The Wager

ARYA’S POV I woke up feeling like I'd been hit by a truck. My head was pounding, my mouth tasted like something had died in it, and when I tried to sit up, the room spun sickeningly. I pressed my hand to my forehead, and forced my eyes to focus. When I looked around, I realized that I was on a plane. If the white leather seats and the windows overlooking the blue sky was any indication. Memories from last night came flooding back, first it was the club, then Giovanni finding me, and then... had he carried me onto the plane? I couldn’t remember. "Good morning, dolcezza. Or should I say good afternoon?" I whipped my head toward the voice and immediately regretted it as pain lanced through my skull. Giovanni sat in a seat across the aisle, looking infuriatingly well-rested and put-together in dark jeans and a casual button-down, his attention on his phone. "Where are we?" I demanded, my voice coming out hoarse. "Thirty thousand feet over the Atlantic," he said calmly, not looking up f