Page 94 of Queen of Nothing

I’m first inside.

And I falter.

I knew it wasn’t the same jet as before I ran. The sheer size of it gave it away.

But I didn’t expect it to be on this level.

I’m faced with a marble staircase that spirals up to the second floor.

To my left is a thick glass sliding door, and beyond it, a commercial kitchen.

Staff move around in there. I only count three, but they are all dressed in kitchen attire, with striped pants and proper shirts and aprons. The chef is identifiable by the white hat on his head.

I look to the sliding glass door on my right—and beyond it, there is a sort of lounge area, with a curved leather sofa and two armchairs.

Oliver’s smooth, quiet voice comes from behind me, “Come on.”

He moves around me, and just stepping near the door, it slides open automatically.

He leads the way through the lounge, and down a generously sized corridor that’s flanked by windows overlooking the airport on my right, and on my left, closed doors that lead to enclosed rooms.

The corridor goes on too long for a private plane. It’s the sort of extravagance Father always said was too obnoxious.

But for whatever reason, in the past three years, that changed.

The corridor ends where a large room begins.

This is nothing like the old jet.

This is a living room.

Long sofas line the left wall, and on the other are lush armchairs are bolted in place.

The sheer amount of space is startling.

Oliver stops, looks over his shoulder, and Mr Younge must be close behind me, because there’s nothing gentle about the way Oliver considers me.

“This way,” he says, then leads me down the living area to the end of the couches.

And it’s like a jet of cashmere and silk is gliding over me with every step I take down the Brazilian Walnut flooring, all the way to the privately situated armchairs at the back.

Oliver understands my need to hide.

To be tucked away in the corner while the entire party is angry with me.

He gestures to the sliding door—but this one isn’t glass. “The bathroom is through there.”

I nod, because I can’t find words.

I can’t find the words to speak to my brother, my twin, and I can’t find them for the sheer grandiosity of this plane, either.

Oliver leaves me, and heads back to the spacious living area as the others start to file in.

I avoid the stares that flicker my way and consider the two armchairs angled towards each other.

I take the one in the corner, giving me a full view of the entire lounge, the couches, the corridor, and the corner bar.

I consider the bar, from the black marble to the gold trim, the reinforced glass cases lined with crystal tumblers and decanters, and I think I could do with a strong drink right about now.