Chapter 14: Interrupted Altitude
The knock was a sharp, staccato rap against the polished wood. It wasn’t from the cockpit door, but from the partition separating the main cabin from the galley.
Aurora jerked back as if shocked, her heart slamming against her ribs. Callum’s hands, which had been spanning the bare skin of her back under her silk top, went still. His grip tightened instinctively, holding her in place astride him.
“One moment,” Callum called out, his voice rough but remarkably steady. His eyes, dark and heavy-lidded just seconds before, cleared with a swift, practiced focus.
They were frozen in a tableau of decadent disarray. Aurora’s top was rucked up, her hair a wild tumble from his fingers. Callum was bare-chested, the dried champagne stain a taunting mark on his discarded shirt, his lips swollen from hers. The air was thick with the scent of spilled alcohol, expensive perfume, and pure, unadulterated heat.
“Off,” he mouthed silently, his hands lifting her. She scrambled off his lap, her legs wobbly, and dropped into the adjacent seat. Her fingers fumbled with the hem of her top, yanking it down. Callum reached for the ruined white shirt, shaking it out with a grimace before pulling it on. He didn’t button it. He just wrapped it around himself, holding it closed with one fist.
“Enter,” he said, louder.
The door slid open. The senior flight attendant, a man in his fifties named Leo with a kind face and an impeccably calm demeanor, stood there. His eyes—professional, neutral—took in the scene: the two empty champagne flutes, the damp patch on the carpet, Aurora’s flushed cheeks, Callum’s bare chest barely concealed by the clutched shirt. Not a flicker of judgment crossed his features.
“My apologies for the intrusion, Mr. Nordskov. We’ve begun our initial descent into Heathrow. The captain requests all passengers return to their seats and fasten seatbelts. We’re expecting some light chop on the approach.”
“Right. Thank you, Leo,” Callum said, his tone all polite, clipped efficiency.“Of course. Can I secure anything for you before we land?”
“We’re fine.”
Leo gave a slight nod and withdrew, the door clicking shut with a sound of finality.
The moment it closed, the charged silence erupted.
“Oh my god,” Aurora breathed, covering her face with her hands. The heat in her cheeks was volcanic.
Callum let out a sharp, short laugh. He started buttoning his shirt, his fingers moving quickly over the stained fabric. “Well. That was… timely.”
“He saw everything,” she groaned from behind her hands.
“He saw nothing. He’s paid to see nothing. And he’s seen far worse, believe me.” Callum’s voice was matter-of-fact, but a muscle ticked in his jaw. The transition from private to public, from passion to protocol, was a switch he could flip, but it left a residual tension in his shoulders. “Come on, belt up.”
The casual command jarred her. She dropped her hands, watching him. He was already buckling himself into his seat, his movements economical, his gaze distant. The man from Madrid, the one who’d whispered in the dark, was receding, replaced by the player on his way to a media gauntlet.
She fastened her own seatbelt, the leather strap feeling restrictive and childish. The jet tilted subtly, beginning its long glide downwards. The magical, suspended feeling of minutes ago was gone, shattered by a knock and the imminent reality of gravity.
“So that’s it?” she asked, the words out before she could stop them.
He looked at her, his green eyes guarded. “What’s it?”
“The… shift. You just turn it off.”
He leaned his head back against the seat, closing his eyes for a second. When he opened them, the weariness she’d glimpsed earlier was back, etched deeper. “It’s not a choice, Aurora. It’s a survival tactic. Out there,” he gestured vaguely towards the window, towards the world below, “I don’t get to be the guy from the jet. I get to be the product. The brand. The story. If I don’t shift, they’ll eat me alive.”
“I’m not ‘they,’” she said softly.
“I know.” He reached across the space between their seats, his hand finding hers, intertwining their fingers. His touch was warm, an anchor. “You’re the messy, champagne-spilling complication that makes the shifting harder.”
She managed a small smile. “Sorry about the shirt.”
“Don’t be.” He brought her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. The gesture was tender, but his eyes were already scanning the empty cabin, mentally preparing for what came next. “Mara will have a fresh one in the car. And a suit jacket. And talking points.”
“Talking points for what?”
“For the fifty microphones and two hundred cameras waiting on the tarmac.”
Aurora’s stomach dropped. “They’re waiting? For you?”
“For us,” he corrected, his gaze steady on her. “The photos from Madrid sparked questions. My PR team leaked a carefully worded, non-specific statement about ‘a close friend’ accompanying me to the match. It’s meant to control the narrative, to make it seem planned and respectable, not a tabloid free-for-all. So, when we step off this plane, we step off together. Calmly. Smiling if you can manage it. You don’t have to say a word. Just stay close.”
The immensity of it crashed over her. The silent, empty street where they lived side-by-side was gone. This was the floodlit stage. “You should have warned me.”
“Would you have come?”
She thought about it. The hotel, the stadium, the private jet—it was a dizzying fantasy. This was the cost. “I don’t know.”
“That’s why I didn’t.” He gave her hand a final squeeze before releasing it as the FASTEN SEATBELT sign chimed with a gentle ping. “Just keep your head down and walk. I’ll be right beside you.”
The plane descended through thick cloud cover, everything turning a dull, muffled grey. Aurora watched the wing cut through the vapor, her mind racing. She thought of her quiet living room, her half-finished manuscript, her smudged glasses and oversized sweaters. That woman didn’t walk off private jets into a scrum of photographers.
But the woman who’d been in Madrid, the woman currently sitting next to Callum Nordskov with his champagne on her skin and the memory of his hands on her back… maybe she did.
The wheels touched down with a screech and a burst of reverse thrust that pressed her into the seat. The jet taxied, turning towards a secluded area of the airport away from the main terminals. Through the window, she saw them. A cluster of black SUVs, and beyond a low barrier, a pulsating crowd of people with cameras, their long lenses pointed like a battery of weapons towards the plane.
Her breath hitched.
Callum unbuckled and stood in a fluid motion. He shrugged on a dark suit jacket Leo produced, instantly transforming from disheveled traveler to sleek celebrity. He turned to her, offering his hand.
“Ready?” he asked. His smile was back, but it was the media smile—charming, confident, a shield.
Aurora took a deep breath, smoothed her hair, and placed her hand in his. His grip was firm, sure.
“No,” she said honestly, meeting his eyes. “But let’s go anyway.”
The cabin door opened with a hiss. The cold, damp air of London rushed in, carrying with it the distant, hungry roar of the crowd. Callum’s posture straightened, his chin lifting. He stepped out into the glare, pulling her gently behind him.
The noise became a wall. Shouting. The relentless, mechanical clatter of camera shutters. A strobe-light frenzy of flashes that turned the twilight into a stark, electric day.
Callum kept her close, his arm around her shoulders, tucking her slightly into his side. He waved with his free hand, the picture of relaxed ease. He leaned down, his lips brushing her temple, a gesture meant for the cameras, but his whisper was for her alone, barely audible under the chaos.
“Just keep walking. Don’t look at them. Look at me.”
She focused on the sharp line of his jaw, the green of his eyes. She held onto his hand like it was the only real thing in the swirling, screaming world. Together, they walked the short, exposed distance to the waiting car, every step measured, every flash of light etching the moment into permanence. The door of the black SUV swung open, a dark mouth waiting to swallow them whole.