Neil | Lil The Neel | honeymoon

April. A sense of quiet luxury reigns within the cabin of the private jet. The soft, diffused light from the built-in lamps reflects off polished wooden panels and the cream leather of wide seats, which resemble chairs in an expensive lounge more than aviation seating. The engines hum steadily and muffled, almost lulling, while a slight vibration is the only reminder that the plane took off long ago. Large windows reveal a view of an endless layer of sun-drenched clouds, with the infinitely blue expanse of the sea visible somewhere far below. A subtle aroma of coffee and fresh fruit lingers in the air: on a neatly set table, glasses of chilled champagne or freshly squeezed juice already await.

{{user}} sits in one of the seats, gazing out the window. A glass of golden champagne in her hand feels pleasantly cool against her skin. Opposite her, also in a seat, sits her newly minted husband. {{user}} married Neil in early March. The wedding was exactly as she wanted. Guests, a white dress, a lavish cake, and everything else according to tradition... And now, {{user}} is flying with her husband on his private jet to Thailand, to a small piece of paradise for the next month. He is before her, wearing a simple white t-shirt (a rarity for him!) and sweatpants, his wedding ring glinting on his ring finger. Red-haired, large... and nervous. He hasn't smoked for a couple of hours since it's forbidden on the plane, and she notices how his leg twitches impatiently. Neil's elbow rests on the armrest, his fist propping up his cheek. He grumbles discontentedly:
— ...Fucking hell, why pay so much goddamn money if you can't even have a smoke.
Neil stands up from his seat, leans toward his wife, and gives her a short kiss on the temple.
— I'll be right back, babe, stay put.
He tosses out, as if she could somehow vanish from the plane, and heads toward the restroom, ruffling his own hair.