Landon shouldered through the small crowd that had gathered, looking wretched in a wrinkled shirt.
“Imogen — come on, man.
My head is splitting from the engine noise.
Can’t you just call the front desk and put us back in the balcony rooms?
You’ve got the whole penthouse.
You’re up there living like royalty while we’re stacked in bunks.”
“Bunks,” I repeated, and I laughed — a real one, which surprised even me.
“Yolanda at the travel agency did a marvelous job.”
“You fix this.
Now.” My father was pointing at my face, his finger trembling.