20. CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY
When the boundaries of Prague took over the countryside, I dug through my phone again for the hostel’s address. The property was situated on a bustling stretch of road with shops, restaurants, and other hotels. The view down the street dead-ended in a gloriously austere building, which I’d read was a museum.
We checked in (with me surveying the recommended materials from the front desk employee with a more critical eye this time), and the concierge looked between me and Emil.
“Your reservation is for a single bed,” she said. “We still have to charge for two people and have available bunks in neighboring rooms, if you’d like?”
I opened my mouth, but Emil cut in first. “No, one is fine.”
“Are you really sure you’ll be comfortable?” I asked after we’d paid and were walking upstairs. I was all for the arrangement, but we were both sleep deprived…for one reason or another.
But Emil shook his head again. “I prefer it.”
And I saw why, at least partially, as we settled in before heading out into the early dusk. His gaze roved over the smattering of our fellow mixed-dorm inhabitants. An uncomfortable wave of anxiety flooded my veins, and I avoided meeting any of the other men’s curious looks as we walked through the room toward our bunk. They turned away as soon as their eyes landed on Emil. The warmth that seemed ever present inside of me these days flared with appreciation.
The old square was only a few minutes’ walk from the hostel. We passed by street vendors selling roasted nuts and frozen treats, while others offered funnel-shaped pastries crisping over a turning spit. The latter’s scent made my mouth water—butter and caramelized sugar with cinnamon. Emil bought one for us to try as we strolled. Impossible as it seemed, it tasted even better than it smelled.
I was devouring my last bite when the vast square came into view. I stopped mid-chew. Gothic steeples of a huge church soared overhead to my right while a towering, intricate clock ticked away the seconds on my left. In the middle sat a grand statue of a man, jet-black and looming over the people gathered around, admiring it from every angle.
Emil’s hand slid into mine as we gawked. Natural, without thinking.
My pulse thrummed as we circled the courtyard. “What do you know about Prague?”
We came to a stop in front of the huge, formidable statue and stared up at the figure’s sharp cheekbones. “Not much, just what we learned in school. Some history of the place.” His mouth twitched. “These days…?” He shrugged.
My gaze scraped down from the proud man’s face to his feet where prone figures lay. Was he a hero, a saint, or a conqueror?
“Do you know who he is?”
“Jan Hus,” Emil said, pointing at a plaque, his voice thoughtful. “I recognize that name. I think he was a religious reformer who became a sort of martyr at his death.”
I nodded like I understood. I wanted to understand.
“One of the brochures from the hostel mentioned there’s a free walking tour,” I offered. “I wouldn’t normally want to, but this place…” I drifted off, unable to put my finger on it. There was just something di fferent about it. Whispers from the asymmetrical streets leading off the square promised me they’d tell their tale, if only I’d lean in closely enough to hear it.
He nodded, still pensive as we moved on. “Yes, I think that would be good.”
We wandered the streets in search of food and tucked in at a cozy, rustic pub. Overlooking the cobbled road, we ordered a hearty dinner. Emil opted for a slow-roasted pork dish. I just had to try the goulash, though the menu strictly specified theirs was made with all-Czech flavors. Two birds, one stone, as far as I was concerned. It sounded delicious.
When the waiter asked presumptuously if we wanted beer with our meal, Emil glanced at the menu and laughed.
“Yes, two, please,” he said, handing both our menus to the waiter.
I wasn’t about to complain.
“What’s funny?” I wondered after the waiter left.
“It’s the cheapest thing on the menu,” he chuckled. “Even coffee.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
It was dangerous. Our entrees down and two beers each had me floating in a mellow, mushy fog I didn’t normally indulge in. What a lightweight.
The waiter cleared our dishes. “Anything more for you?”
I pointed to my empty pint glass. “I’ll take another,” I said with a lazy grin at Emil. He cocked an eyebrow, but motioned to the waiter for another as well.
“Is that a good idea?” he asked when we were alone. He had to shout a little. The pub had filled to the brim with the after-work crowd.
As if on cue, I hiccuped. I pressed my lips together, pretending to think hard. “Probably not, but what the hell?” My tone turned dead serious. “I’m on vacation.”
He huffed a laugh, and I broke character with a broad grin.
“Have you ever been blackout-drunk?” I asked.
“Blackout? ”
“Yeah, like you didn’t remember stuff?”
“Ah. Not completely, no. Hazy, but not gone entirely.” His eyes searched my face curiously. “You?”
Normally, I wouldn’t have offered up the truth, but I’d dug this grave myself by asking. “Once. My first year of college. I’d never drank before, not once, so I didn’t know what to expect. It just felt so good…until suddenly it didn’t.” I winced, the morning after as painfully vivid as the night preceding it was shrouded.
He cringed with me in sympathy.
“Learned my lesson, though, didn’t I?”
The waiter arrived with our beers.
I laughed again. “Or maybe I haven’t.”
“It’s just beer,” Emil said, taking a sip.
“Did you know there have been studies showing that beer can actually boost your brain power?”
“No,” he said. “My experience has shown otherwise.”
“I guess it has to do with silicon in it,” I rambled on. “Something about improving blood flow.”
“Blood flow.”
“Mhmm.” I took a giant swig, gazing around the pub.
“Just to the brain?”
I choked on my beer, finally gasping, “I don’t know!”
He let me get my breath back before mercifully starting a new tangent. “Did you like college? The parts you can remember, I mean.”
I shot a wicked glare his way. “I remember all but one night, thank you very much.”
His teasing smile soothed my embarrassment.
“Yes, I did,” I said. “Though I didn’t really connect with any of my classmates. We never became more than casual acquaintances. I don’t know why.” It had bothered me, yet I hadn’t admitted it to anyone until now. I’d never had trouble making friends before, but something kept me at a distance from them .
“You did well in school?” he continued probing.
I watched the bubbles from the bottom of my glass reach the foam at the top, keeping my tone casual. “Yeah, I did all right.”
“How all right?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because I can tell you care.”
I winced. “I graduated in the top of my class.”
“Near the top or…?”
I groaned. “At the top, top, okay?”
He smirked. “And you can’t guess why you never connected with your peers?”
Until now, it hadn’t even occurred to me that there was a correlation. We were all going to school for the same thing, trying to snag the best placements after the program we could get. Grades, class standings, and teacher recommendations—it all mattered. Somewhere in my gut, I’d known it all along, so I’d taken things seriously from day one. Professionally, it had served me well. Socially, on the other hand…
“No,” I admitted. “I never thought of it that way.”
“My guess? You were nice to them, but always too busy to spend much time with them because of your goals. You’d go to a party here and there to show you were part of them, but you were never inside their inner circle.”
I gaped.
He nodded, not needing any further response. “You’re passionate. It’s a good thing. I’d guess they were jealous of your dedication. It’s admirable.”
“And isolating.” I’d never admitted it. Admitted it hurt to be the outcast. It hadn’t been an issue in the past. During my undergraduate studies, I’d been the life of the party, the socialite, wanting to be involved. I hadn’t stopped desiring those things during my nursing program, but I couldn’t afford the time or money this go-around to play fast and loose with my life. So I attained something else. Prestige .
“Have you ever been in that position?” I asked tentatively.
“Which?” His finger swirled over the rim of his glass.
“An outsider.”
He licked his lips and was silent for a moment. “Yes.” I could barely hear his voice over the tumult, but the hurt was there. I burned inside to know why, but his demeanor had clammed up.
I stared at the dark wood beams reaching overhead for somewhere to look while I searched for a new topic. Something light, something easy…
I grinned. “Never have I ever…snorted cocaine.” I sipped my beer as my gaze switched back to his face.
He rolled his eyes, looking down at the table. “Never have I ever been to London.”
I frowned. “No fair.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew that already.”
“And you think I didn’t know you hadn’t snorted cocaine?” he asked wryly.
I shrugged noncommittally. “Maybe I used to be a rebel. And there are different methods of use, too. You have to be specific.”
He sighed, letting it go. “Still, I don’t see how it’s not fair?”
“You’re supposed to kind of try to one-up the other person,” I explained. “Like if you know they’ve done something, and you haven’t.”
“Seems like it would be the other way around. Wouldn’t people who have done something be the better one?”
“Depends on what the thing is,” I debated.
“Ah, I see.” He considered his transgression. “What’s my penalty?”
I pretended to weigh my options. “Not sure yet. I’ll let you know when the votes are in.”
He smiled as he looked across the room and waved to the waiter for the check. “Never have I ever woken up hungover.”
My jaw dropped. “Not possible.” I gestured at his practically empty glass. “You’re not sober. ”
“No, I’m not.” He made a point by finishing the dregs.
“You were young once.”
He choked. “Thanks for that.”
“I meant, you had to have partied.”
“I did.”
“So…?”
He lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know what to tell you. I just don’t get hungover.”
“But..but!” I blubbered. It wasn’t fair. “I hate you for never having had to feel the misery of it. It’s a shared human experience!” I laughed through my bewilderment.
“You don’t hate me.”
“That’s true,” I said, continuing in a singsong voice, “Never have I ever hated you.”
His eyes twinkled. “I think I already knew that.”
My heart skipped. “Dang. Want our penalties to just cancel each other out?”
He considered me, the playful devil in his gaze boiling my blood. “No, I don’t think I do.”
I breathed deeply through my nose. “Then what’s my penalty?”
His dark grin played with my insides. “I’ll figure something out.”
After paying, we stood and headed out along the streets, wandering in no particular direction as we continued our game.
“Never have I ever eaten brains,” I threw out as a given.
“You really should. They’re delicious.”
I smacked his arm. “And this coming from the man who couldn’t stomach eating squid ink risotto?”
He chuckled, quickly dodging with, “Never have I ever eaten a bug.”
My mouth dropped open, and I pointed at myself vigorously.
“You haven’t,” he countered. “On purpose?”
“At camp, when I was thirteen,” I crowed, hands in the air.
“I don’t believe you,” he challenged .
“Oh, excuse me, Mr. I Eat Brains,” I hit back, then cleared my throat, preparing to begin story time. “I met a girl there who was from Mexico, and she brought fried crickets with her after a trip visiting family.”
“You ate one?”
“One? I wanted to steal the whole bag.”
“You’re joking.” He didn’t sound so sure this time.
“Nope.” I mimicked a chef’s kiss.
He sighed. “I can’t compete with that.”
The wide Vltava River slid by on our left as we walked the footpath upstream. Old-fashioned streetlamps cast a warm glow onto the immaculately clean sidewalk. The Charles Bridge gleamed ahead of us in the darkness, sending dots of light dancing across the water below.
I nodded toward it. “Never have I ever jumped off a bridge.” The smugness was thick in my voice.
“I knew that as well,” he said cuttingly.
“No, only that I’ve not jumped off Stari Most. But the rest of my life?” I lifted my palms in a shrug.
“I guessed.”
“Oh Emil,” I sighed behind a pitying smile. “You need to pay better attention to the rules. We already talked about this. Specifics are important.”
He pulled me to a stop. I hadn’t even noticed we were linked, my hand having automatically slipped into his. His body pushed me toward the railing, my back to the river.
“Still, I think I should get at least half a penalty point.” His eyes drifted in a long caress down my face, his voice as quiet as his eyes were dark in a delicious sort of way.
“I don’t think there are half points,” I managed to squeak out.
His arms wrapped around me on either side, his hands grasping the railing, pinning me in. He leaned forward, whispering, “Then give me an extra confession, and I’ll let you off.” Electricity sang from the tickle of his words against my skin before he soothed it with a soft kiss to my cheek.
I gasped. “Never have I ever met someone quite like you.”
He stilled.
Embarrassment finally blasted through my lack of inhibitions. I twisted toward the river.
He pressed into me from behind. “Not fair.”
“Why?”
Instead of answering me, he smoothed the hair from the back of my neck, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot slowly, barely touching.
“This doesn’t feel like a penalty,” I said, a little breathless, my head bending to the side in invitation. He took a full step back.
That did.
“Hey!” I protested, spinning and reaching for him. But he danced away, my fingers missing him by millimeters. I giggled, but pouted when I missed again. “Now that’s not fair.”
He grinned, walking backward out of reach as I continued to try to catch him. “I played your game fair and square,” he said, then winked. “You should pay closer attention to the rules.”
I finally caught up to him, my forehead damp after running about in my light jacket. “I suppose.” He reached out, taking my hand once more. “But I still have your penalty to deal out, too.”
“What penalty?”
I shook my head sadly. “How quickly he forgets.”
He thought for a moment, then said, “Ah, London. So what have you decided?”
“Haven’t yet. I’ve got the rest of the night to think of something.”
Did I imagine him stiffen?
A flush colored his cheeks as I asked, “Does that make you nervous?”
“Should it?”
I did my best to mimic his mischievously dark gaze from earlier. I probably just looked demented.
We began our return to the hostel, silent, in our own heads. The magic of the spotlights on the towering black steeples and manicured streets cast us out of time and place. We could be in a medieval turn in Prague's history. At any second, around the next corner, there might be a horse and carriage transporting some prince along their way from a night on the town. Or a car's headlights could flash across the square, firmly setting us back into the here and now. It was anybody's guess.
Upstairs, we prepared for bed, taking turns in the communal bathroom before tiptoeing into the dark room. Snuffles and deep breathing cut through the muffled quiet, then the creak of springs as someone turned in the bunk above ours.
“Which side do you want?” Emil whispered.
I snorted, muttering, “What sides?”
The whites of Emil’s eyes flashed, catching in the light coming through the slats of the shuttered windows.
“You first,” I decided.
He climbed in, his back practically pressed against the wall. Still, only a slight sliver of space remained available for me. I sat down on the bed, then slipped my feet beneath the covers as I lay down and faced him.
Emil hissed when my chilly toes met his skin.
“You could have warned me,” he complained as my head settled next to his.
“It’s part of your penance,” I whispered.
“Only part?”
“Mhmm.” I tucked the thin sheets up to my chin, grasping the edge in one fist. The room was icy, the air conditioner on full blast to counteract all the bodies cramped into the space.
“And have you decided on the rest?” he pressed. “Your time is almost up.”
“There’s no time limit.”
“Midnight. It’s like Cinderella.”
“I didn’t spot any pumpkins around,” I said snarkily.
“The anticipation is killing me. ”
I pondered for a few seconds. “Okay, give me another revelation while I think about the ultimate and final penalty.”
He thought about it before saying, “Never have I ever sung in front of anyone before.”
I let that sink in.
“Never?” I scoffed. “Not even as a kid?”
He shook his head.
“Oh, c’mon,” I pushed. “You might not remember.”
“Oh, I’d remember.” His voice was dark. I raised a disbelieving brow. “Trust me.”
I slumped, still not convinced. “Have you ever heard yourself sing? Alone?”
He smirked. “How do you think I learned I should never do it in public?”
I laughed.
“Time’s up,” he said, his breath ruffling the baby hairs long my forehead. “What do you want, Mallory?”
I flipped over, the bed creaking simultaneously with someone else shifting in their bunk. My back and hips pushed up against him. Sure, I could use the tiny bed as an excuse, but who was I kidding? “Your body heat.”
“You’ve already taken it. And on more than one occasion, I recall.”
“I’m freezing.” It came out louder than I’d intended in my desperation.
“I can help warm you up,” said an unfamiliar, American southern drawl.
I squinted through the shadows toward the sound of the voice. In the bunk opposite, barely a few feet away, lay the murky outline of a fair-haired man I definitely didn’t remember seeing earlier.
“Excuse me?”
He propped himself up on an elbow. “Want to cuddle?”
Emil appeared over my shoulder, and blondie’s entire posture went ram-rod straight.
“Sure, thanks,” Emil said, his tone holding a warning beneath the playful sarcasm.
Without another word, the man flopped down onto his mattress, faced the wall, and feigned sleep.
I followed his lead, turning to Emil again as I worked to keep my donkey-bray of laughter quiet and failed. His hand pressed over my mouth so I wouldn’t wake up the entire room.
“Oh my gosh!” The words were muffled by Emil’s fingers.
“Shh.”
“I can’t breathe,” I complained.
In response, Emil’s arms circled me, my own crossed over my chest like I was about to be buried. Which was appropriate, since I apparently had just died and gone to heaven.
Emil’s hands eased along my shoulders, using friction to rub warmth into my skin. One of his legs hitched over my hips, locking me into his heat. His fingers traveled farther afield, grazing my lower back on their way to my behind for an instant before moving up again. An embarrassingly loud sigh escaped from my chest, and I let my head drop into the crook of his neck. The fact we were surrounded by a room of sleepy and not so asleep people made me tense, but any audience was worth this.
“Better?” he murmured.
“Don’t stop.”