From the clean carpeting underfoot to the buttery leather of the chairs I stroked as we walked past them, to the glassy wood trim on every surface and the brushed steel accents glittering in the subtle lighting, I tried to not look like a gawping hick.
It was all so pretty, so luxurious, so absolutely decadent.
I would have said I felt bad about it, but it seemed like I felt bad about anything that wasn't as plain, simple, and cheaply made as possible.
I needed to think about that.
My life was going to be very different for the next year, evidently. Probably. I really should figure out a relative standard of luxury to feel bad about.
Nicolai sighed so deeply he almost had a rattle in his chest. I thought it was with relief, maybe at seeing the comfortable-looking beds made up for us that I just wanted to collapse on, but he said, “I guess we’ll be roughing it for this trip. Next time, I’ll show you what flying private is properly like.”
“What?My dude, this is amazing. I don’t think I’ve even seen anything like this,ever,even on HBO.”
I didn’t grow up with HBO. I still didn’t subscribe to it in my tiny no-frills apartment. Some of my friends had HBO when I was in high school, and I’d watched a few episodes of those series about the upper-upper-upperclass when I’d stayed over at their houses.
That was where I got my information about how rich people lived, via other people’s premium streaming services, because I couldn’t even afford to pay for the electrons to watch it on my own.
Nico had wandered farther into the plane while I was still staring with my tongue hanging out (not literally) at the private plane. He opened a closet at the back.
Leaning my head to the side, I could see garment bags hanging in neat rows from a clothes bar.
“Good, “he muttered. “Our luggage arrived from Billionaire Sanctuary. At least some things work the way they are supposed to.”
I joined him at the back and poked him in the side. “Are you really complaining about not having a stewardess on this flight?”
“Just grumbling. I used to maintain a flight crew and personal staff, but with the regulations about mandated rest and maximum flight times, it was just easier to get a service that supplies contract employees. However, it means one does not have one’s own people at hand.”
At that, I jabbed my fingers into Nicolai’s white silk vest and his ribs under his tuxedo jacket.
I’d half-expected him to not react at all, maybe raise one wry eyebrow at my silly attempt at tickling him, but the tsar’s heir-apparent, Nicolai Petrovich Romanov, skittered sideways, crunched his elbows against his sides, and giggled like a maniac.“Don’t!”
An announcement came over the PA system, but we couldn’t hear the two women’s voices directly because the cockpit door was firmly closed. “Prepare the cabin for takeoff, to the best of your ability. You should sit down and secure any drinks you might have. We’ll be quiet the rest of the flight to let you two sleep.”
I held my fingers out like claws in front of me. “You’reticklish.”
“I amnot.You just surprised me.” But he didn’t lower his hands or stand up straight.
“Youare.”
“I’m not ticklish. I’ve never been ticklish in my life.”
I flinched at him with my hands extended. He turned sideways and drew one knee up, and that was when I got around his defenses and drove my fingers into his ribs again.
“Dear God! Stop it, stop it,stop it!”
Consent and all that, so I drew back but left my hands in attack position. “You’reticklish.I think you’re the most ticklish adult I’ve ever seen.”
“How was I supposed toknowthat?”
“What do you mean,know that?If somebody tickles you and it tickles, you’re ticklish.”
“No one’s ever tickled me before!”
I dropped my hands and straightened.
Oh God, Nicolai’s parents had been dead since he was twelve, and he grew up in a boarding school. He didn’t have any close relatives, and maybe a Swiss boarding school wasn’t a tickle zone. “Has no one ever tickled you before?”
He stopped laughing and put his hands down, regarding me warily. “Oh, you got sad. Why did you get sad? What did I say this time?”
