Chapter 23
night flight
LEXI
Iheld Nicolai’s arm as we crossed the tarmac to the long, slim private jet airplane waiting to fly us and only us to Verona, Italy, which was a thing I would have bet entire paychecks on would never ever happen to me in my whole life.
The manager who’d greeted us when we’d walked into the private airport terminal half-skipped alongside Nicolai in her sensible, low-heeled black pumps and apologized over and over again to him.
“I am so sorry that we couldn’t find cabin staff for your flight.
We realize that it is a major inconvenience, and I do so appreciate your understanding in this matter. ”
“I called a mere four hours ago,” he said to her quietly, with a rueful tilt to his lips. “It’s fine.”
I trotted faster to keep up, which wasn’t easy considering that I was still wearing not-sensible stiletto heels that skidded on every pebble on the asphalt and the flowing white formal gown that swished around my legs.
“Nevertheless, on your future trips, we will make sure to have cabin staff standing by at all times.”
Nicolai was doing everything short of patting the lady’s hand to reassure her.
“According to the contract, twelve hours’ notice must be given before flights to ensure a full staff.
I greatly appreciate that you were able to accommodate us with the two pilots required for an overseas international flight on such short notice. ”
The woman glanced at me and made deep eye contact as if trying to enlist my support, but she didn’t need support.
Nicolai wasn’t mad. He wasn’t even irritated.
“The plane was, of course, cleaned when you landed a few days ago, so it is tidy. I did find staff so we could outfit it for overnight travel for two. I’m really sorry, Mr. Romanov.
I assure you that our flight services will make this right, somehow. ”
I smiled at her and shrugged, trying to show her that this really was not a big deal. I certainly wasn’t upset.
Nicolai looked like he just wanted to get on the plane and pass out. “Again, it’s not necessary to apologize. I imagine we will sleep most of the way to Verona, perhaps even through the refueling stop on the East Coast. It’s been a long day.”
Un-der-state-ment. I was so tired that the rough tarmac felt like it was undulating under my fragile sandals as I walked.
I’d changed back into my white bucket purse, tucking my wallet, passport, and that roll of cash inside, and left Clementine’s dainty little clutch with the other things to be delivered back to her at her hotel.
“We were able to prepare and stock the plane with beverages, snacks, and a cold meal, according to your dietary preferences. That will all be in the galley and waiting for you. Again, I am so sorry that we don’t have cabin staff available to serve.”
“Again, I appreciate your impressive efforts on our behalf on such extremely short notice.”
“And when you land at JFK, we’ll have a refresh crew ready to clean the plane there, and you can pick up a cabin staff for the leg across the Atlantic.”
“Again, I don’t think we’ll need a cabin staff at all. You’ve done very well with making sure we could take off on time.”
And thus it went all the way across the tarmac, under the wing, up the boarding stairs, and into the plane while we ducked inside.
The manager was still leaning into the plane's open door, apologizing and reassuring Nicolai, when a pilot came out of the cockpit and told her the plane needed to be ready to taxi and leave.
She still gave us apologetic glances as she turned and walked down the staircase.
The pilot wrestled the plane’s plug door into position and spun the center flywheel to lock it, checking her manicure afterward and winking at us before she went back into the cockpit and shut that door.
Thusly, I began my first flight on any airplane, ever.
I’d seen airplanes on TV, though.
I knew this was not what most airplanes looked like.
Most airplanes were jammed with seats way closer together than movie theater rows, with people trying to insert their legs between their seats and the back of the next high-backed chair in front of them.
This airplane had a long wooden table with four CEO-level office desk chairs around it, except that they were bolted to the floor. Beyond that, toward the tail part, two twin beds were pushed together and laid with crisp white sheets, fluffy pillows, and dark blue blankets.
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-upper class 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’re ticklish.”
“I am not. You just surprised me.” But he didn’t lower his hands or stand up straight.
“You are.”
“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’re ticklish. I think you’re the most ticklish adult I’ve ever seen.”
“How was I supposed to know that?”
“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?”
“No one’s ever tickled you.”
“I’m a serious person. People don’t tickle serious people.”
“Okay, the safe word is bananas. If you actually want me to stop, you say bananas.”
He dropped one eyebrow. “I am well aware of how safe words work. How do you know about them?”
“I read books, and you told me about red last night. Here I come!”
I jumped at him with my hands out, going for his ribs again.
“No, no, no! Oh, don’t. For the love of God, stop tickling me!”
I smashed him up against the cabinets in the galley kitchen, poking and grabbing his ribs and his back. “That’s not the safe word. You know how to use a safe word, don’t you?”
“I know how a safe word works! What I don’t know is whether you are also ticklish.”
Oh, shit.
Nicolai stopped protecting himself and dug his fingers into my ribs, where I was absolutely so ticklish that I shrieked, flipped around, and tried to get away.
He grabbed me around my waist and hauled me back against his chest, wrapping one arm around my middle to pin my butt against his hips and using the other to tickle me.
Waves of tickle rolled up my body, cramping my lungs until I couldn’t breathe, I was giggling so hard. I was laughing, slapping him, and telling him to stop, but I didn’t say “bananas” or “red.”
Just, “No-no-no, Jesus, Nicolai! Please, no. Please-no-please-no oh my God stop!”
I tried to tickle him back, but he was just so much bigger and stronger, with a longer reach, that I was completely ineffective until I grabbed his knee in a horse bite, and he staggered backward.
Luckily for me, the plane jerked under our feet and started rolling.
We crashed to the thin carpeting on the floor of the plane, missing anything that could’ve hurt us except that we landed tangled up in each other’s arms, and legs, and hair.
But I went to an American public school, and falling over didn’t even slow me down from spiraling in his arms like an enraged cat and tickle-attacking him again.
The pilots are listening.
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