Page 58 of How to Belong with a Billionaire

“Why do I have to be nice to Nik?”

“Because he’s got a spinal cord injury. He’s in a wheelchair.”

“I’m not going to be nice to someone just because they’re in a wheelchair.” Ellery subjected me to her most withering stare. “That would be ableist.”

I opened my mouth and then closed it again. “Okay, but you really should take something with you.”

She heaved a sigh. “I guess you’re right.” Vanishing into her room, she emerged a minute or so later with something tucked under her arm.

“What’s that?”

“Book for the plane.”

“Passport?”

She patted her hoodie. “In my pocket.”

“Come on, then. We’re going to be late.”

“Sheesh, Ardy. You are, like, the unchillest traveller. We’ve got ages.”

“It’s an hour to Stanstead and we have to check in at least two hours before we fly.”

“Two hours?” Ellery looked genuinely confused. “Can’t you just turn up?”

“Oh my God. You’ve never been on a commercial flight, have you?”

She glared.

“You little princess.”

“I’m a death princess of darkness. Which you’ll learn firsthand if you ever call me princess again.”

Laughing, I grabbed her hand and pulled her—along with my equally rebellious wheelie—out the door. We made it to Stanstead in good time, although our flight was already listed as delayed, so that was, well, what it is.

“Okay. So,” said Ellery, once we’d checked in, “what do we do for the next, like, four hours?”

“We explore the airport. Very carefully, and slowly, and thoroughly. Relishing every moment. Because there is shit all else to do.”

“Seriously.”

“Yep. Yep. We go into every shop. We look at every pair of designer sunglasses. Every intensive repair anti-aging pot of moisturiser. We buy a drink or a snack at every eatery.”

“And then what?”

“We sit around in uncomfortable chairs feeling unspeakably depressed because we are stuck in this glass nowhere for an indefinite period.”

Ellery pulled her Audrey Hepburn shades out of her hoodie and settled them on her nose. “Let’s do it.”

We took on that airport like Richard Burton seeking the source of the Nile, and Ellery was a surprisingly good sport about it, joining in my obsessive classification of the WHSmith and the Sock Shop and the Sunglasses Boutique. She even managed to kill nearly twenty minutes in the Swarovski outlet by convincing the salesperson she was on the brink of buying an unspeakably heinous piece of jewellery. A manor necklace, apparently, which looked like one of those cones you put dogs in to stop them from scratching, except it was a web of black and clear Swarovski crystal pendants hanging on rose gold chains.

Between our shop visits we had smoothies from the juice bar, bad coffee from Starbucks, random glasses of champagne (which Ellery paid for) from a pretentious café, edamame from Itsu, sarnies from Pret, and sundaes from Burger King. After which we had to concede defeat—and there was still no news of our plane.

“Shit.” I collapsed into one of the crappy waiting area chairs.

Ellery peered at me over her glasses. “What now?”

A glance towards the departures board confirmed we were not departing. “We’re down to our last hope.”

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