Page 13 of Secret Heir

The space. The luxury. The food.

Especially the food.

His eyes lock on the sandwiches, and I see his throat work as he swallows. Hungry. My son is hungry, and his mother has been starving him.

“Sit.” I gesture to the seats in the back. “We’ll be taking off soon.”

Aria guides Daniel to a seat and buckles him in with trembling hands. She sits beside him, her body angled toward his like she’s trying to block me from view.

I take a seat across from them, separated by the aisle to give them space. I’m not a complete monster.

The pilot’s voice crackles over the intercom, announcing our departure. The engines whine to life, and the plane starts to move. Daniel grips the armrests, eyes wide.

“It’s okay,” Aria murmurs. “It’s just the plane moving. We’re going to fly, like a bird.”

“I’ve never been on a plane before,” Daniel whispers.

“I know, baby.” She smooths his hair back. “It’s going to be okay. Just hold my hand.”

He does, his small fingers gripping hers like a lifeline.

The plane accelerates, then lifts off smoothly.

Daniel gasps, pressing his face to the window.

For a moment, his fear is forgotten in wonder.

He watches the ground fall away, the lights of Philadelphia growing smaller and smaller.

“We’re flying,” he breathes. “Mama, we’re really flying.”

“Yes, Danny boy.” Aria’s voice is thick with tears. “We are.”

Once we’re at cruising altitude, the seatbelt sign goes off.

Daniel immediately unbuckles and climbs into Aria’s lap, his rabbit clutched to his chest.

“Are you hungry?” I ask him directly.

He looks at me, then at his mother as if waiting for permission. It’s like he’s been trained not to speak to strangers.

Or maybe not to accept anything from them.

Good. Aria has taught him to be wary.

“You can eat if you want to,” Aria tells him softly. “It’s okay.”

Daniel slides off her lap and approaches the table like it might bite him. His hand hovers over a turkey sandwich then pulls back.

“Go ahead,” I say gently. “It’s for you.”

He takes the sandwich with both hands and bites into it. His eyes close and he chews slowly, savoring it like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

It probably is.

He finishes it in less than a minute, barely pausing to breathe. Then he reaches for another one. And another. He’s eating so fast he’s going to choke.

“Slow down,” I tell him, worried he’s going to get sick. “The food isn’t going anywhere.”