should we be calling you Mrs. Kazarov now?"
"Did Mr. Kingston abuse you?"
Isabella kept her chin up, but her face burned red as the loud questions bounced around her head. Neither she nor Aaron said a single word to the crowd.
Aaron simply guided her up the carpeted steps, his palm resting flat against the small of her back, steadying her every step of the way until they crossed the threshold into the quiet, warm cabin of the jet.
The heavy oval door swung shut, sealing out the noise of the press completely.
The jet was quiet and beautifully furnished with cream leather seats, dark wood paneling, and soft amber lights.
A stewardess stepped forward immediately, taking Aaron’s coat from Isabella’s shoulders and offering a warm, damp towel for her hands, while a flight attendant brought out a soft cashmere blanket.
Isabella stood near the aisle, feeling entirely overwhelmed.
Growing up, her father had showered her with everything money could buy. She was used to luxury, but for the past few weeks, she had lived in complete isolation, locked in empty rooms where the only attention she received came in the form of Kian’s suffocating rules or the quiet pity of guards.
Now, with three people fussing over her slippers, offering hot tea, and adjusting the warm air vents, she felt completely out of place.
She stood stiffly, her hands fidgeting with the edge of her sweater.
Aaron sat down in one of the wide leather captain’s chairs across the aisle, watching her. A slight smirk touched his lips.
"You look like you’re waiting for someone to arrest you, Isabella," he said dryly. "Sit down before you fall over."
She let out a soft breath, carefully easing herself into the seat opposite his. The attendant draped the cashmere blanket over her lap, placing a warm cup of sweet chamomile tea into her hands.
"Thank you," Isabella whispered softly to the woman.
The flight attendant smiled gently before bowing her head and retreating to the galley.
A few minutes later, the jet’s engines roared to life, a deep, steady vibration thrumming through the floorboards as the aircraft rolled down the runway and lifted off into the pale morning sky.