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The attendant glides down the aisle, her practiced smile firmly in place as she refills glasses and jots down orders. Mikhail’s attention shifts from his phone to her as she nears, his voice smooth and commanding. “Another glass of the Château Margaux, please.”
I glance at the deep red wine in his glass, intrigued. “Is it good?”
He tilts the glass slightly, the liquid catching the light. “It’s excellent. You should try it.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I say. “Wine and nerves don’t always mix well.”
He raises an eyebrow, his smirk returning. “I promise, this will relax you more than that water ever could.”
Curiosity gets the better of me. “All right. Let’s see what all the fuss is about.” I gesture toward Mikhail’s glass. “I’ll have one of those, please.”
She hesitates, her eyes flicking between me and Mikhail, before she says, “I’m afraid we’re all out of the Château Margaux.”
The lie is so transparent I can practically see through it. I ignore the slight smirk on her face. I’m not sure why she hates me. Just because I’m sitting next to a hot guy? That’s really shallow. But before I can protest, Mikhail picks up his glass and hands it to me. “Have mine.”
I blink at him. “What? No, I can’t?—”
“You can,” he interrupts, his voice low. His gray eyes lock onto mine, daring me to argue. “I insist.”
I hesitate a little before taking it from him, the stem cool against my fingertips. Mikhail leans back in his seat, watching me with an intensity that makes my pulse quicken. I lift the glass to my lips, feeling the heat of his gaze as I take a small sip.
The wine is smooth and rich, warming me from the inside out. But it’s not the taste that lingers—it’s the intimacy of the moment, the way his eyes follow every movement, as if he’s savoring the experience just as much as I am.
“Well?” he asks, his voice barely above a murmur.
“It’s…amazing,” I admit, my voice softer than I intended.
“Good.” His lips curve into a faint smile, but his gaze remains locked on mine, making me acutely aware of the glass still in my hand.
I swallow, trying to find something—anything—to break the tension. “I can see why you like it.”
“I’m glad you took mine,” he says, and I can practically feel my pussy clenching. Jesus.
Before I can respond, the plane shudders beneath us. My fingers tighten instinctively around the glass, and Mikhail takes it back, setting it safely on his tray table.
“It’s just turbulence,” he says, his voice calm, but the flicker of concern in his eyes tells me he’s watching closely.
The turbulence worsens, the plane jerking hard enough to elicit startled gasps from the other passengers. The seat belt sign flashes on, and the pilot’s voice crackles over the intercom, instructing everyone to remain seated.
My hands grip the armrests, my knuckles white as I focus on my breathing. But the turbulence doesn’t ease—it gets worse. A sudden jolt sends a flight attendant stumbling, her tray of drinks crashing to the floor. Overhead compartments creak ominously, and a suitcase tumbles out, narrowly missing a passenger.
The screams start then, sharp and panicked, and my heart feels like it’s trying to claw its way out of my chest.
“Lila.” Mikhail’s voice pulls me back, firm and steady despite the chaos around us. His hand covers mine, grounding me. “Look at me.”
I do, my breathing ragged. “This isn’t normal. This isn’t?—”
“Breathe,” he says, his tone unshakable. “You’re safe.”
The plane jolts again, harder this time, and my body tenses. “How can you be so calm?”
“Because panicking won’t help.” His grip tightens slightly, his touch a strange comfort in the chaos. “I’m here. Nothing will happen to you.”
A loud bang echoes through the cabin as another compartment bursts open, scattering bags and coats. More screams fill the air, and I can feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.
“I don’t—I don’t like this,” I manage.
“I know,” he says softly. His free hand moves to my cheek, guiding my gaze back to him. “But I won’t let anything happen to you. Do you understand me?”