PRINCESS Brigitta Von Vasa’s stomach churned as she glimpsed the dark suited man striding down the aisle of the Boeing 737. Peering between the seats in front of her, she tried to see his face, but the gap gave her nothing but a view of his torso. Even so, familiar broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist were enough to cause her worry.
He was almost upon her.
She buried herself behind her glossy magazine, oblivious to the words, but well aware of every movement behind the pages.
The footsteps stilled beside her. Flicking her eyes to the aisle, she could just make out gleaming leather shoes below sharply creased black trousers. Had her uncle already discovered her ruse? With heightened senses, she felt the cold chill of air-conditioning on her sweat drenched body. Heard the muted chatter of her fellow passengers, and smelt the spicy cinnamon fragrance of cologne.