Royalty Check

3 | IN THE KINGDOM OF IRIDORRA

𝓣hree weeks later, I head to a small airport in the Valley I didn't even know existed. Apparently, it's where Kim Kardashian takes off in her personal jet. I scoffed when I read that, but here I am in a private plane marked with the Iridorrian flag — a coat of arms with a white lily on the shield — wondering what I've gotten myself into.

Not that the plane is terrible. Two rows of plush cream seats face each other, and thankfully I'm the only one in them. I stretch my legs out and marvel at the room. Behind me, a vase with fresh flowers sits perfectly centered on top of a mahogany dining table for two.

Flowers in the sky. I pull out my notebook and jot that down. Maybe this trip will be good for my writing after all.

I resolve never to tell Sima.

"Ma'am, we'll be taking off soon," says the flight attendant. Alia according to her nametag. She's one third of the small crew, along with the captain and co-pilot. "Can I get you anything? Water, espresso?"

"I'm fine, thank you."

"Great," Alia says. "I'm sure you're tired, so I'll dim the lights as soon as we're in the air and let you get some rest. But if you need anything during the flight, I'll be in the back."

Despite her calling me ma'am — I couldn't be more than 5 years older — I decide I like Alia. Bless her for leaving me alone.

It's a 12-hour flight, which means we'll arrive around 5pm tomorrow, local time. Local as in Iridorra, not Los Angeles. I'm going to be a local now.

A few days ago, Ruby, a palace staff member organizing my stay, emailed me a much-appreciated itinerary. I will land at the royal runway, where security will pick me up and drive me to the palace. When I arrive, Ruby will meet me and give me a brief tour before I meet the Reddings.

The royal family. I couldn't find much about them online. A gossip column in an English paper called them the most reclusive family in Europe. Of course, the prince was an exception. His drunk escapades were plastered all over the internet. But other than his antics and a short Wikipedia snippet saying the family has ruled for four generations, the Reddings were a mystery.

Did they read my books before inviting me? I've been writing about royals for years. Following them in the media, watching any documentary I could find, staying up all night to study their weddings. I've never considered what they would think of my writing because it didn't occur to me that I would ever meet one.

The plane begins to reverse. Here we go.

I start my routine travel texts.

To Philip: "Taking off."

He responds immediately. "Let me know when you land."

I send the same text to my mom. Her assistant said she was in Milan this week. Or was that last week? Either way, I don't know if she'll see it until tomorrow or if she even remembers where I'm going, but at least I can say I told her.

And then to Sima: "✈️ 😬"

Once we're in the air and I can no longer see the glowing LA skyline in the window, I explore the small pack of goodies Alia gave me earlier. Hand cream, toiletries, fluffy socks.

Yes. A soft, silky sleep mask.

I slip it on, hoping that it will somehow block out all the hypothetical scenarios I've had on repeat in my head the last few weeks. Ruminations of me insulting the royal family, everyone at the palace disliking me, Philip feeling abandoned and breaking up with me, Sima dropping me as a client, my career ending.

Inhale. A hint of lavender from the sleep mask helps me exhale slowly. I recline the seat until it's flat, and my eyes start to relax. I could definitely get used to this.