As boarding starts, I hang back, making sure Bella doesn’t catch sight of me. I let other passengers push ahead, blending into the line, my cap pulled low, my expression carefully blank.
I watch her from a distance as she wrangles bags and soothes her daughter, still so damn beautiful it almost hurts. She looks tired, but strong. The years changed her—maybe more than they changed me.
One thing hasn’t changed, though—the way just being near her makes me want everything I’m not supposed to want.
As I hand my ticket to the attendant and step onto the plane, I make a silent promise—I’m going to get answers.
I wait until the last possible minute to board, giving her a head start. The jet bridge is all fluorescent lights and hushed conversation, a cocoon of anticipation before the long haul to New York.
The moment I step into the plane, the noise dulls to a hush. First class here isn’t just a seat—it’s a small world of its own. The suite cabins are partitioned by sliding doors, each space fitted with leather, soft gray textiles, champagne flutes already gleaming on side tables. Lights glow golden and dim, the scent of something floral drifting on air-conditioned breeze. Privacy, comfort, money well spent.
I scan the aisle and spot her immediately. Bella is struggling with her carry-on, half pushing a stroller that keeps catching on the plush carpet. The little girl clings to her hand, head drooping with exhaustion. They’re in 2A—across the aisle from my assigned 2B.
She looks flustered, mumbling an apology as she bumps an armrest and tries to collapse the stroller one-handed. I can’t help but smirk; some things never change. She always hated asking for help. A flight attendant quickly swoops in, stowing her luggage and offering her a warm, reassuring smile.
Bella finally sinks into her seat, her daughter curled up beside her. For a moment, she just closes her eyes, one hand pressed over her own chest, breathing deep. I watch, unseen behind the tinted glass of my suite’s door, letting myself take in the details—her jawline, the arch of her brow, the soft shape of her lips.
I could stay hidden. But I don’t want to.
I step out of my suite, smooth and quiet, and cross the narrow aisle. She doesn’t notice me at first—not until I speak, my voice low but unmistakable.
“Long day?”
Her eyes snap open and lock on mine. For a split second, she’s silent. Then her pupils go wide, shock and memory blooming across her face. Her lips part in surprise—no sound escapes.
“Hello, Isabella,” I say softly.
And for a moment, time collapses between us.
Her eyes are huge, startled, and for a split second, I’m certain she wants to bolt. But Bella has never been the type to run from a challenge. She squares her shoulders, lifts her chin, and gives me that crooked half smile I remember too well.
“Hello, Aleksander.”
“Do you fly first class often?” I tease, glancing pointedly at the champagne and the plush seat behind her.
She shakes her head, the corner of her mouth quirking up. “First time, actually. I keep waiting for someone to tell me I’m in the wrong section.”
I lean in, lowering my voice conspiratorially. “If you are, we’ll just tell them you’re my guest.”
She laughs, and the sound does something to my chest. She’s even cuter than I remember—her hair falling in loose waves, cheeks flushed, legs barely touching the floor under the oversized seat.
“Huh,” I say, pretending to consider. “You didn’t…pull any strings to get upgraded, did you?”
She narrows her eyes, instantly suspicious. “Don’t tell me you did it.”
I widen my eyes, feigning innocence. “Me? Sabotage an airline’s booking system just to see you again? I’d never abuse my powers for personal gain.”
Her lips twitch, but she holds my gaze, chin tipped up stubbornly even though I easily tower over her in the aisle. “That sounds exactly like something you’d do, Mr. Antonov.”
I can’t help but grin. “Well, you always did have a knack for getting into trouble, Isabella. I’m just here for quality control.”
She snorts, half amusement, half disbelief. “And here I thought nobody could care less about my existence.”
I’m unable to stop the slow, genuine smile pulling at my mouth. She blushes, glancing away, but I can see the warmth blooming in her cheeks.
God, I’ve missed this—the push and pull, the spark in her eyes, the way she makes me forget everything else. For the first time in days, I almost feel like myself again.
She tries to keep things light, but I see the way she glances away, the nerves in her fingers as she fiddles with the edge of her blanket. Cute. But I remember how fast she vanished, and bitterness still simmers underneath the heat.
