Chapter Fourteen: The Dream
She was sitting at the head of a long oak table, wearing a slinky ivory-colored dress. Rubies and diamonds hung from her ears and throat, and her hair had been swept up on top of her head. She looked beautiful. Regal. Wealthy. Unlike herself. He was at her side, looking gorgeous and elegant in a tux, and when she looked at him, he smiled and took her hand.
"I'm so proud of you, sweetheart," he said. It was only when he brought her hand to his lips that she noticed the large, square-cut diamond that rested on her ring finger right above a gold wedding band. She smiled at him, unsure how they'd gotten there, but feeling at once that all their dreams had come true. They were together, and surely they'd accomplished what they'd set out to do.
It was only when she looked to her other side that she realized that might not be the case, for it was then that she noticed her mother, positively beaming at her. "I knew this day would come, darling," she purred. "I knew that one day I'd be able to trust you with the keys to my kingdom."
"Sydney? Sydney, darling?" She looked over at Michael, but to her surprise, the voice didn't seem to be coming from him. "Wake up, sleeping beauty."
Sydney's eyes fluttered open, and she gasped as she looked up into the face of David Sark. "Where the hell am I?"
"On the plane," he said, irritation clouding his handsome features. "And the pilot's preparing for landing, so I'd suggest you fasten your seatbelt."
Sydney did as she was told, still feeling more than a little disoriented. "I think I just dreamed I was in charge of my mother's organization," she breathed.
Sark smirked. "Well, that's probably not an entirely unrealistic dream, darling," he said. "Though I don't see it happening any time soon. You must win your mummy's trust first."
Sydney took a deep breath, leaning back against her seat. How could she explain to him that she didn't want to rule her mother's organization, she wanted to shatter it to pieces? Well, that was simple. She couldn't.
"You know, your mother knows that you're willful, and she senses that your intentions for coming to her might not be pure," Sark told her. "But she's quite certain that eventually you'll realize that it's much nicer to work for her than against her."
Sydney closed her eyes, picturing herself as she'd been in the dream. Rich. Happy. No. She had to keep her eyes on the prize here. But Michael-- in the dream, hadn't he said that he was proud of her? How could he ever be proud of someone who was the epitome of everything he despised?
"So, your mother's briefed you on the mission, I presume," Sark said.
"Sure," Sydney said, barely glancing at him. "Quick smash and grab."
Sark frowned. "It's a little more involved than that, dear."
Sydney fixed a glare on him. "Of course I know that," she snapped. "Don't question my abilities."
"I don't believe I did anything of the sort," Sark said, raising his eyebrows. "A little touchy, aren't we?"
"Just never mind," Sydney muttered, folding her arms in front of her and wishing, for the millionth time, that it was Michael who sat beside her.
Of course Sark didn't realize that . Of course he wasn't about to let them spend the remainder of their flight in silence. "So," he said, a cool smile playing about his lips. "My Brooke took quite a liking to your Michael at your mother's little party."
Sydney closed her eyes again, willing herself not to get upset. After all, Michael had been at her side in the dream. That had to count for something. "Is that supposed to worry me?" she asked Sark coolly.
"Oh, I thought it might," he said with a shrug. "If you value your relationship with Michael, it should. Brooke always gets what she wants."
"It's pretty clear how much you value your relationship with Brooke, if you can discuss this so casually," Sydney shot back.
Sark let out a short, mirthless laugh. "I don't know who led you to believe I'm in love with Brooke," he said. "I fuck her when I want. A lot of men have the pleasure."
"She sounds lovely," Sydney said dryly.
Sark only smiled. "You've seen her," he said. "Not that she compares to you, of course."
Sydney frowned. "Haven't we landed yet?" she snarled. "I want to get this mission the hell over with."
"So you can get home and baby-sit your little boyfriend?" Sark smirked. "Let me give you a tip, Sydney. A man doesn't like to be kept on such a short leash."
"Thanks for the advice," Sydney snapped. "When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it."
"Very well, princess." God, was the smirk on Sark's face permanent, or what? "But don't come crying to me when Brooke lures your Michael into bed. Or on second thought--" He let his hand graze over her thigh; she quickly pushed it away. "You can cry to me if you want to."
It was all Sydney could do to keep from vomiting. Instead she just sat there, hoping against hope that Michael would do as she asked, and be good until she got back to him again.
