both of us a huge set of headphones before putting on his set. The headphones allow the pilot to speak to us over the noise, and I smile, looking forward to having my curiosity quenched. I’m assuming there’s more to this surprise than a swicked ride.
Maybe the pilot will have to inform traffic control of our destination. A hysterical giggle tries to bubble up, but I swallow it whole.
I keep waiting for the guy to mention our destination, but he remains silent and the helicopter starts rising.
I glance over at Oliver in surprise and finding him smiling. "You didn't think I'd slip up that easily, did you?" He speaks so confidently, causing my lips to mash into a crooked smile. Drat! "Really, Kayla, I'm a clever fellow. Give me a little more credit."
I lean back in the seat, resigned to sit back and enjoy the surprise. I'm quickly distracted by watching the pilot and intrigued as the tall buildings of London transform into open green fields and pastures, dotted with sheep and separated by low stone walls.
England is a truly beautiful place. A small wave of remorse washes over me as I realize how little of it I've seen or experienced.
In the distance, a huge set of buildings rises out of the open landscape and the chopper—because it makes me feel badass to call it that—starts to slow and lose altitude. The mere sight of it has me pressing my face as close as I can to the glass so I can look.
It's. A. Freaking. Castle. A real-life castle, the kind where medieval kings and queens should live.
We land in a large grassy area right next to the castle. I'm so excited I'm practically vibrating and I finally turn to face Oliver. His sapphire eyes sparkle with amusement and he reaches out to squeeze my hand, pleased I'm so excited.
“Best surprise ever!” I reach over, shake his arm, and squee.
"Welcome to Thornbury Castle," he says, sweeping an arm around me as we climb out of the helicopter and stand on the grass.
The castle and grounds look so much like something you'd see in a movie, I can't believe I'm really here. The blue sky stretches out forever behind the moss-covered stones of the castle walls. Birds circle the innumerable collection of tiny chimneys along the roofline, carrying twigs for nests, and I hear the cheerful chirping of tiny little baby birds.
We walk hand in hand into a manicured courtyard through a main entrance complete with arrow slits and an iron portcullis. Tiny cottage-style gardens peek out from pots and corners of the courtyard. A circle driveway separates the courtyard from a grassy area where guests sit at tiny white tables drinking tea from honest-to-God silver tea services carried out on huge trays.
A man in a black sweater and trousers comes out to greet us with a huge smile on his face.
"Mr. Jackson, it's good to finally meet you. I'm Liam, the concierge. Follow me, please." He leads us to a huge wooden door with scrolled iron decoration and opens it for us.
When we walk in it's like stepping into the past. We walk into a high-ceilinged library. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in golden rays of light and illuminate tiny reading nooks recessed into the windows. Lush velvet drapes hang to the sides of each nook, giving the illusion of privacy.
A full bar and a bartender stand at one end of the room. On the opposite wall is a door leading to a reception desk. Oliver follows the concierge through the room to check in, while I turn in circles, trying to see everything at once.
I don't know what to look at first—the antique upholstered furniture, the painted portraits, the fresh-cut flowers on every surface, or the elaborate rugs on the floor. I flop down on a leather couch overwhelmed by all the things around me.
A few minutes later, a hand touches my shoulder and I jump about a mile. “Oliver!” I swat at him. I was so lost in the splendor of the room that I didn’t hear him approach.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," Oliver says with a
Maybe the pilot will have to inform traffic control of our destination. A hysterical giggle tries to bubble up, but I swallow it whole.
I keep waiting for the guy to mention our destination, but he remains silent and the helicopter starts rising.
I glance over at Oliver in surprise and finding him smiling. "You didn't think I'd slip up that easily, did you?" He speaks so confidently, causing my lips to mash into a crooked smile. Drat! "Really, Kayla, I'm a clever fellow. Give me a little more credit."
I lean back in the seat, resigned to sit back and enjoy the surprise. I'm quickly distracted by watching the pilot and intrigued as the tall buildings of London transform into open green fields and pastures, dotted with sheep and separated by low stone walls.
England is a truly beautiful place. A small wave of remorse washes over me as I realize how little of it I've seen or experienced.
In the distance, a huge set of buildings rises out of the open landscape and the chopper—because it makes me feel badass to call it that—starts to slow and lose altitude. The mere sight of it has me pressing my face as close as I can to the glass so I can look.
It's. A. Freaking. Castle. A real-life castle, the kind where medieval kings and queens should live.
We land in a large grassy area right next to the castle. I'm so excited I'm practically vibrating and I finally turn to face Oliver. His sapphire eyes sparkle with amusement and he reaches out to squeeze my hand, pleased I'm so excited.
“Best surprise ever!” I reach over, shake his arm, and squee.
"Welcome to Thornbury Castle," he says, sweeping an arm around me as we climb out of the helicopter and stand on the grass.
The castle and grounds look so much like something you'd see in a movie, I can't believe I'm really here. The blue sky stretches out forever behind the moss-covered stones of the castle walls. Birds circle the innumerable collection of tiny chimneys along the roofline, carrying twigs for nests, and I hear the cheerful chirping of tiny little baby birds.
We walk hand in hand into a manicured courtyard through a main entrance complete with arrow slits and an iron portcullis. Tiny cottage-style gardens peek out from pots and corners of the courtyard. A circle driveway separates the courtyard from a grassy area where guests sit at tiny white tables drinking tea from honest-to-God silver tea services carried out on huge trays.
A man in a black sweater and trousers comes out to greet us with a huge smile on his face.
"Mr. Jackson, it's good to finally meet you. I'm Liam, the concierge. Follow me, please." He leads us to a huge wooden door with scrolled iron decoration and opens it for us.
When we walk in it's like stepping into the past. We walk into a high-ceilinged library. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in golden rays of light and illuminate tiny reading nooks recessed into the windows. Lush velvet drapes hang to the sides of each nook, giving the illusion of privacy.
A full bar and a bartender stand at one end of the room. On the opposite wall is a door leading to a reception desk. Oliver follows the concierge through the room to check in, while I turn in circles, trying to see everything at once.
I don't know what to look at first—the antique upholstered furniture, the painted portraits, the fresh-cut flowers on every surface, or the elaborate rugs on the floor. I flop down on a leather couch overwhelmed by all the things around me.
A few minutes later, a hand touches my shoulder and I jump about a mile. “Oliver!” I swat at him. I was so lost in the splendor of the room that I didn’t hear him approach.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," Oliver says with a
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