Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
Early Afternoon
Old Town Prague is bustling.
The cobblestones under our feet shine faintly from the morning rain. The narrow streets weave between buildings older than I can comprehend. Towers rise at odd angles above the rooftops, Gothic spires cut into a pale-blue sky while church bells somewhere in the distance mark the hour.
Tourists wander in loose clusters, cameras pointed at the Astronomical Clock while locals slip around them with the easy confidence of people who know every crooked alley by heart. Café doors stand open and the smell of coffee drifts into the street alongside the unmistakable scent of Pilsner.
Julian walks beside me, hands in the pockets of his jacket, looking suspiciously relaxed for a man whose wedding rehearsal is set to take place in a few hours.
“You realize,” Irving steps around a delivery cart, “this is the most respectable bachelor party I’ve ever attended.”
Julian snorts. “It’s not a bachelor party.”
“It’s a pub crawl,” Irving replies. “Same concept. No strippers.”
Fred, Julian’s father, laughs from behind us. “Not everything requires strippers.”
“Yeah, vastly overrated.” Marisol’s father, Jose, shakes his head slowly.
The five of us move through the winding streets together, following Julian’s confident navigation to our first stop.
He’s no doubt spent hours researching and mapping this route out.
We turn onto a narrow street lined with tall, pastel buildings and stop outside a pub with dark wooden doors and a carved sign hanging above it.
U T?i R??í.
“Here we go.” Julian pushes the door open.
The smell of fresh beer hits immediately.
Inside, the pub is dim and warm. Wood beams hang overhead and long tables are crowded with locals already deep into early-afternoon conversations. A chalkboard near the bar lists the house lager.
Tank beer.
Julian raises his hand to the bartender. “Five.”
The glasses arrive seconds later. Tall. Golden. Foam rising perfectly to the rim.
“Na zdraví.” Jose lifts his glass.
Fred translates, “To health.”
We clink glasses. The first sip is cold and smooth, indicating why the Czech Republic takes brewing seriously.
“Delicious.” Julian is smug. “The perfect start to our pub crawl.”
“You’re marrying the woman of your dreams tomorrow,” Irving ignores him, “yet you’ve probably spent more time researching this non-bachelor party than you did planning the wedding.”
“Balance.” Julian remains unapologetic.
We finish the round and wander back into the streets. The afternoon stretches comfortably as we make our way through a few pubs dabbled between Gothic arches and Renaissance facades. The Astronomical Clock chimes as we cross the square.
We duck into another bar a few streets over, this one quieter and darker. The walls are lined with framed photographs and old beer advertisements. Another round appears.
The conversation maneuvers easily the way it does with men who’ve known each other long enough to skip introductions, fathers included. Inevitably, the teasing Julian should have known it was coming begins.
“Seventeen years.” Jose leans back in his chair. “You’ve been dating Marisol seventeen years.”
Julian raises an eyebrow. “Happily, of course.”
“You finally decided to marry my daughter.”
Fred laughs into his beer.
“Don’t forget the babies,” Jose adds. “Twelve years old now, yes?”
Julian sighs dramatically. “I’m sensing judgment.”
“Nah. Observation,” I chuckle.
“You had kids before you got around to the ceremony.” Fred claps his son on the back. “Bold strategy, son. Good thing she hasn’t left you in the dust.”
Julian lifts his glass again. “Marisol and I have always done things on our own time.”
The laughter spreads around the table easily.
Irving turns his attention to me. The focus starts out subtle, but I brace for what’s coming.
“So…” he says casually.
I know exactly where this is going.
“So,” I repeat.
“You and Skylar.”
My beer pauses halfway to my mouth. Julian glances between us.
I manage not to cough. “What about Sky?”
Irving nods at Julian. “You’re telling me you and Marisol didn’t notice?”
Fred raises an eyebrow.
Julian’s eyebrows pinch together in confusion. “Notice what?”
Irving smiles slowly. “The change.”
Great. I’m gonna have to kill him.
I take a sip of beer before asking, “What change?”
“Don’t play. You and I both know why you flew her over here.” Irving snorts.
Julian sets his glass down. “Oh.”
There it is. My turncoat friend. Irving’s outed us before we’re ready for the masses. I should be mad, but strangely I feel free. I run a hand through my hair.
“Things with me and Sky have…progressed,” I admit.
Julian blinks once. “Progressed?”
“Yes.”
Irving cheeses. “You dirty dog. You didn’t confirm or deny.”
“Huh.” Julian chuckles quietly. “Took long enough. I wonder if Marisol knows.”
“Fifteen years of tension is impressive.” Irving nudges me.
I shrug. “Worth it. She’s worth it.”
Julian looks at me carefully. “You’re serious.”
“I’ve always been serious when it comes to Sky.” The words come out before I filter them.
Four men stare at me. Waiting.
I smile despite myself. “She’s always been it.”
Fred shakes his head with a soft laugh. “Men of your generation waste a lot of time.”
“You better not drag this out another decade.” Irving points at me.
“I’m not rushing her,” I protest.
“How in the hell would you be rushing her?” Julian asks.
“Because things changed on the way over and she asked me not to say anything,” I try to explain. “Sky doesn’t want to take the spotlight away from your wedding.”
The four of them exchange looks.
Jose strokes his chin with his fingers. “Time is a funny thing. Sometimes you think you have plenty—”
“Sometimes you discover you don’t,” Fred finishes.
Irving lifts his glass again. “You’ve both already waited fifteen years.”
Julian grins. “Clock’s ticking.”
I finish my beer and set down the empty glass. The advice isn’t subtle.
But, it’s solid.
In a few hours we’ll be back at the castle for the rehearsal dinner.
Sky will be across from me again.
Publicly we’re practicing patience.
Though, I’m starting to think it’s overrated.