Our first night of sex had been hyperemotional, frenzied and an Internet sensation. I’d changed my numbers and passwords and, under the guidance of Edgar’s palace tech crew, downloaded the most updated anti-malware protection to discourage further hacking. I hadn’t posted anything on any platform since Edgar and I had gone viral. Not being on Twitter or Instagram or whatever else was disconcerting, like missing a phantom limb; sometimes my thumbs twitched, sending air texts into the twilight zone. But maybe a time-out from social media would be healthy for me; I became my mom, lecturing myself, “Put down that phone and get some fresh air. Or use the time to read a book or have more sex with Prince Edgar.”

We were in the sky somewhere over the Atlantic, with porthole windows available only to really ambitious seagulls. Private air travel is decadent, but it’s one of the hushed spaces where the rich and famous can be truly alone. This also explains their sprawling estates, bunker-like home theaters and gargantuan armored limos, all of which create a buffer between the privileged and the rest of us. Maybe privacy is their most-prized and vigilantly guarded luxury.

But before I could pursue this line of thought, Edgar had removed his blazer, folded it neatly and dropped it on the floor. I tugged my sweater off over my head, leaving my face flushed and my hair crazed. There was a bed between us for about two seconds. We lay down facing each other and I traced Edgar’s upper lip with my forefinger because I knew it would make him smile.

Edgar ran his own forefinger along the side of my neck because he knew it would make me tremble.

We kissed hungrily but then moved apart, because we had time.

I unbuttoned Edgar’s shirt and slid my hand inside, as he moaned. His hand went to the zipper of my jeans; my hips lurched, and I made a sound that I wondered if James, Gerald and the security team had heard, but the door was solid, and if I couldn’t make noise I should just grab a parachute and once I was in the water, let the Coast Guard rescue me.

I touched Edgar’s hair, questioning if there was anything I could do to make him look less incredible. There wasn’t. He leaned in for another kiss, a major one, a lasting one, as our hands moved everywhere, and being on a plane made squirming out of our clothes even sexier. I have no idea how airplanes work or what keeps them aloft, but I quickly learned that soaring through the clouds, surrounded only by air, by nothing, by a miracle, makes being naked unbelievably exciting, and I decided that astronauts’ spacesuits are designed to be cumbersome so they won’t keep ripping them off and drifting ravenously toward each other en route to Mars.