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She’s everything I’m not. Tall, sophisticated, skinny. So, yeah, I’m jealous. But I’ll never give him the pleasure of admitting it.
“I don’t care what you do,” I hiss, shaking free from his grasp. "But it's basic common courtesy not to bring your whore on our so-called honeymoon."
His jaw ticks, and he keeps quiet for a minute. Then, like he’s come to a decision, he gets out of his seat. “Excuse me,” he says, buttoning up his suit jacket before walking off.
That motherfucker. He can't wait until we land—he's already sneaking off to get under Svetlana's skirt at thirty thousand feet.
I press my molars together and grab a magazine from the console in front of me, but I can’t focus. The words blur together in a jumbled mess, my insides entirely consumed by my boiling emotions. I’m rubbing at the headache pounding in my temples when Svetlana materializes beside me. With Maxim not here, she doesn’t bother with her fake-as-shit smile.
"Your bourbon." Svetlana places the lowball before me with slightly more force than necessary. Following that, she holds upa bag of gourmet mixed nuts. Before she hands it to me, she warns, “Careful, these are a real calorie bomb.”
A flush of embarrassment colors my cheeks. I try to think of a swift comeback, but fuck, talk about hitting a girl when she’s down. I’m not particularly sensitive about my body, but like everyone on this planet, I’ve dealt with my fair share of body issues and I don’t need to be shamed by my husband’s mistress, of all people. The emotions of the day get to me. Her insult, going back to New York—which is bitter-sweet—and Maxim’s suspicion of me… All of it feels overwhelming.
I stand and push past Svetlana, needing a moment alone to collect myself. As I do, her hand wavers, and the cup of coffee she’s holding wobbles and splashes over the rim.
"Shit!" The hot liquid soaks through the fabric of my jeans. I grab a napkin off her tray and dab at the stain, an attempt to stop the seeping coffee from searing my skin.
Svetlana rolls her eyes, her ruby lips curling into a disdainful smirk. Cheeks burning, I make a swift exit towards the back of the plane, hoping to salvage whatever I can of my jeans and dignity.
I feel so silly. Why am I letting this get to me? I downright encouraged Maxim to sleep with other people, and that’s exactly what he did. So why does it burn so fucking bad?
Blotting at my jeans with a paper towel, I’m horrified to realize that my face is damp. I’m crying, and I don’t know why. Or maybe I do. I’m tired, overwhelmed, and all I can think of is how I’ve failed Masha … again. I still don’t have any information that ties Maxim to her murder, and when I’m around him I lose focus.
I give up patting my jeans dry and accept that I’ll smell like coffee for the rest of the flight. Taking a deep breath, I sit down on the closed toilet seat and take stock of my currentsituation. We have another nine hours in the air, and I’m already exhausted having not slept all that much over the last few days.
Part of me wants to lock myself in this bathroom for the rest of this flight and let Maxim do whatever the hell he wants, but the part of me that’s fought for respect my whole life resists. I’m not going to hide in a bathroom to accommodate Maxim or that rude bitch. I am going to walk out of here with my head held high and show both of them that I won’t be pushed aside.
With one final deep breath, I march out of here and head towards an empty bank of seats. I’m sure as shit not going to sit beside him any longer. My footsteps slow as I near the galley, catching a whispered exchange between Svetlana and Maxim behind the drawn curtain. A bigger person might keep on walking, but that's not me. So I press myself against the wall, listening.
"I don’t understand what I did wrong," Svetlana whines, her words dripping with feigned innocence.
“You disrespected my wife.” Maxim's voice is hard and unrelenting. “If you were a man, you’d be dead by now.”
“You’ve been married for all of five minutes, and she’s young enough to be your daughter. I don’t believe it’s real for one second.” Her voice turns breathy and intimate. “We have history, Maxim. I thought I meant more to you.”
“Perhaps your definition of history includes a mile-high blow-job, but mine doesn’t.”
He’s so ice-cold I almost feel bad for her.Almost. But mostly, I feel a pulse of satisfaction as he comes to my defense.
“What my marriage is or isn’t is none of your business, but know this… She wears my ring and bears my name, and I won’t have Kira made to feel less than the queen she is. My queen.”
His queen? Am I hearing this right?
A silent beat, and then a muffled sob before Svetlana's voice—now laced with a quiet fury—hisses through the door. "How can you be so cruel?”
“You think this is me being cruel? Insult Kira again, and you'll see what cruelty really looks like. Pack up your shit. We’re making a pitstop.”
Huh? I’m confused about what’s going on, but I don’t stick around to hear more because Maxim is on his way out of the galley. Hastily, I slide back into my seat, pretending to browse for a movie on my tablet.
A minute later, Maxim settles beside me. We both remain silent. When I steal a quick glance at him, he appears relaxed, one ankle resting on his knee, his gaze fixed ahead as if the earlier exchange never occurred.
I’m prodding at the screen with my finger when the PA system activates. “Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Belov. A brief note from your flight deck: We'll be making an unplanned landing in Saint Petersburg shortly. Rest assured, all is well on board. As we commence our descent, kindly fasten your seatbelts and secure any loose items. We aim to minimize our stopover duration and will promptly continue our flight to New York.”
Maxim looks unsurprised.
“What is going on?” I hiss.
“A quick touchdown, nothing to worry about.”
