Inside, the jet feels like any other—polished surfaces, quiet air, everything exactly where it should be. I’ve been in rooms like this since I could walk straight; there’s nothing worth noticing. But Kira’s jaw almost drops, and that draws my attention. For me, it’s routine. For her, it’s another world.
Kira hesitates on the steps, eyes flicking over the cabin before she follows us in. She tries to mask it, but I see the small tell—the quick inhale, the way her gaze lingers on the seats like she’s measuring how much she doesn’t belong here.
“Sit near the back,” I tell Calina and Milana. The jet’s fitted with two long couches facing each other, and they claim one immediately. Their laughter fills the cabin like background noise I’ve learned to tune out.
I turn to Kira and gesture toward the wide seat opposite the aisle, more like a couch than a chair, soft cream leather with too much space between us. “Here.”
She gives me a look, half amused, half resigned.
“Of course I will.” But she sits, tucking her legs neatly, pretending not to notice how close I am.
The belt clicks. Her fingers tremble, just barely. I catch the change in her breathing as the engines start to wake—the subtle tightening in her shoulders, the crease between her brows when she tries to hide it.
“Scared of flying?” I ask.
“No,” she lies. “Just not used to flying in something this… small.”
“You’ll be fine,” I tell her, though her grip on the armrest says otherwise. When the engines spool higher, she tenses. Without thinking, I reach across and ease her fingers loose, my hand closing over hers.
“Don’t hold on too tight,” I murmur. “It makes it worse.”
Her skin is warm, soft against my palm. I should pull back sooner than I do. When I finally let go, her pulse is still racing, and for some reason, mine isn’t as steady as usual either.
Once we’re in the air, the clouds swallow the horizon. Calina unbuckles, stretching out across the sofa. Milana digs through a stack of magazines, already making herself at home.
I loosen my collar, the first real breath of ease I’ve had in days.
“So,” Milana says, flipping a page. “How did you propose, exactly?”
Kira nearly chokes on her coffee. “What?”
Milana grins. “You’re supposed to be engaged. I want details.”
I glance at Kira, curious how she’ll answer.
“Um,” she starts, “he didn’t really ask. It was more of a business arrangement.”
Milana gasps theatrically. “You mean he didn’t even get on one knee?”
“She didn’t give me the chance,” I say, the corner of my mouth lifting before I can stop it.
Kira shoots me a look. “You didn’t ask.”
“Details,” I reply, too easily.
Calina sighs. “Men.” She looks at Kira with that gentle, understanding smile she saves for everyone who crosses our path. “Don’t let him fool you. He plans everything.”
That earns me a sideways glance from Kira. “Did he plan this too? Bringing you both along?”
Milana answers first. “He didn’t want to leave us with Father.”
Calina’s tone is careful. “It’s better this way.”
The question in Kira’s eyes finds me before I can avoid it. I meet her stare for a beat, then turn away.
“He’s not… the warmest of fathers,” Milana says quietly.
I stand, pretending to check the small bar near the front, letting their voices fade behind me.
