Damon stared at me for a moment, seething. I nearly flinched. Obviously no-one had put him in his place before so crudely. Something about him looks intensely terrifying as I looked at him - it was as if something inside him wanted to come out.

"My beauty, I have done nothing. Have you thought that it may be yourself causing such alarm?"

I glared furiously at him. He only smirked back, amused at my reaction- but his eyes were as cold as winter.

But not all men do that urge thing...and to tell the truth, I was starting to get a little scared by what else this Damon guy could do. The way he looked at me before indicated that he was not a happy bunny, and all my senses were begging me to get away from him. But I didn't run away. Instead, I sat back in my chair, and ignored him.

You probably know why that didn't work.

"So, where were we?" his smooth voice said, and I immediately feel the reflex to punch him. Well, it's a reflex for me...

I tried my best to keep my mouth shut, clenching my teeth and willing for him to go away.

Any chance something might knock me unconscious for the rest of the flight? Er, no.

His laugh contained full humor, and since his mouth was next to my ear, his breath tickled my skin. I tried my best to ignore him, but it's hard: I wanted to punch him harder than I've ever wanted to harm anyone in my life.

"I believe, we were talking of the world. But that subject seems to have lost its taste now, don't you think? Let's concentrate on something happier... such as, what calls you to Florence?"

Ha, if I told him that maybe it would make the poker shoot out of his ass.

"Nothing," I say simply. I had been going to say 'for a holiday, hopefully I won't see you around,' but that would've ruined the rest of my flight. Happy thoughts, Ruby, happy thoughts.

"Really? I would've expected your parents to kick up a fuss for your going to Florence for 'nothing?" Damon said, that arrogant smirk plastered on his face.

"That is none of your business." I need to stop snapping back. What happens if he gets too angry?

"Hmm," Damon said, eyeing me suspiciously.

The guy next to him stirred, knocking the pull-down table in front of him slightly. My eyes darted to him, then back to Damon. I didn't like keeping my eyes of him; he seemed creepy, and I've always watched creepy people carefully. His black eyes followed my every move, and pretty soon I got tired of nobody talking - and just as I'm about to start another conversation- he speaks first.

"So, what would make your parents not care about your being in a different country?" Damon's voice is smooth, but I can detect a slight cold suspicion underneath.

Why won't he mind his own business?

"They're not nice people," I say coldly in a tone that indicates that the conversation is closed.

But he still wouldn't give up.

"Ah, the usual rebellion?" his entire face is amused: eyes, mouth, even nose.

At that point I grew really angry. How dare he assume anything about me? And how dare he assume that it was teenage troubles?! After all I'd been through: the horror, the beatings, the horrid control my dad used to have on me - to have it called something as normal as rebellion made me want to puke. My mother and I had never gotten on well either, and what made me sad more than anything was the fact that I've never known what it's like to have a real parent. A real mother who baked cookies instead of drinking and having sex: although she had grown out of her rebellious stage, those things had still remained even though she'd loved me. I had loved her so much, and she ran out on me.

That's family love for you. And the thing that pissed me off more than anything, was the sheer irony, as my mother was more rebellious than I was or ever will be.

"More than that, now mind your own business," I said furiously to the man and turned around to face the other way.

I could feel his anger at being spoken to like that, and for a second I was scared that he would hurt me, like my dad had done whenever he got angry, but no hit came. I could even feel his breath on my hair, making a few strands blow softly. My eyes just watched the tiny TV screen of the guy in the other aisle, trying my best to stop from looking at Damon - who was undoubtedly glaring at me.

After about a minute, I felt a quick swoosh of air on my hair, and I couldn't help but turn round sharply to look. Because of ignoring him, his beauty stunned me once again, making me take in the darkness of his eyes and hair more shockingly. His eyes were still cold, but there was something like... interest hidden in them? But before I could really take a look at him, the look was gone from his eyes.

"I'm sorry, this flight is increasingly boring," he said, smirking, but sounding genuine. I couldn't tell if he was being sincere or not. "Let's start over. I'm Damon Salvatore. And you are...?" he gestured for me to input my name.

"Ruby Barioni," I said, giving him my real name. Nobody would be able to find me now I was halfway across the Atlantic, and my dad and I didn't have the same name anyway, since my parents were never married.

"Barioni? I thought you were from England?" his eyebrows rose in surprise.

"My granddad was Italian, the name got passed down," I explained.