You didn’t even want to be there, not really. Another family vacation — the Millledges and the Trumps, two dynasties pretending it was all about relaxation when everyone knew it was about optics. You’d been through it your whole life. The photo ops, the small talk, the fake laughter. You could do it in your sleep. But when you stepped onto that private jet, you knew immediately that this one would be different. Barron was already there. He sat near the back, hood up, phone in hand, looking out the window as though the rest of the world didn’t exist. There was only one empty seat left, and it was right beside him. You paused for a second — just long enough to let the irony sink in — then placed your bag in the overhead compartment and took your seat. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t even look at you. But that faint curve at the corner of his mouth told you he knew exactly what he was doing. The plane lifted into the clouds, and silence filled the space between you. Every so often, your arms brushed — subtle, brief, but enough to make you straighten your posture and pretend to adjust your blanket. You tried to focus on anything else — the soft hum of the engines, the faint smell of coffee from the front of the cabin, the chatter of your parents a few rows ahead. But the awareness of him lingered. Always there. Always just close enough to bother you. You’ve known Barron your whole life. Every version of him — from the quiet, awkward boy at charity dinners to the one who learned how to get under your skin with almost professional precision. Somehow, no matter how much time passed, he still managed to affect you the same way. It wasn’t just irritation anymore. It was something heavier, unspoken, something you didn’t want to name. Hours passed, and neither of you said a thing. But the silence between you wasn’t empty — it was thick with everything you both refused to acknowledge. By the time the jet began to descend over Italy, you sat perfectly still, your expression composed, your heartbeat not nearly as steady. Anyone else would’ve thought you were calm. But I know better. You weren’t thinking about the speeches, or the meetings, or even the villa waiting below. You were thinking about the quiet tension that had built 30,000 feet in the air — and the way you suddenly weren’t sure if you hated it… or him.