The Lichtenstein passport

The engine of Sera’s sedan hummed a low, steady rhythm as we blurred past the outskirts of the city. Sera drove with a focused intensity, weaving through the slow moving traffic with a precision that felt almost desperate, her knuckles white against the leather steering wheel. Beside her, Elena remained unusually quiet, her gaze fixed on the passing landscape of grey concrete and flashing neon. We were making incredible time, especially considering the distance from the hotel, but the silence inside the car felt heavy, stretched thin like a wire about to snap under the weight of everything left unsaid.

My mind wandered back to the others. I could already picture the fallout at the hotel. Bob would be absolutely livid; he was a man of protocols, a man who always said goodbye with a firm handshake and a look in the eye. Leaving without a word was a personal affront he wouldn’t forgive until the next millennia. Boris would simply shrug it off, his eyes never leaving his newspaper. He’d be aloof, as per usual, treating my disappearance as just another predictable variable in our worlds. This wasn’t the first time I had disappeared on him, and I knew he’d likely have my replacement scouted before my plane even cleared the tarmac. That was always us; looking for a replacement love when we left the other whenever our paths would cross. And then there was Polina. We had only known each other for  about two weeks—hardly enough time to build a bridge. She wouldn't have a single word to say, her expression as unreadable as a closed book found in the ruins of a library.

The terminal loomed ahead, a glass-and-steel giant rising from the tarmac, reflecting the pale morning sun. As Sera pulled into the departures lane, the reality of the moment finally settled in. The smell of jet fuel and the distant roar of engines signaled the end of this chapter.

"We're here," Sera whispered. She didn't look at me, but I could see the tension in her shoulders.

Elena was out of the car before I could even reach for the door handle. She moved to the trunk, her movements sharp and efficient. By the time I stepped onto the curb, she had already hoisted my duffle bag onto the sidewalk, the heavy fabric thudding against the pavement.

As I reached for my bag, Elena surprised me. She pulled me into a tight, fierce hug. It wasn't the polite embrace of an acquaintance or a rival; it felt like she was trying to apologize through a hug.

"I’m sorry," she whispered against my shoulder. "I was so blinded by my jealousy of you. I spent every waking moment trying to compete against you, measuring my worth against yours. Even after Sera and I married, I felt like I was standing in a shadow you didn't even know you created. I wanted her love to be mine alone, and I hated you for the space you occupied in her heart."

I stayed still, stunned by the sudden transparency. The jealousy I had sensed for years was finally laid bare, stripped of its venom and replaced by an exhausted honesty.

"But when the generous gift you sent me arrived," she continued, pulling back just enough to look at me, "it forced me to stop. I realized I was fighting a war you weren't participating in. You weren't my enemy. I was just my own."

I didn't know what to say. The weight of the gift had apparently built a bridge instead of the wall I had expected. I simply nodded, a slow, silent acknowledgment of her peace offering. There were no more words needed between us.

"Take care of yourself," she said, finally letting go. She stepped back toward Sera, who was watching us with a soft, knowing expression.

I gathered my things, the handle of my duffle bag was rough against my palm, grounded and real. I didn't look back. I turned toward the sliding glass doors, the conditioned air of the terminal swallowing the heat of the morning as I stepped into the anonymity of the crowd.

I walked past the bustling crowds, the frantic travelers checking watches, and the high-end duty-free shops, pushing deeper into the labyrinth of the airport. I wasn't looking for the grand halls or the luxury lounges where people like Marie Romanov were expected to be found. I kept walking until the floor tiles changed from polished stone to worn carpet and the noise faded, heading toward the furthest, smallest gate in the building—the one reserved for the long, quiet flights that crossed oceans and left everything else behind.

At the near-empty counter, I approached the ticket agent. He looked tired, his uniform slightly rumpled from a long shift. I cleared my throat, shifting my weight and leaning into the persona I had practiced until it felt like a second skin.

"Grüezi," I said, my voice adopting the Liechtenstein accent, precise and slightly formal. "I am looking for the least inexpensive ticket to Europe you have today. I wish for the one with the fewest layovers possible, please."

The ticket agent tapped at his keyboard for a moment, his eyes scanning the monitor in a rhythmic dance. "The cheapest option with the least layovers would be to Toronto first, then on to Rome, Italy," he informed me, looking up with a shy smile.

"Yes, that will do, thank you. How much is the total, please?" I asked, keeping the accent steady and my gaze direct.

"It will be twelve hundred, including the taxes," he said. “Credit card or check?”

"I will be paying by cash," I said, reaching into my bag and pulling out a thick envelope. I counted out the bills carefully on the counter. “I know that the WiFi in Cuba is spotty at best. I need to get to my great aunt as soon as possible.”

As he processed the transaction and handed me the printed ticket, I slid a gift card across the counter to him before I turned away.

"Wait, you forgot this," he said, trying to hand it back, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"No, it is for you," I stated, my voice soft. "A small thank you for your help. Please, take it."

He looked surprised, his face softening with a rare moment of genuine gratitude as he tucked it away into his vest pocket. "Thank you," he said quietly. "Have a safe flight, ma'am."

I nodded my head in thanks and headed to my gate. It was a few minute walk through corridors that felt increasingly isolated, and I was grateful for that. When I arrived at the gate, however, the peace was shattered. There was so much noise from the sheer volume of people there waiting for the plane—business travelers shouting into phones, families corralling toddlers, and the constant chime of gate announcements.

Thankfully, there was a gift shop a few feet away from where I was standing. Through their glass wall, I could see the sleek packaging of electronics. I walked into the shop, the chime above the door momentarily cutting through the terminal's roar.

"Excuse me," I said to the clerk, who was busy restacking magazines. "I am looking for the best noise-canceling headphones you have."

The clerk pulled a box from behind the counter, presenting it like a prize. "These are the top of the line for sale at airports but still super affordable," she said. "They'll block out everything from jet engines to screaming babies."

"Excellent. I will take two pairs," I told her, thinking of a backup just in case. "I also need a portable charger, a universal charging cube and several charging wires that are compatible with the headphones and my phone."

“Charging cables to charge the headphones are in each package as is the charging cable to charge the portable charger, and here are the charging cable and universal cube” she said as she led me to the electronics corner.

“Thanks,” I said.

"Going somewhere far?" she asked me a few minutes later as she was ringing up the items with practiced speed.

 “I just hate the sound of screaming kids and the sound of other people eating,” I replied simply.

On the way out of the gift shop, I realized that it was an expensive purchase—nearly as much as a second ticket—but I felt it was important. My sanity during the long haul to Italy was worth every cent. I went back to the gate to find an outlet to charge my new arsenal. The gate area was crowded, but I scanned the baseboards with a hunter’s focus. Thankfully, I found two outlets next to each other behind a row of chairs.

I slid onto the floor, my back against the cold metal, and plugged everything in. As the charging lights began to pulse, I felt a slight release of tension. I had enough power to turn my phone on to text Sera.

"I'm flying to Toronto. From there, I'm flying to Rome, Italy. Once I land in Italy, I'll let you know. Don’t tell Bob where I am until I ask you to."

The reply was almost instantaneous. “Understood. Be safe. Don’t make us come get you, Highness.”

I decided to put my phone on airplane mode immediately so it could charge faster and last me until I landed in Toronto. It was a short flight, and once connected to the headphones, I knew I could disappear into my favorite podcast and ignore the chaos around me. I closed my eyes for a little bit, practicing the "half-sleep" I had learned over years of international travel—a state where the body rests but the mind remains alert to the environment.

Forty-five minutes later, the gate agent's voice crackled over the speaker. I was up in an instant, the new technology coiled and tucked away into my smaller shoulder bag. As I moved, I reached into the hidden, silk-lined compartment of my shoulder bag and felt the embossed cover of my Liechtenstein passport. I knew a flight like this would require identification.

Thankfully, the name listed had nothing to do with Deppgrl Smith or Her Imperial Highness Marie Alexandrovna Romanov. To the rest of the world at this moment in time, I was Lara Beck.

The gate agent barely looked at me, her eyes glazed over from checking hundreds of passengers, as she scanned my boarding pass and directed me toward first class. I easily found my seat—1A, the sanctuary of the front row. I stored my duffle bag in the overhead bin and sat down, the leather of the seat cool against my skin. I opened up my smaller bag to get out a set of the headphones, a charging cable for my phone and my phone. I was grateful that there were outlet plugs for the wire at my seat.

I got myself set up, the noise-canceling technology engaging with a soft hiss that deleted the world. I was already watching the opening credits of one of my favorite shows before the cabin door even closed. The precision was perfect. I couldn't hear the flight attendants' safety instructions, nor the frantic energy of the boarding process.

Just before the "close doors" signal, I took my phone off airplane mode one last time and sent a quick text to Xander—my ex-husband’s twin brother.

“Hey, Xander. I’ll be in Toronto in about three and a half hours. I’m wondering if you’ll be at the airport today in between flights.”

“I’m sorry…who’s this?”

“It’s Lara Beck. Xavier was my husband.”

“Yes, I will be at the airport in a few hours. I’ll be piloting a plane to Italy. I’ll be able to see you briefly.”

“Great!”

“Where are you flying from? I’ll be at your gate to great you.”

“I’m flying from Cuba. We’re about to get air bound momentarily. See you in a few hours. Can’t wait to see you.”

“Can’t wait to see you either.”

I smiled a genuine smile and threw my show back on as the airplane took off. Just three and half one hour episodes and I’d see my ex-husband’s fraternal twin.