Page 35 of Just for a Taste

T he inside of the private jet was nothing like I had expected, though I wasn’t certain what those expectations had been. Its exterior was relatively straightforward—a white, striped plane that resembled most of the commercial airplanes I had seen. The inside, however, could have easily been mistaken for a business meeting area. Directly in the middle of the room was an oval-shaped coffee table, bound to a carpeted floor with a gold-plated base. The walls were paneled in wood, combined with gold accents and bejeweled lights overhead. A partition almost entirely obscured the inner workings of the cockpit, save a small window showing the back of his head.

Behind me, Zeno ducked into the jet and placed a hand on the small of my back. I jumped at his cool touch, as I had made the mistake of wearing an open-backed dress—or at least that was the excuse I planned on giving, anyway, when I saw the frown on Zeno’s face after he shed his balaclava.

I rushed to sit in one of the chairs and buckled myself in immediately. Unable to access the portside chair beside me, Zeno sat on the opposite side of me.

“Not fond of flying, I take it?” he asked, placing a hand on my whitened knuckles.

That’s what I’ll tell myself , I thought, nodding to us both. That’s the only reason I feel sick and jumpy right now.

Zeno scowled and grumbled to himself, “I knew I should have taken a larger jet for less turbulence.”

Despite myself, I laughed and turned my hand to grasp his fingers. “Pfft. Spoken like a true plutocrat. I’m pretty sure I would get lost on anything larger.”

He chuckled and gave me a sideways glance, a combination that never ceased to make my heart skip a beat, then rested his chin on his free hand and stared out the window. “We couldn’t have that, could we?” he mused.

“Yeah. If I went missing, you’d get even more mopey.”

“I am not mopey,” he scoffed, tilting his head up with a grin. “I’ll have you know I’m delicate and refined.”

“Is that why—”

A harsh roar and an equally harsh motion cut off my words. My stomach lurched as we raced down the track and climbed into the air. I squeezed my eyes shut and hugged my arms to myself. Maybe if I shut them tightly enough, I could block out the blackness before it entered the periphery of my vision. Maybe if I grasped my arms closely enough, I could squeeze away the tingling before it pricked my fingers. But unfortunately, the ringing in my ears was audible above the rumbling of the jet, and I could sense the tightness deep beneath my skin.

Something bumpy and cold was pushed beneath my fingers. Opening my eyes, I ran the unknown object through my fingers. My bracelet.

I spun the beads slowly between my fingers, counting and breathing. My breath sounded loud in my ears, but as the ringing diminished and the spinning sensation stopped, I could notice changes. The engine reduced to a steady whir, and the plane itself was flying level.

My stomach churned once more, now from vague motion sickness rather than pure dread.

All this is worth it, I told myself. All this is worth it to see what my destination holds.

My shoulders fell away from my ears, and I forced out a shaky exhale. Though still slightly blurred, I could see Zeno still staring out the window, trying to look nonchalant. He usually did when panic attacks struck me, likely to not heighten my anxiety. Unbeknownst to him, the subtle quiver of his jaw, the irregularity of his breath, and the minuscule furrow of his brow brought me a strange comfort. He cared. Quietly, of course, but he cared.

I made the mistake of looking at him too long and glimpsed clouds rushing beside us. At the sight, I choked on nothing in particular and almost fell back into it.

“Five things you can see, Cora,” Zeno’s voice cut through.

I forced my eyes open. “Clouds. The vase. My bracelet . . .”

We worked through the entire exercise along with another, and by the end of them, the brief trip was nearing its end.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, giving Zeno’s hand a small squeeze.

“For?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Being like this, I guess?”

Zeno’s gaze darkened, and he clenched my hand. “Don’t apologize for an ounce of yourself. After all, I lo—” he cut himself off, growing beet red, and cleared his throat. “I, um, am fond of every aspect of you. Anyhow, you put up with my moods.”

I lo—? It was impossible not to finish the sentence in my mind. I tried to tame my racing heart, to remind myself it was probably just a slip of the tongue.

But would it have been so bad if he said it? Would it have been a sin to have said even more?

“Thank you for helping me through this. It means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me, moods and all.”

Just as I finished, the jet faltered, its wings catching, then forcing its way through a pocket of hot air. My stomach flopped as we began our descent, and Zeno squeezed my hands. “Five thi—”

“No,” I said quickly. “I’m all right. Going down is kind of the opposite of the part of flying I hate.”

He narrowed his eyes, overtly skeptical, but loosened his grip when my breathing evened out. He gave a small huff from his nose and smiled. “You make very little sense, you know. This is the part I despise. Then again, I suppose you’ve never landed in a private lane, have you?”

“What does that mean?”

“We’re going somewhere rather remote, far out from any city. But I promise, the rough landing will be worth the destination.”

I tried semisuccessfully to squint out the window at the rapidly approaching landscape. True to Zeno’s word, the land was a plateau, mostly barren of houses, right along the coastline. Altopiano delle Murge, if memory served correctly, was the Italian name for this rocky coastal region.

I wondered where on earth we could land with all the olive trees and grass, but it was only a few more minutes before I found out. The jet circled around a few times, bucking irregularly as it caught pockets of hot air, then closed in on a loosely manicured gravel road.

We touched down on the rocky ground, and the jet jerked once violently, then evened out with the skillful hand of the pilot. My vision blurred for just a moment, but the shaking was over before I could go into anything.

Zeno gave my hand a small squeeze and pulled his balaclava back over his head as the jet whirred to a stop.

Sunlight poured in as the door opened, and Zeno held out his hand to me. “Are you ready to see where we’re staying?”