—Gordon B. Hinckley

"This can't be real life," I said, while taking in the ten beige, oversized leather seats on the small, private jet. The extra wide aisles were carpeted in black, and a wooden, rectangular table was situated at the back of the aircraft, facing a big screen television.

"I can pinch you, if need be," Julian said playfully from behind me, hauling our lone duffel bag over his shoulder. He refused to let anyone carry it for him.

"This is how you're going to travel now?" My stunned expression said more than my mouth could at that moment.

"Apparently so. It's going to be a massive tour, I can tell." Julian stretched his arms outwardly, as far as they would go, and relished in the amount of comfortable space provided within the cabin. "Wait until the lads see this!"

According to him, the band's management company allowed one complimentary round trip flight on the touring jet per year, to anywhere in the world, for each of the guys in Ascend the Stars. The jet we were on was to be the main means of transportation for the guys' upcoming tour, instead of buses and first class flights on major commercial airlines. Julian and I were the first two passengers to ever use the brand sparkling new, private aircraft. This petrified me beyond words.

Before they would let Julian use the jet for this vacation he had planned, one of his managers insisted that he renew his contract right away. Julian said that was why he needed to run off so quickly, several days beforehand, leaving me alone in his apartment. The only thing Julian would tell me about the trip was that the flight would be very long—many hours long. Still, I had no idea where we were headed, and Julian refused to cave in any further, regardless of my whining and begging.

The pilot cleared his throat to announce his presence at the front of the cabin, and our attentions shifted to him.

"The aircraft has been inspected twice over for safety, and it's all systems go." The pilot adjusted his tie. "All ready, Mr. Miles?"

"All ready, Brooke?" Julian faced me and winked.

"All ready," I answered them both with a huge smile.

The pilot disappeared into the cockpit with the copilot, and I walked around, pulling down all the window screens. I noticed Julian covering his mouth in the back row of paired seats, indubitably trying to hide a laugh at my expense. When I was finished, the luxurious cabin was notably darker, and I reclined next to him. Just then, the jet fired up, startling me with a jump.

"Come here." Julian was no longer laughing. He put one hand behind my head, pulling it gently to his chest. "Once we get in the air, you'll be okay."

"I hate flying," I stated the obvious and sunk deeper into the curves of his skin.

"I know, baby." He stroked my hair. I loved when he called me that. "But I'll be with you every moment of it."

To distract myself from the noticeable and disturbing sensation of elevation, I mused over the last several days in London with Julian.

On my second day there, he woke me just before dawn to watch the sunrise over the city through his enormous, panoramic windows. We fell back asleep for a while after that, and woke again in the afternoon to visit Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, the Houses of Parliament, and Trafalgar Square—all must-sees on my list of attractions, purely for the history and notoriety.

Stereotypical and touristy, maybe, but I just had to.

What I wouldn't do, however, was give in to Julian's multiple requests of me to make a V sign with my middle and index fingers, with my palm facing inward, at the few passersby around us. I didn't know what the gesture meant, but judging from his chuckling, it couldn't have been very good.

London was still chilly that day, with a noticeable bite in the air, but most of the snow dusting had melted, leaving the city cleaner and easier to navigate.

Much of the morning and afternoon of the third day was spent inside Saint Paul's Cathedral, as I awed at the exquisite beauty and wonder of the humbling ceilings, structure, and rich artwork. Afterward, Julian ordered us lunch from a street vendor, and we ate it while sitting on a bench in Hyde Park. Because of the cold weather, there weren't many people about, so we had the beautiful landscape mostly to ourselves. Julian's rumbling laughter echoed all around us when I told him that it was the most romantic lunch date I had ever, or would ever, go on.

"That was easy," Julian had said, proudly outstretching his arms to fold them behind his head.

Restful laziness ensued on the fourth day, with our only outing being dinner at a quaint Italian restaurant in the heart of Bromley. Throughout the meal, Julian teased me by asking about the food's authenticity, and then announcing to our waitress that I was from the motherland. She was as confused as I was mortified.

The fifth day in England, though, proved to be my favorite one yet...

"Are we almost there yet?" I asked Julian, as he leisurely drove past Victorian-looking structures, separated by large plots of green land. It was a stark contrast to the bustle of crowds in historic London.

"Almost." He turned to wink at me.

"We've been driving for an hour already. Where are you bringing us?" I stared out the passenger window of Julian's graphite Vauxhall. "Why all the secrecy this week? Does everything have to be a surprise?"

"You know, Brooke, surprises can be good sometimes." He grinned wide at me, before breaking down into intoxicating laughter. "Have you always been so skeptical? Or have I finally brushed off on you? Look at this... only been in England for a few days, and it's already turned you cynical."

"Not cynical." I poked his arm. "Curious."

"Impatient," he corrected me with a smirk. "At least when it comes to the unknown. C'mon, darling. We're out the Big Smoke. Just relax and enjoy some views of the countryside."

And I did, until we came to a stop some thirty minutes later.

"Wait," Julian instructed when we both exited the car. "Turn around and close your eyes?"

"Okay..." I reluctantly agreed. "Why am I closing them?"

"Trust me, will you?" Julian spoke softly into my ear, as he took my cold hand into his warm one. "Just keep them closed, until I say to open them."

"How will I walk in total darkness?" I asked, shutting my eyelids.

"I'm going to be your eyes. Just listen to my voice," he said.

While no snow laced the ground, wherever we were, the air was still very nippy. Earlier that morning, Julian had insisted that I wear two layers of clothing under my coat, and I was glad that I did.

"Okay, now turn right," Julian said softly, after we'd walked on smooth pavement for some time. "Take three steps forward. Good... One more. Alright, now stay just where you are."

"May I open my eyes now?" I asked.

"Open them," he said softly.

"You doing alright, darling?" The vibration that his deep voice made throughout his chest, where my cheek lay, brought me out of my reverie.

"Yeah." I kissed over his shirt, without lifting my head. "This is the most relaxed I've ever been while this high in the air."

"Would you look at that?" Julian exclaimed. "I am good for something."

"How much longer?" I ignored his previous utterance.

"Brooke, it's only been a half hour." He chuckled heartily while checking his watch.

"How long?" I insisted.

"About twelve more hours."

"Where the hell are you taking me?" Finally, I moved to peer at him.

"Who knows?" Julian gave me an impish grin. "Maybe the Bermuda Triangle."

"I may not be the best at world geography, but I know that we'd be traveling towards the United States in that case, and you wouldn't be taking me back anywhere close to there, if you had your choice in the matter," I reasoned.

"Maybe I'm taking you back to the home country." He shrugged.

"We're not going towards the states." I was sure of it.

"Not America. Italy." Julian poked my side.

"Nope," I deemed it impossible. "That's a three and a half hour flight, max."

"I thought you didn't know geography?" Julian's beautiful eyes squinted, as his cheeks lifted to form a smile.

"I know some, obviously." I nestled back into his chest.

When the cabin of the airplane fell quiet again, I went right back into my reverie, of the day before.

"Open them," he said softly.

I opened my eyes slowly, and simultaneously took in a deep breath. We stood on a river bank, overlooking shallow, jade waters. Surrounding us were weeping willows, whose leaves grazed the softly rippling surface.

"Welcome to Cambridge," a nicely dressed man said, standing on the back of a long, narrow, flat-bottomed boat. "Your punt hire is ready. Shall we begin the tour?"

The man held a giant pole in his left hand. With his right, he reached for mine, and helped me into the blue punt—which was lined with cushions, pillows, and fluffy blankets. Although the boat could've easily fit twelve, and had plenty of space towards the back, I wanted to sit up front. After me, Julian stepped in, unassisted, and slouched down, while wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

Behind us, the chauffeur—who was clad in a white button-up top, navy blue vest, and a rounded straw hat—used the pole to gently start wading us through the river. The soft babbling of the opaque water, as we were propelled through it, ignited inspiration within me.

"How do you do it?" I whispered into Julian's ear.

"Do what?" He gleamed back at me, with softness in his eyes, and color in his cheeks.

"How do you always manage to make me feel like I'm a princess, living out a real life fairy tale?" I clarified.

"You are a princess." Julian's knee gently brushed mine, as he pulled a cozy, green and blue, plaid blanket around our laps. "But this isn't for the romanticism, or a happy ending."

"It's not?" I asked skeptically.

"No, of course not." He shook his head, with one corner of his mouth turned up. "This is just to prove that anything Italy can do, England can do better. Even private boat tours."

I slanted one eyebrow at him, and Julian's candid laughter bounced off the chilled waters, enveloping us into the sweetest sounding echo.

"To our left, we pass King's College Chapel," our chauffeur announced, some quiet minutes later. "A truly fine example of late Gothic English architecture."

As we continued on slowly, trees and greenery began to line one side of the river, with the strands from one weeping willow splayed close to me. I imagined its leafy limbs as sleepy fingers, reaching out to touch those passing by its home. Without thinking, I held my fingers to its softened branches, hoping that some of the magic from this ride could be transferred to me in this way, and make its home inside me permanently.

Over the side of the boat, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the water. The pure happiness in my features, for a moment, left me unrecognizable to myself.

The slightest bit of fog outlined the crisp air, enhancing the mystical allure of everything around us. Instinctively, I cuddled further into Julian's side. The softness of his leather jacket invited me in, as we leisurely traveled.

With wide eyes, I marveled, as we passed between beautiful brick structures. Slowly, we approached a covered, overhead walkway.

"Here's Third Court, and here's New Court," the chauffeur stated, while gesturing animatedly. "And here, crossing the River Cam, we pass under the Bridge of Sighs, built in 1831!"

"The real Bridge of Sighs," Julian said softly next to me, alluding to the arch bridge of Venice by the same name, as our guide continued to explain the structures surrounding us.

"Italy beat you to it, by about two hundred years," I said, nuzzling into Julian's shoulder.

He rested his head atop mine. "Fair enough. I'll give you that one."

"Is the Julian Miles surrendering?" I joked with him, as the soft waters rippled all around us on the chilly December afternoon in Cambridge.

"Brooke," Julian said after a quiet moment.

"Yes?"

"I wanted to make this ride really memorable for you, so I tried to learn some Italian before you arrived. But as it turns out, I still suck at words—not just in my own language, but foreign ones, too, it seems. I did, however, manage to retain just one small phrase."

"What is it, Jules?" I moved from the warmth of the curve of his neck, to look into his eyes.

"Ti amo."

Julian gripped my hand, and broke through my episode of reminiscing. For the longest time, we stayed next to each other in thoughtful, peaceful silence. It was hard to separate dreams and reality, when, for the time being, they were exactly the same.

After another hour of listening to each other breathe, we turned the television on and found a movie to watch. Somehow, by whatever grace may have been, three more hours ticked by, and I stood to stretch in the aisle of the cabin. On one of the empty seats ahead of us, Julian had placed our shared duffel bag. From under piles of clothes, I retrieved my notebook and customized pen—the set that Julian had given to me for Christmas—and sat at the wooden table by the television.

At first, I didn't know what I should write. I looked at my surroundings for inspiration, and found everything I needed. Though the private plane was beautiful, there was nothing more breathtaking than the subject of my decided letter.

Dear Julian,

As I write this, you're laughing hysterically at Monty Python. We are on a private jet to an unknown destination. Well, unknown to me, at least. But I'm more than okay with that, because I'd go anywhere in the world with you. I wanted my first page in this notebook to be a letter to you, the only man I'll ever love. You will never see this, but still. There are a few things I want to say to "you."

"What are you doing?" he interrupted my train of thought and tried to look at the paper while I scribbled words onto the clean, bright pages.

"Writing, what else?" I covered the mostly blank sheet with one cupped palm.

"I'm not allowed to see?" he teased, twirling a thick strand of my hair around his finger.

"Nope." I smiled.

"Alright, I will leave you be. For now," he yielded. "Shall I turn the television off? Is the volume bothering you?"

"Not at all. Leave it on." My fingers traced the top left corner of the paper pad, waiting for him to return to a seat.

When he finally did, I finished my private letter, proudly decorated on the first page. To me, it always felt better to put something down, anything really. Any words, no matter how cluttered and unrefined, were better than no words at all. The black ink dirtied the paper in the best possible way, and the first imperfect sheet called for more like it. I found it easier to continue writing that way, and couldn't wait to do so.

After carefully returning the notepad to the bottom of the duffel bag, I quietly plopped back down next to Julian. His eyes were loosely closed, mouth was slightly open, and light snores were emanating from him. I considered the fact that I had never seen him look so serene before. Doing my best not to wake him, I curled up into a ball on the seat next to his, and ever so softly rested my head on his relaxed shoulder. If I could just take a nap, my ears would stop popping, I thought, and we'd be closer to wherever the hell he was taking us.

...

"Brooke," my favorite voice spoke to me softly. "Baby, wake up. We're almost there."

I blinked my heavy eyelids and rubbed the corners, freeing them of sleeping sand.

"Almost where?" My voice was groggy. "How long have I been asleep?"

Julian ignored my first question. "Six hours or so."

"Six hours?" I shook my face, trying to fully wake up.

"Will you look out the window with me?" Julian begged. "Please?"

"Will I be afraid?" As I asked, he wrapped his arms around my ribs and pulled me up to my feet, barely giving me the chance to come to, on my own.

"I don't think you could be if you tried." He was incredibly giddy, especially for him. "I just peeked out the window myself, and it's really something else."

"Where are we?" I hugged him and steadied my wobbly legs.

"Do you remember the first time we video chatted?" He led me over to a window in the front row, and let me sink back down into the forgiving fabric.

"Of course I remember." I watched his fingers, which were steadily pulling up the window screen, centimeter by centimeter.

"You told me something that day. Do you remember what it was?" he interrogated with a grin.

"I told you tons of things that day." I shrugged, still too sleepy to think completely straight.

"You told me something specific." Light was entering the plane in small doses. "Something about where you'd like to go, if you could visit any place in the world."

Slowly, cognizance made my already-too-large brown eyes grow to double their size.

"No." I shook my head from side to side. "You didn't."

Julian opened the window screen completely, exposing a glittering island in the near distance. "I did. Christmas in the Maldives sound okay to you?"

I frantically gazed out the window, overlooking the sparkling azure waters of the Indian Ocean, and made out the numerous coral atolls below, encircled by the whitest sand. Though I desperately tried to speak, I couldn't make a sound. My lungs and heart were exerting themselves, through my silent hysteria and disbelief.

"Brooke?" He sat next to me, scooting closer to watch me gawk out the window.

"I..." Though my mind tried to unscramble itself, it was having a difficult time piecing the puzzle of words together.

"Are you happy, baby?" He kissed my shoulder and laughed. "It's officially the morning of Christmas Eve now."

That did it for me somehow, and I threw my arms around Julian, locking him to my chest. "Merry Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, beautiful." He stroked my back in slow, deep circles. "And happy six months, officially."

I pulled back to stare at his face, wondering how he could be wishing me a happy anniversary if we weren't together. Instead of questioning it, I embraced his choice of words.

"Happy six months." I felt a tear travel in squiggly lines down my cheek, before falling onto my lips.

...

"This won't take too long," Julian promised me. From the Malé airport, we boarded a chartered boat to reach our resort, which was located on the Dhaalu Atoll.

As the quiet propellers pushed us forward, warm wind whipped through our hair, and I peeked over the edge of the boat to the crystal clear waters below.

"I don't know how you pulled this off." I tousled his already messy hair. "I'm fairly certain this is all a dream."