Thursday evening came around quickly, and soon they were driving to the airport in Zurich to catch their eleven p.m. flight.
After locking Maz up, Julien stroked her bonnet. “Sorry I’m not allowed to bring you, girl.”
Darcy hooked her arm around his and dragged him away.
At the very last moment at the check-in booth, Julien realised a slight oversight of his, and reached out to snatch Cinn’s ticket off the counterbefore Cinn did. Three days ago, Cinn insisted he pay Julien for his flight tickets, so Julien made up some random figure that probably wouldn’t even cover an economy seat, let alone the business-class seat he’d purchased for him. When he’d lied to Cinn about the price, he’d forgotten it would be printed on his boarding pass.
But hell would freeze over before they travelled economy.
“I’ll keep hold of it for you,” he told Cinn who, understandably, shot him a confused look.
As they battled their way through throngs of passengers, Cinn became more and more miserable, looking up at the numerous signposts for various gates with wide eyes.
Julien supposed he’d bypassed the many necessary airport steps when he’d flown on Viktor Sturmhart’s private jet with Eleanor. “They’re going to X-ray our bags now,” he explained to Cinn as they entered the security section.
“I’m not a fucking idiot,” Cinn snarled. “I know how airports work.”
Darcy and Elliot snickered and nudged Julien with their elbows.
“I can’t wait for the live demonstration of how to fasten a seatbelt in a minute,” Elliot said.
“Well this serves me right for making a conscious effort to be nice,” Julien mumbled.
Elliot had somehow brought with him three different carry-on bags, each containing a different illicit item that had to be confiscated. He waved goodbye to his pocket knife, a box of straight razors, and, curiously, an aerosol can of spray paint.
“Honestly, I can’t take you lot anywhere,” huffed Darcy.
Once they reached their gate, Darcy and Elliot beelined straight for the business-class funnel, bypassing the large crowds. Cinn slowed, gawking at all the hundred-odd economy passengers queueing miserably until Julien pressed the small of his back to hurry him along.
Cinn looked between the busy queue and Darcy and Elliot, who were already through the barrier, frowning. “I need my ticket now,” he said. His clenched jaw spelled trouble.
“Don’t be mad,” Julien said, throwing the ticket at him, then sprinted towards the inspection desk before Cinn could explode at him. He turned to find Cinn’s mouth slightly ajar as he studied the ticket.
“You absolute—” Cinn stumbled with his words, turning bright red, which made Julien laugh, which made Cinn even angrier.
“You’ll thank me when strangers aren’t coughing on you and babies aren’t screaming in your ear,” he shouted, slipping past the barrier to join Darcy and Elliot.
After literally dragging Cinn up the boarding stairs, they followed a friendly attendant to their seats, two pairs of seats opposite each other. Julien gestured for Cinn to take the window seat before throwing himself down next to him. Cinn pulled the blinds down on the two nearest windows.
“Those need to stay open for take-off and landing,” Elliot said, taking the seat facing Cinn. “It’s going to be pitch black, anyway.”
Cinn reopened them miserably.
Darcy patted her hand luggage. “Are you sure you don’t want anything, Cinn? To help you relax? Completelymedicinal,I swear.”
“No. I’ve told you before, I don’t takeanything.” He squirmed, before adding in a low voice, eyes downcast, “I used to self-medicate using whatever I could to try to stop my… episodes. “I’ve seen first hand what a slippery path that could be. I’ll be fine. I’ll just try to sleep throughout the entire flight.”
A shred of guilt pierced Julien at his discomfort. He’d basically forced Cinn onto this plane. Although, Cinnhadsuggested he would love to visit Paris on the night they’d met… Hadn’t he? Sort of?
“What?” said Cinn, staring at Elliot, who did have a peculiar, distant look on his face.
“Sorry. It’s just… Béatrice always sat there when we used this airline. She was always opposite me, next to Julien.”
“Should I swap with one of you?” Cinn asked.
Sarcasm or genuine question?
That line of enquiry quickly disintegrated, however, with Cinn’s growing panic. Evidently, he hadn’t exaggerated his fear of flying. As his eyes darted between the window and the growing number of passengers taking their seats, Cinn’s leg tapped out morse code for SOS loudly against the floor. He pressed his fists to his head.
