Page 5 of Mile High Daddy

The plane bucks again, harder this time, sending a cascade of loose items from the overhead bins onto the floor. A suitcase thuds heavily into the aisle, and someone screams. My heart is racing so fast I’m not sure it’ll survive the next jolt. Every nerve in my body feels like it’s on fire as I grip the armrests, my knuckles white, my breathing shallow.

I’m going to die.

The thought rings in my head like a bell, over and over again, drowning out the chaos around me. My mind starts spiraling, and before I can stop it, a flood of regrets hits me. All the things I’ve never done. The places I’ll never see. The life I thought I had more time to live.

And then it hits me—this big, glaring regret that feels both ridiculous and monumental at the same time.

I’ve never had sex. Never been kissed properly, not in a way that made me feel like the earth moved. Never felt someone’s hands on me in that way, never let myself get lost in another person. I’ve spent my life waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect person, and now I might die without ever knowing what that feels like.

Tears blur my vision, and I press my forehead to the cool leather of the seat in front of me, whispering a silent prayer to anyone who might be listening. The plane shudders again, and I snap upright, words tumbling out before I can stop them.

“I don’t want to die a virgin!”

The cabin is loud with commotion, but the words feel deafening to me. My hands fly to my mouth in horror as I realize I’ve just said that out loud. Out. Loud.

Next to me, Mikhail turns his head slowly, his gray eyes narrowing slightly. His expression is unreadable for a moment, like he’s trying to decide if he heard me correctly.

“What?” he says.

My face is on fire as I stammer, “I—I just…if we crash, I don’t want to die without…you know…”

His lips twitch, and for a second, I think he’s going to laugh. But then he leans closer, his gaze locking onto mine, sharp and assessing. The tension of the moment shifts, morphing into something else entirely.

“You want to lose your virginity before you die?” he asks, his voice low and even, like he’s asking about the weather.

I can’t look at him. “I didn’t mean?—”

The plane shudders again, and I flinch, gripping the armrests tighter. Mikhail doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch. He just sits there, watching me with an intensity that feels like it’s peeling back my layers, one by one.

The turbulence begins to ease, the violent shaking giving way to a gentle hum as the plane stabilizes. The pilot’s voice comes over the intercom, announcing that we’ve cleared the rough air and are now flying smoothly. Around us, passengers murmur in relief, the tension in the cabin slowly dissolving.

But my heart is still pounding, and Mikhail’s gaze hasn’t left mine. He leans back in his seat, his lips curling into that maddeningly knowing smirk.

“That,” he says, his voice quiet but deliberate, “can be arranged,kiska.”

3

LILA

For a moment, I sit frozen in my seat, staring at Mikhail like he’s just spoken another language.That can be arranged.Did he really just say that? No, I must have misheard him. The adrenaline, the panic—it’s messing with my head. Surely, he didn’t mean it.

I’m about to ask, but the pilot’s voice crackles over the intercom again, jarring me back into reality.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve cleared the turbulence, and everything is stable now. However, due to a minor technical issue with one of our engines, we’ll be making an unscheduled landing at the nearest airport for precautionary checks. Please remain seated and follow all instructions from the cabin crew. Thank you for your understanding.”

The murmurs in the cabin swell into frustrated groans. I glance out the window at the endless stretch of clouds and sky, my nerves still frayed despite the reassurance that we’re out of danger. My mind should be focused on logistics—where we’re landing, how I’m going to get to New York—but all I can think about is Mikhail’s words.

His smirk lingers in my mind, replaying over and over, a maddening echo that sends heat coursing through me. I sneak a glance at him. He’s relaxed in his seat, his long legs stretched out, looking like he owns not just first class but the entire plane.

I need a minute. Or an hour. Or maybe a time machine to undo the absolute chaos that is my life.

“Excuse me,” I mumble, standing up.

Mikhail’s gaze flicks to me, his brow arching slightly, but he says nothing. I hurry down the aisle, weaving past a flight attendant, and duck into the cramped bathroom at the front of the plane.

Once inside, I lean against the door, my breaths coming out in short, uneven bursts. The tiny space feels suffocating, but it’s better than sitting out there, under his piercing gaze. I turn on the faucet, splashing cold water on my face, trying to wash away the embarrassment, the tension, the ridiculous thoughts swirling in my mind.

I grip the edges of the counter, staring at my reflection. My cheeks are flushed, my hair a mess, and my eyes—God, my eyes are still wild with the adrenaline of the last half hour.

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