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And yes, there are millions of things I will never experience because my life stopped being ordinary the moment I was born.
That does not automatically make me lazy, cruel, or undeserving of the opportunities I was given.
My family works hard.
We create things.
We employ people.
We build businesses that didn’t exist before us.
At least Allegra does all of that while remaining a kind human being. The jury is still out on me and Roman.
So, yes, I fly privately just so I don’t have to deal with cameras getting shoved in my face. Someone always wants a photo, a comment, or a piece of me I never agreed to give away.
Wealth has many advantages, and one of my favorites is not being trapped in a commercial flight with two hundred people who would inevitably find a way to tap-dance on my last nerve before takeoff.
“Good evening, Miss Volpe.”
I offer Yami, our usual flight attendant, a small nod as she steps aside and gestures toward the aircraft.
The huge black jet waits quietly on the runway with the Volpe crest gleaming beside the entrance beneath our family name painted across the fuselage in elegant gold lettering. It’s the same jet my family had used for most of our travels since I was a child. Fashion weeks. Summer holidays. Christmas vacations. Business trips.
“I hate flying,” Mika mutters as she walks ahead of me carrying our backpacks.
To this day, I still don’t understand how someone who despises airplanes ended up protecting a family that practically lives on them.
“You could’ve stayed home,” I point out. “Pedro would’ve covered for you.”
She snorts.“As if I’d leave you alone with that idiot.”
“He’s competent.”
“He’s exhausting.”
She’s right.
Pedro is ten times worse than a chirpy chihuahua on steroids.
I don’t tell her that, though.
Mostly because I’m irritated.
Not only because a nonstop flight awaits me, but also because I have no idea what I’m walking into. I’ve had exactly zero time to prepare, unlike every other modeling assignment I’ve ever accepted against my will.
All because I love my mother.
A fatal weakness.
If anyone else had asked, the answer would have been a hard no.
But Mom has perfected a method of persuasion that bypasses logic entirely and goes straight for the survival instinct.
It’s as irritating and as it is effective.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, pulling me away from my thoughts of Mom. I take it out, and Stevie’s face appears on the screen, courtesy of the screenshot she chose for her contact photo.
I frown. Why is she calling when she’s supposed to arrive any second now?
