I board the plane on the next day with the composure of someone who definitely didn't rethink all her life choices for three hours last night.
The picture of emotional stability, really.
If only you ignore the concealer I applied like war paint this morning.
Marina gives me her usual arctic nod as I pass through the galley, and I return it with a smile so bright it could power a small city.
Everything is fine. I am fine. This is just another day of serving expensive water to people who could buy my entire apartment building.
The pre-flight checklist becomes my religion. I count napkins like they hold the secrets of the universe and absolutely do not think about last night. Charlotte's perfectly manicured hands fisted in his shirt. Her lips on his. His hands on her hips.
I count the napkins again because apparently I've forgotten how numbers work.
"Floris."
His voice comes from directly behind me, and I nearly launch a champagne flute into orbit. I spin around, pressing my back against the galley counter because Maverick Finley has decided that personal space is a suggestion rather than a requirement.
He's close, too close perhaps, and his cologne wraps around me like an accusation.
"Mr. Finley." I keep my voice light. "Can I help you with something?"
"We need to talk about last night." His jaw is tight, those incredible green eyes searching my face as he takes a deep breath, suddenly pausing as if nervous before delivering next words. "What you saw… "
"You don't owe me any explanation, Mr. Finley."
I busy myself with rearranging bottles that don't need rearranging while looking around and making sure that there’s no one near to hear us.
"We have an arrangement, a business arrangement. What you do in your personal time is entirely your business, and I was clearly intruding on something private, so really, I should be apologizing…"
"Floris." His voice drops lower, rougher. "Look at me."
I don't want to. Looking at him hurts in ways I'm not supposed to feel, because this is an arrangement and I'm the idiot who forgot that somewhere between chess games and city walks and the warmth of his hand on my head.
But I look anyway, because mama didn’t raise a coward, and I’m great at self-sabotage.
"Is that what you think of me?" he asks, something vulnerable in his expression. "That I'm the kind of person who would make an agreement with you and then break it?"
Yes? No? I don’t really know.
He’s the one in power and the one who can make whatever decision he wants. Choose whoever he wants. And I’m the one who’s not supposed to catch her feelings or tell him what to do.
"I saw what I saw, and it looked pretty damning, but honestly? It's fine. We agreed on no genuine affection, right? No expectations. I was just... surprised. That's all."
"Just surprised." He repeats my words like they've personally offended him.
He opens his mouth to respond, but Marina appears in the galley doorway.
Her sharp eyes flick between us—noting the proximity, the tension. One eyebrow rises. "Pre-flight prep, Floris? We get off the ground in ten minutes."
"Of course." I slip past Maverick, my arm brushing against his chest.
The contact burns through my uniform, and I don't look back as I escape to the main cabin.
The flight passes in a blur of professional distance and stolen glances I pretend not to notice. After landing in Milan, I'm on the tarmac organizing luggage when I spot him—Maverick, standing near a black car with a woman I don't recognize.
She's elegant, slightly older, with the kind of sophisticated beauty that comes from expensive skincare and excellent genes.
Her hand rests on his arm with familiar ease after she kissed his cheek, laughing at something he said.
I don't wait to see more. I turn and walk away, because watching him with another woman twice in twenty-four hours might actually break something I can't afford to lose.
I'm halfway to the terminal fifteen minutes later when I realize I've left my bag on the plane.
Of course I did.
Because today is determined to torture me in every possible way.
I trudge back up the stairs, mentally composing a strongly worded letter to the universe, and I'm almost to the galley when I hear it. Moans. Rustling fabric. The unmistakable sounds of... activities. Sexual ones.
My blood runs cold when I realize that the sounds come from the rear compartment, and my brain immediately jumps to the worst conclusion.
Maverick. Another woman.
On the plane we just flew together.
I'm yanking the door open before rational thought can stop me… but it's not Maverick.
It's Marina—pressed against the wall by Captain Derek Shaw. His pilot's cap askew, her usually immaculate hair thoroughly disheveled while her knee hiked up to his waist. Both frozen mid-embrace like teenagers caught by parents.
Horrified eye contact. Three people processing catastrophic embarrassment simultaneously. I slam the door shut with short excuses and flee.
Marina finds me two minutes later in the galley with my bag, composure back in place, but something desperate lurking beneath the ice.
"You know the rules," she says, voice low and urgent. "Crew relationships are forbidden. Contract violation, grounds for immediate termination."
I blink at her, genuinely confused. "Okay?"
"So I need you to keep quiet about what you saw. Please. Derek and I… We've been careful, but if anyone finds out—"
"Marina." I hold up my hands. "I wasn't planning to tell anyone. Why would I? It's none of my business who you're... spending time with."
She pauses, clearly not expecting that response. The suspicion in her eyes wars with relief. "You're not going to use this against me?"
"Use it against you?" I laugh, though it comes out hysterical. "I literally walked in on you by accident. I was looking for my bag, I'm not some blackmail villain. I'm just trying to survive this job without causing any more international incidents."
She stares at me for a long moment, reassessing. "I... see."
We stand in an awkward silence for a moment as captain Derek emerges from the compartment, composure fixed and cap in place, leaving a jet with a short nod in our direction.
"So, is Derek sweet?" The question escapes before I can stop it. "How did you two even start? Was it romantic? Did he woo you with flight terminology? I bet he says things like 'you've got clearance for landing' and it's somehow charming—"
"Stop." Marina holds up a hand, but there's something almost human in her expression and her cheeks get an adorable shade of pink. "I'm not discussing this with you."
"Fair enough. But just so you know, I think it's kind of sweet. Forbidden love at thirty thousand feet and all. Very dramatic. Very romance novel."
Marina's jaw tightens, but when she speaks again, her voice is quieter. Less sharp. "Thank you. For not... making this difficult."
I shrug, offering her a small smile. "We all have our secrets, Marina. Yours is safe with me."
She nods once, then disappears into the crowd, leaving me standing alone with my retrieved bag and the strange realization that today has been somehow both terrible and oddly bonding.