Page 67 of Reign

Let her decide whether she meant it.

Then I close the laptop.

Chapter 13

Elena

First class should make commercial travel feel less offensive.

It does not.

I sit beside the window with my legs crossed, a blanket folded over my lap, and a glass of sparkling water sweating on the little tray in front of me like it has any right to be this calm. Beyond the oval window, clouds spread beneath the plane in thick white sheets, soft and endless and irritatingly peaceful. I should be on the private jet.

That’s not entitlement. That’s logistics.

My family owns enough aircraft, vehicles, safe houses, emergency routes, and morally questionable assets to move a small army across the country without touching a public airport. But apparently, when I decide to transfer schools and move home, Angelo suddenly discovers the value of consequences.

He could have sent the jet. He wanted to make a point, which is very Don Amato of him.

Beside me, Riot sits like he was built into the seat rather than placed there. Broad shoulders relaxed. One hand resting on the armrest. The other loosely holding a tablet he barely looks at because his attention keeps moving over the cabin.

Always assessing threats.

My phone buzzes in my lap. I snatch it up too quickly. Riot’s gaze shifts to my hand. I ignore him and unlock the screen. An email notification sits at the top.

University Registrar: Transfer Credit Evaluation Update

My stomach tightens. Finally.

I scan the message twice because bureaucracy has a special talent for making English look like a hostage note.

I’m approved.

My core business credits transferred, along with several fashion electives. One design lab still needs department review, but I’m officially finishing my degree back home.

A strange pressure loosens beneath my ribs. The next email welcomes me to the beginning of my new academic journey.

I almost laugh.

My phone buzzes again. This time, it’s a text.

Adriana

You have a place to stay when you get here. I took care of it.

I stare at the message. A place to stay. I read it twice, then snort softly.

Of course she did.

Angelo must have realized he was being dramatic and sent his pregnant wife to soften the landing. Or maybe Adriana took one look at whatever stubborn little morality play he was performing and decided to fix it because she has sense, even when she’s being nosy, infuriating, beautiful, and inconveniently kind.

I type back with one thumb.

If this means Angelo is letting me stay at the penthouse after all, tell him I accept his apology in the form of closet space.

The response comes almost immediately.

Adriana