Maya's POV
The Sterling private jet touched down at Milanis's international airport with barely a tremor. I pressed my face to the small window, watching the morning sun bathe the legendary fashion capital in warm golden light. My pulse quickened despite the bone-deep fatigue from our overnight flight. Twelve hours trapped in luxury seating while Beatrice Sterling delivered her masterclass on proper wife etiquette had left me mentally drained.
"I thought we were flying directly to Montefiore," I murmured to Sebastian as we gathered our luggage.
"Plans changed," he said with obvious resignation. "Mother decided we needed a detour through the fashion district."
Beatrice glided over, looking impossibly fresh despite the transatlantic journey. Not one silver hair had shifted from its perfect arrangement.
