I notice Elizabeth is young—probably not that much older than me—with light blonde hair and green eyes. She’s pretty, too, and I’m not sure how I feel knowing Mikhail has a pretty flight attendant on his private jet.

“Mikhail likes to take young, pretty women with him on his plane.”

I stand up straighter. “What?” I glance down the aisle toward him. He’s too far away to hear us.

“You’re not the first. And you won’t be the last.”

“I don’t understand.”

Elizabeth smiles sweetly. “You can play innocent all you want. Usually, he brings multiple women for orgies. I’m usually included. But this time, it’s just you. How interesting.”

I can tell her sweetness is completely fake. “He has orgies?” I whisper.

“God, I can’t tell if you’re really that innocent or just playing at it. But yes, a grown man like Mikhail likes to fuck. He’s fucked all over this plane. I wonder why he’s not doing it now.”

I feel hot. Too hot. And not in a good way. “He’s … had sex with you?”

“Plenty of times. He pays well, and he’s good in bed. And I get to travel the world. What could be better?”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“This is how I talk with all the women who come on here. Usually, they brag about Mikhail to me. But you’re … different.”

“Different good or different bad?”

Elizabeth shrugs. “Just different.”

I clear my throat. “I should be getting back to my seat.”

“Of course.”

I hurry away from her and sit back down, not looking at Mikhail as I do it. I’m on his sex plane. I don’t know how to feel about that. There’s no reason for me to be jealous. Mikhail isn’t my husband yet, and besides, I don’t even really want to be with him.

At least … I don’t think I want to be with him. My body keeps reacting to him. I’m not sure what that’s about.

And why isn’t Mikhail pressuring me into having sex? I’m grateful he’s not, but if this is his sex plane, then why isn’t he pushing for sex? Why am I different?

“You talked with Elizabeth,” he says, startling me. When I look at him, I see he’s still reading his book. He casually flips a page.

“I did.”

“I take it from your shocked expression she informed you of what I get up to on this plane.”

I sink lower in my seat. “She did.”

Another page flip. “And? How does that make you feel?” He flicks his eyes up to mine. “Horrified? Or aroused?”

“Confused,” I admit.

“How so?”

“Why do you want me to be your wife? Why not choose one of the other women you’ve been with? Why not Elizabeth?”

“Because Elizabeth doesn’t know what I truly do. You do. You were born into it. And I love your innocence. I can meld you into the perfect wife. And when I fuck you, I’ll know my cock will be the first cock that’s ever been inside you. And the last.”

I gulp. The heat spreads from my face down my neck. And lower. “So, you want me because I’m a virgin?”

“Not just that. I want you because I truly think you’ll be perfect for me.”

I shift in my seat. How am I perfect for him? We don’t even know each other.

“Do you plan on using your plane to continue your activities after we’re married?”

“What activities?” He flips another page, his eyes back on his book. It disarms me. Everything he does disarms me.

“Orgies,” I whisper.

Mikhail chuckles darkly. “Only if you’re with me.”

“I don’t want to be in an orgy.”

“How do you know? You’ve never tried.”

“I …”

He finally sets his book down and turns the full force of his gaze onto me. “You won’t participate in any orgies.”

“I don’t …”

“I’m the only one who will ever touch you. Now, that doesn’t mean I won't want you to perform for other people. I want people to watch us as we fuck. But I’ll be the only one to touch you.”

I have a million more questions, but I keep quiet, which I think is for the best. I’m terrified that if I ask more questions, I’ll get answers I don’t like.

Or answers I will like.

We arrive in Russia in the late morning. The sun shines brightly, and the weather is warm. At least we’re here in the summertime. I can’t even imagine what Russian winters will be like.

As we get off the plane, a man greets us. He speaks to Mikhail in Russian. It hits me that I won't know a single word people are saying unless it’s English. As a Russian American, my father never thought it was important for me to know any language other than English. “New York is your home,” he said. “What other language do you need to know?”

But right now, knowing Russian would come in handy.

The man walks us over to a car and gets behind the wheel. He’s the driver. I can understand that, at least.

Mikhail and I get into the backseat. “Can you translate for me? In the future?”

“I can.” No more is said on the matter. At least Mikhail doesn’t object to translating, but that means I’ll be entirely dependent on him for conversation unless I meet other English speakers. We’re in Moscow. It’s a large city. There have to be some people who know English.