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The plane pivoted around one wing tip, tilting her toward the window where she could see a container ship heading toward the mouth of Port San Ignacio del Sur. Then the jet rolled in the opposite direction so all she could see was sky. Her stomach tried to climb into her throat.
“Jeez, this is worse than a roller coaster.”
Gabriel shifted his hand to cover hers where she clutched the chair arm with white-knuckled ferocity. “Blame it on Raul. They don’t do such intense aerobatics when it’s just me on the plane.”
She let the warmth and strength of his touch soothe her. “I’ll bet the pilot is enjoying this.”
“I don’t know. She has to walk a fine line between dodging potential missiles and not causing the prince to vomit.”
That wrung a laugh from her. Gabriel looked pleased. “It will be over soon,” he promised as the jet seemed to carve figure eights in the air.
Quinn turned her hand up to grip Gabriel’s while her stomach lurched in unison with the plane’s motion.
Flying had never bothered her until her stint behind bars. After a year of having no control over her life, she struggled in any situation where she had to cede authority to someone else. Even being called for jury duty had thrown her into a panic.
Gabriel gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze when she closed her eyes and swallowed hard.
Suddenly, the jet leveled off and glided along as though skating on glass-smooth ice.
“Thank God!” Quinn murmured, opening her eyes and extracting her hand from Gabriel’s. “That didn’t bother you?”
“I’m used to it, although this ascent was a little livelier than most.”
“I hate to think what it’s like when the king is on board.”
“He would never be on the same plane with Raul,” Gabriel said. “In fact, it’s unusual for Raul and me to fly together.”
Right. Until Raul had children, Gabriel was third in line for the throne. He went by the title of duke, but he was a prince in actuality. She tried to imagine his dark hair flowing out from under the heavy gold crown the king wore for ceremonial occasions. Gabriel would look like a medieval warrior king. Her pulse jumped.
“Quinn, Gabriel, come join us.” Raul spoke through the gap between his seat and Mikel’s.
As Gabriel let Quinn precede him up the aisle, Mikel moved to a backward-facing seat across the table. Quinn was headed toward the one next to him when Gabriel grasped her wrist to stop her beside the forward-facing seat. “You should sit here, just in case there are any more aerobatics.”
“I don’t think I’m allowed to,” she said, even as she was touched by his concern. She tugged her wrist free and plunked into the seat beside Mikel.
Gabriel frowned. “Why not?”
“I’m just a commoner.”
“Por el amor de Dios,” he muttered in exasperation as he sat next to his cousin.
Raul looked as though he was fighting a smile.
“Shall I serve breakfast?” The steward hovered beside their table. Now that Quinn’s stomach wasn’t trying to keep up with the plane, she noticed the mouthwatering aroma of bacon circulating through the cabin.
“Please,” Raul said, letting a smile break out as he nodded. His charisma was on track to rival his father’s but perhaps with a touch more charm than command.
Isaac rolled a warming cart alongside the table and served everyone thick, powdered-sugar-dusted French toast, fresh fruit and juices, granola, yogurt, a dizzying array of pastries, Spanish jamón, smoked bacon, and variously cooked eggs.
“But where are the stale peanuts?” Quinn said as she eyed the pile of food on her plate.
Raul and Gabriel looked blank, but Mikel’s lips twitched. “Isaac will be happy to get you some.”
Quinn laughed and took a bite of French toast. “Oh. My. God.” The bread was loaded with butter and vanilla and had a citrus accent. She’d never tasted anything so good.
“That’s Marta—the palace chef’s—signature breakfast dish,” Gabriel said. “She won’t share the recipe with anyone.”
“Do you get to eat this every morning?” Quinn asked before she closed her eyes to savor the next bite.
