Sissy Room

Hi everyone! My name is Vitaly, I'm 18 years old, and I'm from Riga. I'm looking for someone.

Sophie once again shows to be not very perceptive, and not interested in fully understanding the social dynamics. I'm wondering what sort of deception is Liam going to attempt before facing his mom. Surely, something that will royally backfire 😁.

I look forward to see the ending, or at least some progress, in this. And sorry for the bump and for raising false hopes for all the others that are also hoping to see a continuation...

Hi! I’ve finally found the correct dimensions to fit my anatomy and the stent stays in place! I have been using the design with orings and the outside bend and it works great! The only problem I have now is the string. It irritates my urethra and becomes quite uncomfortable quite quickly. I’m using dental floss. What’s you guys best solution to this?

Book 2 – Chapter 17: Lady Lara   “Morning, sweetheart.” Her mother's voice came from somewhere inside Sally's dreams. Then she felt movement on the mattress beside her. Sally opened one eye. Oskar was staring at her. She blinked. He blinked. For a few seconds, neither seemed entirely sure what the other was doing there. Sally pushed herself onto one elbow. “What are you doing in my bed?” Oskar's answer was to wave one arm and continue staring at her with enormous, serious eyes. “It's seven o'clock, honey,” Bridget said from the foot of the bed. “And we still need to get your suitcase ready.” Sally sat up slowly, hair tousled in every possible direction despite there being considerably less of it to tousle now. She rubbed her face. “Seven?” “Yes.” “That seems unnecessary.” “Your plane leaves at ten.” “Oh.” “I brought coffee.” Sally immediately looked toward the nightstand. “There it is.” “Best mom ever.” “I know.” Sally reached for the mug and took a cautious sip while she took stock of herself. T-shirt. No pajama bottoms. Wet diaper. Right. The night had been warm, and at some point she'd apparently kicked her pajama bottoms completely off the bed. They were lying in an untidy heap near the footboard, leaving her in the somewhat ridiculous combination of an old T-shirt and her overnight diaper. And now Oskar was lying beside her in almost precisely the same state of readiness for the morning. Sally caught her mother's expression. Bridget was smiling. Sally narrowed her eyes. “Don't.” “I'm not doing anything.” “You're smiling.” “Am I not allowed to smile at my children?” “Not like that.” Bridget pressed her lips together, which only made matters worse. “Sorry, Sally. You both look adorable.” “Mom.” “I can't help it.” “You're not trying very hard.” “No,” Bridget admitted. Sally rolled her eyes, put down the coffee and scooped Oskar into her arms. “Look at Mom,” she told him. “She's teasing us.” Oskar nestled against her chest and grabbed a handful of her T-shirt, apparently deciding that whatever offense had occurred did not require his intervention. “You're supposed to be on my side.” He remained neutral. “Typical.” Bridget laughed softly. For a moment she simply stood there watching them. Sally, sleepy and rumpled, held her brother against herself while Oskar seemed perfectly content to begin his day there. It made Bridget's smile soften. Sally noticed. “What now?” “Nothing.” “That was a different look.” “I'm allowed different looks.” Sally eyed her suspiciously and kissed Oskar's forehead. Bridget finally rescued her from the moment. “Bathroom. Shower. You can play with Oskar later.” “But I just got him.” “And you have approximately two hours before we need to leave.” Sally looked at her brother. “Did you hear that? She's shipping me off.” “To Croatia. On a yacht.” “Against my will.” “Of course.” Sally kissed Oskar again before lowering him gently onto the middle of the bed. “I'll be right back, little buddy.” Oskar immediately kicked both legs. “Don't go anywhere.” Bridget raised an eyebrow. “I think we're safe.” Sally slid herself toward the edge of the bed, stood—and immediately became considerably more conscious of the state of her overnight diaper. She glanced down. Then at her mother. Bridget's smile threatened to return. “Not. A. Word.” “I didn't say anything.” Sally grabbed a pair of fresh panties from her drawer. “I'll get your bags started,” Bridget offered. “Thanks, Mom.” Sally headed toward the bathroom with as much dignity as could reasonably be maintained under the circumstances. The wet padding made her gait just slightly wider than usual. Behind her came Bridget's voice. “Sally?” She stopped without turning. “What?” “Your coffee.” Sally looked back at the nightstand. “Oh.” Bridget laughed. Sally waddled back, collected the mug, and gave her mother a look of profound accusation. “Seven o'clock,” she muttered. “Nobody should be expected to function like this at seven o'clock.” “You've been awake at five to go jogging.” “That Sally isn't available today.” She took a loong sip of coffee and disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door. Bridget shook her head, smiling, and turned toward the open suitcases. On the bed, Oskar stared toward the bathroom door where his sister had vanished. “She'll be back,” Bridget assured him. Oskar kicked his legs. “I know. I miss her already too.” -- Adam was waiting beside the black S-Class when Sally stepped out of the house with her father. The luggage was already in the trunk, which suggested that at least part of the Weiss machinery had been functioning while she was still upstairs deciding whether she had forgotten anything. She gave Adam a questioning look as he opened the rear door. “Roberto's busy. Gardening team's in today,” Adrian explained. “And I'll be heading to Bern for a meeting after we drop you off at the airport.” Sally nodded with understanding. “Weiss logistics.” “Complicated, but feasible,” Adrian chuckled. Adam gave Sally an easy nod. “Good to go?” “Guess so.” Sally grinned, then looked at her father. “You're not escorting me to Croatia?” “Only if you need me to.” Adrian's smile remained, but his expression became attentive enough that Sally knew the offer was genuine. If she said yes, Bern would somehow cease to matter and Adrian Weiss would find himself at the wheel of the Mercedes-Benz. Sally chuckled. “Not really. I understand everything is set up?” She had meant it to sound carefree, although there was still a small knot somewhere inside her at the thought of making the entire journey alone. “There's a good team in Croatia waiting for you,” Adam assured her. “It should be a seamless transfer. They'll meet you at Split and take over from there.” “Thanks, Adam.” “Theresa set up most of it. Ready when you are.” Sally climbed into the Mercedes and buckled herself in. Adrian settled beside her, and as Adam pulled away she turned to look through the rear window. Bridget was still standing by the door. Sally waved enthusiastically, and her mother returned it until the curve of the driveway took the house out of sight. She settled back into the leather. “What’s in Bern?” Sally asked, turning toward her father, curious about the part of his day that would continue after she disappeared into the sky. “Roland. The lawyer. You've met him.” “Oh, yeah.” Sally nodded as the memory returned. “I actually flew with him a while back.” “He oversees a lot of business for us. Used to be my father's lawyer. His father was my father's lawyer before him, until he retired and Roland took over.” Sally looked amused. “So we inherit lawyers too?” “In a manner of speaking.” “That sounds vaguely feudal.” Adrian chuckled. “It sounds like trust. When somebody knows the history behind a decision made twenty-five years ago because he was sitting in the room when it was made, that's difficult to replace. I try to meet him personally once in a while rather than reducing everything to emails and conference calls.” Sally considered that. Increasingly, she was discovering that much of her father's business world seemed to function through relationships that were older than she was. Lawyers, bankers, executives and advisers weren't merely names attached to services. Some of them appeared almost woven into the family history. “Maybe you can come next time,” Adrian added. “You should get to know him properly.” “Sure.” Sally nodded. “I'd like that.” She sat back and watched Zürich slide past the tinted windows. The S-Class was made for this kind of journey. It didn't seem to drive so much as waft, isolating its passengers from the mechanics of movement. Whatever anxiety Sally had about the coming day—the flight, Croatia, the helicopter, meeting everyone aboard Lady Lara—was gradually relegated to some third or sixth level of consciousness. She knew it was there, but it didn't require her attention yet. Instead, she watched the familiar city give way to the airport and found herself becoming excited again. The yacht. The Adriatic. People she knew mostly through messages and memes. A helicopter waiting in Split. It was difficult to maintain serious apprehension about a vacation whose transportation arrangements sounded like something Charlie would demand photographic evidence of. As they entered the airport complex, Sally expected Adam to turn toward their usual hangar. Instead, the Mercedes continued past it. She leaned slightly toward the window. Adam followed the service road toward the neighboring FBO. Sally spotted the aircraft before they reached it: a sleek business jet waiting on the apron, stairs already lowered, ground crew moving around it. Her eyebrows rose. “Challenger 350,” her father pointed out. “Comfortable enough for a short flight,” he assured her. “I'll survive,” she chuckled. -- Adrian didn't hang around. He hugged Sally tightly, kissed the top of her head and gave her an affectionate push between the shoulder blades. “Have fun, Liebling.” “I will.” “Call us when you get there.” “I will.” “And—” “Dad.” Adrian grinned. “Have fun.” This time the push actually sent her toward the stairs. Sally glanced back once and saw him already walking toward the Mercedes. Adam was waiting beside the open rear door, and within moments her father was inside and the S-Class was moving away across the apron. Sally watched it longer than she needed to. Then she climbed aboard. The flight attendant followed her inside and gestured toward the cabin. “Make yourself at home, Miss Weiss. My name is Zoya.” “Thanks.” The cabin was pleasant, smaller than the G700 Sally was accustomed to flying, but considerably larger than she had expected when she'd first seen the Challenger outside. White dominated everything. Light cream carpet, white leather seats, polished surfaces and broad windows made it feel bright and airy rather than confined. There was even a sideways-facing sofa opposite the club seating. Sally walked toward the rear and chose a window seat there, dropping her backpack onto the seat facing her. It suddenly seemed very quiet. “Coffee, Miss Weiss?” Zoya offered. “We'll be leaving in about ten minutes.” Sally looked up and managed a smile. “Yes, please.” She settled deeper into the leather as Zoya disappeared toward the galley. She wasn't in the mood to be the center of anybody's attention. Not yet. In a few hours—or less—she would have to switch herself on. There would be people waiting aboard Lady Lara, introductions, hugs perhaps, jokes based on conversations they'd already had online, people wanting to know about Miami or New York or Oskar or her ridiculous orange Lamborghini. Right now she wanted silence. The silence wasn't helping. She felt abandoned. Sally knew that was unfair almost as soon as the thought appeared. Her father hadn't abandoned her. He had hugged her, made sure every detail of the trip was arranged and was now heading to Bern because he had work to do. Her mother would probably be sending her messages before the wheels were off the ground. In Split, there would be people waiting specifically for her. Still, watching Adrian drive away had hurt. And Oskar... That was worse. She had spent sixteen years perfectly content without a brother, and now leaving a tiny person who couldn't talk, crawl or even reliably keep his head where he wanted it had somehow created the feeling that she'd left a piece of herself behind in Zürich. It was ridiculous. She missed him already. Zoya returned and placed the coffee carefully on the table. “Chocolates?” Sally looked at the small selection appearing beside the cup and realized it hadn't really been a question. Even in her present mood, she couldn't argue with the logic. “Thank you.” This smile was real. Zoya seemed to notice the difference. More importantly, she seemed to notice everything else. She didn't fuss over Sally or attempt to manufacture conversation, merely checked that everything was where it should be. Sally picked up a chocolate and then, almost impulsively, spoke. “I'm sorry if I look moody.” Zoya looked at her. “I left my baby brother behind.” Sally gave a small shrug, suddenly feeling silly saying it aloud. “Sort of sucks.” Zoya's face brightened rather than becoming sympathetic in the suffocating way Sally had feared. “I'm sorry about that. Brothers are a blessing. I have three.” Sally looked up from her coffee. “Three?” “Yes.” “Wow. That's a lot.” Zoya chuckled. “It is. But I manage.” Sally took a bite of chocolate. “Are you the oldest?” “I am. Which means they require constant direction from their wise sister.” Sally laughed. Not the polite little laugh she'd been offering people all morning, but a warm, spontaneous one that surprised even her. “Do they agree that you're wise?” “Absolutely not.” That made Sally laugh again. “But that doesn't matter,” Zoya continued with perfect seriousness. “Brothers rarely recognize wisdom while they're receiving it.” Sally shook her head, smiling now. “Well, I've only got one, so I'll try to be wise for him.” “You'll do fine. Meanwhile, you get to enjoy Croatia.” Sally glanced through the window at the apron outside. The ground crew were finishing their work around the aircraft. “Yes.” She breathed out. “That, I do.” “And your brother will still be there when you return.” Sally nodded. “Thanks for the chocolates.” “You're welcome. I'll be back shortly to prepare the cabin for takeoff.” Zoya disappeared toward the front again, leaving Sally with her coffee, the chocolates and her thoughts. The thoughts felt different now. She sat back and took a slow sip. It amazed her sometimes how little it took to change the direction of a moment. Not solve anything. Not make her stop missing Oskar. Just tip the balance slightly. A chocolate. A cheerful voice. A stranger who happened to have three brothers and exactly the right thing to say about them. And somewhere south of here was an entirely different world waiting for her. Croatia. The Adriatic. A helicopter ride. Lady Lara. Friends who weren't quite friends yet, but probably would be soon. Sally looked at her phone. She had been ignoring it deliberately since leaving the house. There were notifications stacked across the screen now. Family. Katrina. The yacht group. Charlie had somehow managed to get a message through despite camp. Theresa had sent something. There were enough unread messages to remind Sally that solitude and loneliness weren't remotely the same thing. She shook her head at herself. Enough sulking. She unlocked the phone. It was time to get the ball rolling. -- Joseline: Looking good for Split arrival. I see you're on time. Airbus H125 already waiting on the tarmac at Split. Your luggage will be taken separately to the yacht. Have fun.   Sally smiled. Joseline Meyer, Weiss family concierge support. It had actually been Sally who suggested that Theresa bypass Joseline and put her directly into the loop. There was no reason for Sally's own travel arrangements to filter through three other people before reaching her. Theresa had agreed and created a group to keep everyone synchronized. Joseline was there, Adam was there, Theresa could keep an eye on things if necessary, and Sally could actually know what was happening without asking her father. She grinned and typed a reply.   Sally: Thank you. Great charter, by the way.   Zoya appeared almost simultaneously and set a small tray of croissants beside Sally's coffee. Sally's eyes immediately found the chocolate-filled one.   Joseline replied before she had taken her first bite.   Joseline: Thank you for the feedback. Will keep them on the good list.   Sally chuckled. She liked that. Somewhere in the machinery of Weiss family logistics, the operator of this Challenger 350 had just earned a small invisible check mark because Sally liked the airplane, the service and, presumably, Zoya's ability to deploy chocolate at psychologically useful moments. She slipped off her Converse and tucked them beside the seat, then stretched her legs and wiggled her bare toes against the soft carpet. It was hardly a long flight, but there was no reason not to be comfortable. The chocolate croissant was perfect—still slightly warm, flaky enough to make eating it elegantly impossible—and Sally let her gaze wander toward the window. The moving map showed them approaching Bolzano. The great wall of the Alps was beginning to taper away behind them, and Sally spent the next several minutes alternating between the map and the landscape below, trying to identify things before the screen told her what they were. Eventually she saw water. Then an extraordinary shape began emerging through the haze. Sally leaned toward the window. “No way.” The Venetian Lagoon. She could make out Venice itself—not in postcard detail, of course, but unmistakably there, suspended within the pale blue-green expanse of the lagoon. It fascinated Sally that something so famous, something she had seen on maps and in photographs all her life, could simply appear beneath an airplane and be recognized with her naked eye. She took several pictures for good measure. One was crooked. Another caught too much wing. The third was good enough. It was uploaded almost immediately. Then she remembered Charlie. Sally had taken to sending him occasional messages despite knowing he had little or no access to his phone during camp. It didn't matter. He would eventually emerge, find a backlog of aviation material waiting for him and respond with something characteristically eloquent. Possibly a thumbs-up. If particularly moved, perhaps two.   Sally: Challenger 350 to Split. If you zoom you can spot Venice somewhere down there.   She looked at the message, then turned the camera toward herself. Why not? She took a quick selfie from her seat, the bright window behind her, checked it and sent that too. Charlie enjoyed her flying pictures, and this seemed as good a moment as any to unveil the haircut. Sally wondered whether he would notice immediately or stare at the picture for five minutes trying to identify what had changed. The Alps disappeared behind them. Soon there was nothing below but the Adriatic, brilliant in the late-morning sun. Sally settled back with her coffee and music for a while, enjoying the peculiar luxury of having absolutely nothing required of her. The melancholy from Zürich hadn't disappeared entirely, but it had retreated. Home was still there. Oskar was still there. She would return to both. For now, the geography outside her window was pulling her forward. Eventually she sensed the Challenger beginning its descent more than she actually felt it. Land appeared again, although at first Sally couldn't quite understand what she was seeing. It wasn't a simple coastline. Islands seemed scattered everywhere, long irregular pieces of green and stone surrounded by intense blue water. She opened the map and compared it with the view. Zadar. Sally zoomed in. “Wow.” The city seemed almost guarded from the open Adriatic by an entire maze of islands. She traced them briefly with her finger before returning to the wider map. Lady Lara wouldn't be going that far north. Sally had already spent far too much time on Google Maps following Emma and Sophie's messages about the week's plans. Their world would begin around Split and work southward through the islands toward Dubrovnik. Šolta. Brač. Hvar. Korčula. Names that had been abstract labels on a screen were about to become actual places. Zoya approached from the galley, and Sally reluctantly pulled her feet down from the opposite seat. “We're preparing for descent,” she said as she efficiently collected Sally's cup and plate and folded the table away. “Feel free to use the washroom if you wish.” Sally recognized a strong suggestion when she heard one. There was still a helicopter ride between Split and the yacht, and while the flight itself had been remarkably short—barely forty minutes so far—arriving aboard Lady Lara with an empty bladder seemed like sensible planning. “Good idea. Thanks.” She slipped her Converse back on and made her way aft. The lavatory surprised her. Sally had expected something bordering on an airline lavatory in a jet this size: functional, cramped and designed primarily around the laws of geometry. It was certainly small, but it was beautifully finished and considerably more comfortable than she had anticipated. “Huh.” Another point for the good list. She used the toilet, then took a little longer at the basin, washing her hands and splashing cool water over her face. When she looked up, the mirror presented the version of herself she was still getting accustomed to. Sally ran both hands lightly through her hair. No brush. No elaborate repair work. A quick tousle, a gentle sweep into place, and the short layers settled almost exactly where she wanted them. She turned her head one way. Then the other. The haircut still occasionally startled her. But she liked the girl in the mirror. Sally smiled at her reflection. Modern Sally. -- Landing came sooner than Sally had expected. She straightened her jeans and tugged her white T-shirt into place, suddenly conscious that she was about to emerge into Croatian summer. She had deliberately chosen regular jeans for the flight because private-jet air conditioning could be enthusiastically effective, and the T-shirt was summery enough for now. She could change into shorts or something lighter once she was aboard Lady Lara. For the moment, she still had aircraft steps and an awkward helicopter to negotiate, and jeans and Converse seemed considerably more sensible than dressing for the yacht before she had actually reached it. From over the sea, the Challenger drew what seemed to Sally like a remarkably direct line toward the airport. She leaned toward the window as the ground rushed closer, fascinated by how compact everything looked. Split was clearly a busy airport, but nothing like Zürich or Miami. There were no sprawling concourses, no endless procession of wide-bodies. What caught her attention instead was the disproportionate number of business jets scattered around the field. As they touched down, Sally spotted an SAS aircraft taxiing in the opposite direction. Airbus, she thought. Probably. Charlie would know immediately. She followed it with her eyes until it disappeared behind them, then began reading liveries around the terminal as the Challenger slowed. Croatia Airlines. Eurowings. easyJet. The place had the unmistakable feel of a summer airport—aircraft arriving from all over Europe, disgorging people who had come for precisely the same sunshine Sally was about to enjoy. Yet beyond the commercial stands were private jets. Lots of them. Citations, Challengers, Falcons and others Sally couldn't identify quickly enough. “Popular yachting destination,” Zoya offered from nearby, apparently reading her thoughts. “That explains it.” Then Sally saw the helicopter. It stood some distance away, silver against the bright apron, compact and almost delicate compared with the aircraft surrounding it. Airbus H125. Sally grinned to herself. She was becoming an aircraft expert. Well, no. Absolutely not an expert. She had merely reached the stage where airplanes were no longer divided into big one, small one and private one. Charlie had at some point taken it upon himself to educate her, sending photographs and explaining engines, wings, noses and landing gear until Sally had reluctantly discovered that identifying aircraft was actually rather satisfying. The Challenger turned onto the apron and eventually stopped. Zoya was on her feet almost immediately and came toward Sally as the engines wound down. “Now we have to wait for airport support. No FBO here, I'm sorry.” She sounded almost apologetic about this failure of civilization. “But I can bring you something while we wait. A drink? Perhaps something to eat?” Sally smiled and shook her head. “No, thanks. I'll probably wait for lunch.” She checked her watch. Almost eleven. Sally blinked. “Wow. That was fast.” “Fifty minutes,” Zoya confirmed. Sally looked outside again. Switzerland had become Croatia while she'd eaten a croissant and looked at Venice. “How long before someone comes for me?” Zoya pressed her lips together thoughtfully. “An airport van should drive up and take you directly to the helicopter.” Sally shrugged. Waiting ten minutes in a Challenger 350 didn't strike her as a particularly serious hardship. “Well, I wouldn't mind a Coke if you have one.” Zoya beamed, apparently pleased to have been given one final opportunity to provide something. “Coming up.” Sally laughed softly as she sat back. A few minutes later, and the captain emerged from the cockpit. With the airplane parked and the formal part of his job temporarily over, conversation came easily. Sally learned that Split was merely the first movement of a considerably busier day. “Back to Zürich after this,” he explained, “then Ibiza this afternoon.” “Busy schedule?” “It can be. But we enjoy it. We don't do the long-haul flying Captain Henderson does, but we enjoy it all the same.” Sally brightened immediately. “Oh. You know Richard?” The captain laughed. “Everybody knows Richard. The G700 is famous in Zürich. And a few other places.” “Famous?” “Our Zürich Telegram group buzzes every time it's in town.” Sally stared at him for a moment before laughing. “Seriously?” “Seriously. There aren't that many G700s flying around Europe yet. People notice. Especially when one keeps coming back to the same airport.” Sally shook her head. “I'm going to tell him that.” “I'm sure he already knows.” That was probably true. Richard Henderson seemed capable of knowing what people were saying about his airplane before they had finished saying it. Sally sipped her Coke and watched the airport activity through the window. Ground vehicles darted between aircraft, baggage carts accumulated around the commercial stands, another private jet was being prepared nearby, and beyond all of it the Croatian landscape rose beneath an almost offensively blue summer sky. Eventually a white Volkswagen van appeared and came to a stop beside the Challenger's stairs. The captain glanced through the window and nodded solemnly toward it. “Your limousine, Miss Weiss.” Sally laughed and stood. “Looks good enough to me, Captain.” She shouldered her backpack. “Thank you for the ride. I hope we meet again.” “Enjoy Croatia.” Sally leaned toward the cockpit and waved at the first officer, who was still occupied with whatever mysterious sequence of switches and paperwork happened after a flight, then turned toward Zoya. Almost impulsively, she hugged her. “Thanks for everything. You cheered me up.” Zoya seemed genuinely touched. “Not at all, Miss Weiss. Have a wonderful holiday.” “I intend to.” Sally stepped through the doorway and immediately felt the Croatian heat. There it was. Summer. The conditioned serenity of the Challenger disappeared behind her as she descended the stairs into brilliant sunlight, backpack over one shoulder and short black hair catching the warm breeze. The airport smelled different out here—hot pavement, jet exhaust, sea air somewhere beneath it all. She climbed into the waiting Volkswagen and slid the door shut behind herself. The van pulled away. Sally looked through the window. The silver H125 was waiting. -- The pilot was waiting beside the silver H125 when Sally's van pulled up. He introduced himself, took her backpack and immediately began the familiar briefing. “Approach only from where you can see me, never toward the tail. Harness stays fastened until I tell you otherwise. Headset stays on. Life vest—” “Under the seat?” Sally offered. He stopped and looked at her. “Sorry.” “You've flown helicopters before?” Sally nodded. “Quite a bit.” The pilot smiled. “All right. That makes this easier.” He pointed toward the helicopter. “One thing specific to today. We'll land directly on Lady Lara, but we won't shut down. Touch and go. The yacht crew will be waiting.” Sally nodded. “Rotors running. Wait for your signal, exit on the indicated side, stay low and clear the aircraft.” He raised his eyebrows. “I know how to get out of a running helicopter,” Sally chuckled. “Excellent. Then my briefing is finished.” “How long?” “Not very. We'll cross Šolta on the way.” Sally's grin widened. “Sounds good.” He opened the door for her. The Challenger had been comfortable. This looked like fun. -- Sally sat buckled into her seat, headset resting comfortably over her ears while the pilots worked through their checks. For the moment, the H125 was still quiet enough for her to take out her phone. There were already messages waiting.   Emma: Are you here yet? Emma: We followed your plane.   Sophie: We followed the only plane flying from Zurich to Split. We know you are here.   Emma: You are found out. Nothing is secret!   Ally: Sorry, Sally. They've been restless all morning. Come and save me!   Emma: You are as impatient as we are to meet her!   Sophie: True. You kept checking FlightRadar. I saw you.   Ally: That's because you won't leave me alone. Sally, HELP!   Sally laughed aloud, earning a quick glance and a smile from the pilot.   Sally: Will be there shortly. Waiting for the helicopter to take off.   The reply was almost instantaneous.   Emma: Helicopter????   Sophie: She is a Weiss.   Sally cringed.   Ally: The crew was doing something on the foredeck. I think they're getting it ready. It serves as a landing pad.   Emma: Oh my God, this is going to be awesome!!   Sophie: I told you. She is a Weiss.   Sally shook her head and typed.   Sally: Guys, I've got one head and two arms...   Ally: Forgive them, Sally. You could arrive in a rowboat and they'd think you were cool.   Emma: If it's a real wooden rowboat.   Sophie: Only if she does the rowing.   Ally: And wears a sailor hat.   Sally grinned.   Sally: No hat. It'll mess up my hair.   She slipped the phone securely into her pocket just as the turbine began to spool up. The sound rose around her, followed by the accelerating beat of the rotor overhead. Sally settled back against the seat and tightened her grip on the harness for a moment, feeling the vibration come alive beneath her. Through the window, Split Airport shimmered in the July heat. Then the H125 grew light on its skids. Sally smiled. Now the fun started. -- The H125 became alive around her. The turbine rose into a smooth mechanical whine, the rotor beat sharpened overhead, and the vibration Sally had felt through the seat transformed into something more purposeful. She watched the pilots finish their checks, caught a brief exchange through the headset, and then the apron shifted beneath her. There was almost no drama to the actual liftoff. One moment the helicopter was sitting on its skids; the next there was daylight underneath them. Sally grinned. The pilot turned the H125 away from the airport and climbed, and suddenly Split opened around her. The airport fell behind, the coastline spread ahead, and the Adriatic exploded into view beneath the helicopter in shades of blue Sally wasn't sure photographs ever captured properly. They crossed over inlets filled with boats and marinas packed with white hulls, then pushed out over open water. The sensation was completely different from the Challenger. The jet had carried her in polished isolation, barely admitting that flight was taking place. The helicopter made no such attempt. Sally could feel it. The vibration through her feet, the changing pitch of the rotor, the slight movements of the airframe as the pilot adjusted course—it all connected her physically to what was happening. She loved it. The H125 accelerated over the water. Sally leaned toward the window as far as her harness allowed. Ferries cut broad white wakes toward the islands. Sailboats looked impossibly delicate from above. Speedboats drew ruler-straight lines across the blue, while larger yachts sat anchored in sheltered coves like expensive toys someone had carefully arranged there. Then there were the really big ones. Sally spotted one megayacht offshore and followed it with her eyes. “Wow.” The pilot glanced toward it. “You'll see plenty of those this week.” A cruise ship farther out looked enormous even from altitude, surrounded by smaller vessels that gave Sally enough scale to appreciate just how much traffic was scattered across the Adriatic. Every few seconds there seemed to be something else worth looking at. She gave up trying to photograph everything. Šolta rose ahead of them. The helicopter climbed higher as they crossed the island, and Sally's entire window became a moving postcard: rocky shoreline giving way to dense green vegetation, pale roads winding between small settlements, red roofs gathered together in villages, coves cut deeply into the coast. On the far side, the Adriatic stretched toward more islands layered faintly against the summer haze. Sally took a picture. Then another. Then lowered her phone because looking through a screen suddenly seemed criminal. The H125 swept across Šolta with effortless speed. Sally could feel adrenaline building inside her—not fear, exactly, but the delicious awareness that she was doing something unusual. Yesterday morning she'd been sitting in church holding Oskar. A few hours ago she'd been in a diaper in her bedroom in Zürich. Now she was strapped into a helicopter flying over a Croatian island on her way to a yacht. Her grin refused to leave. They crossed the southern coastline and were over water again. The pilot's voice came through her headset. “Miss Weiss?” Sally immediately looked forward. “If you look about two o'clock—three miles—you'll see Lady Lara.” Sally searched. Nothing. Then she found her. “Oh!” At first the yacht was simply a brilliant white shape against the blue, long and impossibly clean. Then the helicopter closed the distance and the proportions began resolving themselves: decks, superstructure, tenders, people, the enormous open bow. Sally grabbed her phone. “That’s her?” “That’s Lady Lara.” “Holy cow.” The pilot laughed through the intercom. The H125 didn't head directly toward the yacht. Instead it swept past at altitude, giving Sally a broad view down over her. She pressed her phone against the window and fired off several pictures, knowing perfectly well that at least half would be crooked. Then the helicopter banked. Hard enough to make Sally's stomach shift pleasantly. “Oh, yes,” she murmured. The horizon tilted dramatically. Lady Lara seemed to swing upward through Sally's window as the H125 carved around her, and for several exhilarating seconds Sally was looking almost directly down at the yacht. She could see the bow had been cleared completely. Crew members were positioned around its perimeter, tiny from above. And people. Three figures stood well back from the landing area. Sally laughed. She didn't need introductions to know who those were. “Found them.” The pilot brought the helicopter around again, bleeding off speed as the yacht settled into position ahead. The exuberant sightseeing portion of the flight was suddenly over. Everything became measured and deliberate. Sally put her phone away. The H125 lined up with Lady Lara's bow. The yacht grew rapidly. What had looked enormous from the air somehow became even larger as they descended toward it. Sally could see crew members clearly now, watching the helicopter. The sea moved beyond the railings on either side, blue and sparkling, while the white landing area seemed to rise toward them. The pilot made tiny corrections. Sally felt the helicopter hover. Down. A little sideways movement. Down again. Rotor wash tore across the bow, whipping clothing and anything else that wasn't firmly secured. Sally's heartbeat was hammering now, partly from the approach and partly from the absurd realization that this was how she was arriving to meet her new friends. The deck came closer. Closer. Then— A tiny bump. The skids kissed Lady Lara. “We're down,” came the pilot's calm voice. Sally blinked. That was it? She wanted to protest. They had only just taken off. But the rotor was still thundering overhead, and Sally knew the routine. This wasn't the moment to sit around mourning the end of the ride. She waited for the signal, released her harness and pulled off the headset. The door opened. Warm Adriatic air rushed inside. Sally looked out at the brilliant white deck, the sea beyond it—and three girls waiting at a safe distance with expressions suggesting Christmas morning had arrived several months early. She laughed. The helicopter ride had ended far too quickly. Croatia, apparently, had not. -- The deckhand was already moving toward the helicopter as Sally climbed out. “Welcome aboard, Miss Weiss. Won't you step over to the side?” he called above the rotors, pointing clearly toward the safe area. Sally nodded and moved quickly where he indicated. Once there, she turned around, one hand holding her sunglasses securely against the rotor wash. The H125 sat vibrating on its skids for only a few seconds longer before becoming light again. It lifted cleanly from the bow, hovered momentarily above the yacht and then began climbing away over the Adriatic. Sally watched it go, grinning as the rotor noise gradually diminished. “Cool,” she murmured. Very cool. She bent down to slip her shoes off. “Sally!” “Sally!” Two voices piped up behind her almost simultaneously. Sally turned. Two tall, slim, impossibly blond teenagers stood several yards away, smiling expectantly. For all the relentless messages, memes and FlightRadar surveillance of the last few days, they suddenly looked remarkably shy now that Sally was actually standing in front of them. Sally felt a flicker of the same awkwardness. “You must be Ellen and Sophie,” she began tentatively. They nodded. “I'm Ellen,” said the slightly taller twin, touching her chest. “And this is Sophie.” “Hi.” Sally gave a small shrug and extended her hand with the safest social option available. “Pleased to meet you.” The twins looked down at her hand. Then at each other. Then back at Sally. Sally barely had time to wonder what she'd done wrong before both girls stepped forward at once and wrapped their arms around her. “Finally!” they breathed. Sally disappeared into a four-armed hug. “Oh!” She laughed awkwardly, trapped somewhere between them. “Uh—great to be here.” The awkwardness lasted perhaps three seconds. Then Sally surrendered and hugged them back, laughing as Ellen squeezed her once more before finally releasing her. “You're actually here,” Sophie said, looking almost surprised by the fact. “I think so.” Ellen looked toward the sky where the H125 was already shrinking into the distance. “That was incredible.” “It was incredible from inside too.” “We watched you come around the yacht.” “The banking!” Sophie added. Sally grinned. “Yeah. I liked that part.” “Come.” Ellen had apparently recovered completely from her shyness and took Sally by the hand. “You've got to meet everybody.” “And Otto,” Sophie added, falling into step beside them. “Oh, yes. Otto.” Ellen lowered her voice confidentially as though preparing Sally for something important. “He looks serious.” Sally smiled. She had known Otto considerably longer than either twin realized, but decided not to spoil this useful intelligence. “Does he?” “Very.” “But he's friendly,” Sophie finished reassuringly. “Yes,” Ellen agreed. “Very friendly. He's German.” She raised her eyebrows as though this explained both characteristics. Sally pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. “But he lives in New York, mostly,” Sophie continued. “Right.” The three made their way along the side deck, Sally following wherever Ellen's hand directed her. The rotor wash had left her new hair in mild disarray, and she pushed her sunglasses properly onto her nose before brushing the short strands back around one ear. It took barely a second to fix. Another point for Ramona. Only now, walking through the yacht rather than looking down at it from a helicopter, was Sally beginning to comprehend its scale. Lady Lara wasn't merely large. It seemed to contain spaces, corridors and entire social worlds she hadn't seen from above.  A crew member mysteriously took the shoes from her hand with a nod. Sally let go, aware they would reappear as mysteriously in her cabin. Crew members greeted her as she passed, and everywhere beyond the brilliant white structure was blue—sea, sky, distant Croatian coastline. Ellen was still holding her hand. Sophie was already telling her something about lunch. Sally smiled. So much for being nervous about meeting them. They rounded the corner and reached the rear deck. Everybody was waiting. -- Sally found herself surrounded almost immediately by warmth. It wasn't overwhelming warmth, which she appreciated. Nobody descended on her as though she were a celebrity making an appearance. There was courtesy, a little tentative curiosity and the unmistakable sense that everyone wanted her to feel welcome. Niklas and Astrid Rasmussen approached first. As Emma and Sofie's parents, they were technically Sally's hosts, and Sally instinctively slipped into the polite confidence her parents had drilled into her. She shook Niklas's hand, smiled, thanked him for having her, and then barely had time to offer Astrid the same formality before the woman pulled her into a motherly hug. “Your mother told me you almost didn't want to leave,” Astrid said, keeping Sally gently by the arm afterward. Sally immediately felt herself becoming self-conscious. “Well, Oskar had only just gotten used to me again.” She shrugged and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I've been away a lot.” “He'll remember you.” “I hope so.” Astrid smiled. “Of course he will.” She turned Sally toward another couple. “Matthias and Hannah Keller. They're from Munich.” Sally shook hands with the tall German couple and exchanged the expected pleasantries before Matthias reached behind himself and landed a hand firmly on the shoulder of a bright-looking teenager who seemed to have arrived directly from the water. “And this is our son, Leon.” Sally grinned. “Hallo.” She extended her hand formally despite the fact that Leon was standing there freshly out of the pool, in wet swim trunks. He took it, leaving Sally's hand noticeably damp in the process. Leon glanced down. “Entschuldigung.” Sally laughed. “It's fine.” He gave a small bow, pushing dripping dark hair away from his forehead. “Pleasure.” His German accent was unmistakable. Then, without any further ceremony, he nodded toward the pool. “Want to swim?” Sally blinked at the abrupt change of subject and chuckled. “As soon as my luggage arrives.” “Gut.” Apparently that settled their relationship. “Well, if it ain't Sally Weiss.” Sally turned at the unmistakably American voice. A broad, friendly-looking man in shorts and a polo shirt was approaching with his hand already extended. “Mercer. David Mercer. It's a pleasure, finally.” “Sally.” She shook his hand, amused. “Although apparently you've figured that out.” “Oh, we've figured that out. Ally's been talking about you nonstop.” David turned and scanned the deck. “Ally? Where is she?” Sally had already found her. A camera partially concealed a freckled face a few yards away. Dark-blond hair, still damp and slightly matted from the pool, framed the lens as it pointed directly toward Sally. Sally grinned. The camera lowered. Ally grinned back. David continued searching in completely the wrong direction. “Ally?” Sally nearly laughed. “Well, dunno where she is.” David apparently gave up remarkably quickly. “But you might as well meet Carol.” A friendly-looking woman had just joined them. “Sally, my dear.” Carol took both of Sally's hands. “Such a pleasure to finally meet you. We'll talk properly later. But sit down. Relax. Did you have a good trip? How was the flight from Zürich?” “It was great, actually. Very quick.” “I saw the helicopter. Goodness, that entrance—” Suddenly Ally appeared beside Sally as though she'd materialized there. She slipped an arm around Sally's shoulders in a quick half hug. “Let me rescue you.” Sally looked at her. Ally lowered her voice conspiratorially. “These ladies are very friendly, but if you don't escape now, they will only talk.” Carol looked offended. Hannah joined her. “I heard that.” “You were supposed to,” Ally replied. Astrid, however, nodded approvingly. “Go. She has an entire week for us to interrogate her.” “Thank you,” Sally said, laughing. “Lunch in half an hour,” Matthias called after them. There was something about the way he said it—half an hour, not around lunchtime, not when everyone is ready—that made Sally glance at Ally. Ally waited until they were a few steps away. “German efficiency,” she murmured. “Even on holiday.” Sally laughed. Behind them, Matthias called something to Leon in German, apparently related to changing out of his wet swim trunks before lunch. The twins were likewise sent away to get something decent on for lunch. “See?” “I'm Swiss,” Sally pointed out. “We appreciate punctuality.” “Then you're doomed. You'll encourage him.” They continued along the deck, and Sally finally had the opportunity to look around properly. “Let me show you around now that the twins have been sent away. I have learned to keep some shorts at hand. This makes me presentable at a moment’s notice.” Sally nodded. “Good idea”. The yacht was enormous. From the helicopter, Lady Lara had looked like a beautifully proportioned white object floating in an impossible amount of blue. From aboard, Sally couldn't quite make sense of it yet.  A grand white piano. In a yacht.  Stairs seemed to lead to other decks in every direction. There were lounging areas, shaded spaces, glass, polished surfaces, crew appearing and disappearing almost silently, and glimpses of the pool she had seen from above. Beyond the railings, the Adriatic filled everything else. And somewhere aboard were still people she hadn't met. Sally looked at Ally. “So where are we going?” “Tour.” “Good.” “Pool first. Then I'll show you where everybody hides. Then your room.” “And Otto?” Ally's expression became mischievous. “Oh, yes. The mysterious German.” Sally laughed. “I've been warned that he looks serious.” “Who told you that?” “Ellen.” “Emma,” Ally corrected automatically. Sally stopped. The blonde twin who had introduced herself as Ellen flashed through her mind. “Oh, no.” Ally burst out laughing. “I've been here five minutes!” “You're doing great.” Sally groaned and followed her. She had barely arrived, had already confused one twin's name, had been photographed before she'd properly met the photographer, had shaken hands with a dripping German boy who immediately invited her swimming, and had apparently been saved from a maternal interrogation by a girl she'd known in person for approximately ninety seconds. Her apprehension was disappearing remarkably quickly. This might actually be fun. -- “Do you need me to lend you some shorts? You look warm in those jeans.” Ally glanced down at Sally's legs as they reached the accommodation deck. Sally shook her head. “I've got some in my backpack. I figured my luggage might arrive later than I did.” “Good thinking. Your cabin's next to mine.” Ally stopped at a door and opened it for her. “You can change and leave your backpack here. I'll wait in the corridor.” Sally chuckled and shrugged. “You can wait inside.” The cabin was smaller than Sally's cabin aboard Flying Fox, certainly, but that was hardly criticism. It was exquisitely elegant and remarkably practical, with pale fabrics, warm wood and enough glass to remind her that the Adriatic was immediately outside. Everything seemed designed to make the space feel larger without pretending it actually was. Sally dropped her backpack onto the bed and looked around approvingly. “There's an ensuite,” Ally said, pointing toward another door. “Plenty of warm water too, if you chicken out from the cold water.” Sally turned slowly and raised an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge?” Ally laughed. “Maybe. You don't look like a spoiled rich girl.” “I'm a brave rich girl,” Sally corrected with a grin. She opened her backpack and began rummaging through it. Under her toiletries and the few things she'd deliberately kept with her, she found the shorts she'd packed for precisely this situation and pulled them out. Bright turtles immediately filled the room. Ally tilted her head. Sally held them against herself. “I bought them last week. These should do for lunch, at least.” “They're... unique.” “That's diplomatic.” “No, I like them.” Ally reached over to inspect one particularly cheerful turtle. “Actually, they're very cool.” Sally grinned and tossed them onto the bed. Ally's attention shifted back to her. “I have to admit, your hair looks awesome.” Sally instinctively touched it. “It's...” Ally considered her wording. “One hundred percent you.” Sally frowned slightly. It was such a simple compliment, but coming from somebody who had known her in person for perhaps fifteen minutes, it somehow landed exactly where it needed to. Sally had spent the last several days asking herself whether the haircut was too short, too boyish, too deliberate, too different. Her father liked it. Her mother liked it. Theresa and Jana had approved enthusiastically. Yet there had remained a tiny uncertainty that perhaps everyone who loved her was simply being kind. Ally had no reason to be kind about her hair. “Thanks. I’ve been a little insecure about it, actually. But coming from someone who’s only known me fifteen minutes, I think that counts for a lot.”  “Cutting your hair will do that to you, though. You spend the first few days wondering what you've done.” Ally gestured toward Sally's head. “But seriously, you rock it. And those shorts...” She looked down at the turtles again. “Yeah. They'll do.” “High praise.” “Very.” Sally picked them up. “Okay. Don't run away.” “I'll try to control myself.” She disappeared into the ensuite and closed the door behind her. However instantly friendly Ally seemed, Sally appreciated the privacy, and suspected Ally did too. New friendships benefited from boundaries. Sally had at least learned that much. She took advantage of the toilet while she was there, washed her hands and gave herself another quick inspection in the mirror. The helicopter hadn't done too much damage. She ran her fingers through the short layers, watched them fall back into place and smiled. Still good. The jeans came off and were folded over her arm. Sally stepped into the bright turtle-print trunks and tied them comfortably at her waist. They were loose without being baggy, and she immediately appreciated why men's swimwear could be so comfortable. She slipped her hands into the pockets. Actual pockets. Excellent. Sally smoothed her white T-shirt over the waistband and studied the result. Bare legs, colorful shorts, T-shirt, short tousled hair. Considerably more appropriate for a Croatian yacht in July than jeans. And perfectly respectable for lunch. “Good enough,” she told the mirror. Her first lunch aboard Lady Lara awaited.