21. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Over breakfast, we sifted through the information we’d gathered. Emil proposed the tour could wait until tomorrow. Instead, eyes filled with excitement, he spread open a brochure for the Bohemian Switzerland National Park between us, running his finger along a windy, squiggly line weaving up a steep mountain. The mild weather predicted for today, he insisted, meant it was perfect to go beyond the city to explore the countryside. I pulled a face, picturing myself scrambling up the side of a mountain and transforming into a gross, sweaty mess. He spotted it immediately and used the ace up his sleeve, pointing to a paragraph about a restaurant waiting at the end of the trail.
Good move, enticing me with food. He was a fast learner.
I’d played hard-to-get halfheartedly before giving in. Every sore muscle I was about to endure was worth the price of his childish look of glee at the prospect of returning to the mountains.
Emil steered the car north while I marked up the park map from the visitor center. I added asterisks to the hike the guest services representative had recommended, highlighting viewpoints on the way to the Prav?icka Brana arch.
The hike was a total of eight miles round trip and wove through untouched stretches of forest and sculptured rock formations, the path narrowing the higher we climbed. Plenty of tourists joined us along the trail, and we chatted with others as we paused to catch our breath, munch on protein bars, or simply take in the views.
At one of the overlooks on the steepest portion of the hike yet, I held out my phone in a silent request to Emil as I puffed.
“Now?” he said, lifting a brow as he watched me gasp, my hands pressed to my knees.
I nodded, managing to get out, “This is reality. We have to capture the good and the bad.” Tomato-red face, sweat-slicked hair, the whole lot.
He chose not to comment, instead waiting for me to walk to the edge of the trail where the side of the arch was visible past the trees. I plastered on a smile and raised my hands overhead. I dropped them the moment the phone clicked, my arms noodly with fatigue, and stepped to him.
Wordlessly, he handed me my phone and immediately went to the same spot.
“What is this?” I teased in awe. “You want a photo?”
“There’s no point fighting anymore,” he said resolutely.
I cackled at breaking this stallion.
He rolled his eyes, smiled a genuine grin for the picture, and then we were off again.
It was all perfect—the views, the weather, the company—which meant that I had to ruin it. At the halfway point, I managed to stumble over a camouflaged rock. The same ankle I’d injured in Marseille twisted at an awkward angle, and I yelped as I crumpled face-forward to the ground. Emil, who had been leading the way, stopped at my cry and hurried to me.
“Shit,” I cursed through gritted teeth as he helped me scoot to the side of the dusty path.
“What hurts?”
“My pride,” I grumbled as I stuck my leg out and rubbed at my ankle.
He pulled my stretchy yoga pants up to my mid-calf. “I’m not sure what to look for,” he admitted with a wince.
“It’s nothing, just a twist. I hurt it…” I swallowed as the memory seared like a flash. “Before.” I peeked up at him, and his attention was no longer on my ankle. He saw right through me.
“The night I jumped from the fire escape,” I volunteered in a whisper. Saying it sent a sting through my chest, but also erased the small weight that had settled there in an instant.
His jaw gave a single tick and, with a tight nod, he ran soft fingers over my bare leg.
“Does this hurt?” he asked, pressing his thumb gently into my muscle.
“No,” I breathed. “Let me see how it feels to move it.” I tested it this way and that, grimacing at the pain when I rotated it to the right.
“What can I do to help?”
“Nothing, I just have to wait. Sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize.” He plopped down next to me, pulling the stainless-steel water bottle from his pack and holding it against my ankle. I sighed with relief at its chilly touch.
“I could distract you,” he offered quietly.
Heat seared through my belly, and I chanced a look in either direction. For the moment, we were the only two here. “Oh really? And what do you imagine would distract me?”
“Hmm…this.” With his free hand, he knotted my hair in his fist, kissing the hollow space behind my ear. It was a maddening combination of ticklishness and electricity, the sensation pulsing from the single point of contact like a firework. He let my hair drop, his hand drifting instead down to tease along my ribcage before grasping my hip firmly.
He caught my earlobe between his teeth and gently tugged. “And this,” he muttered, not letting go.
I gasped, the ticklishness vaporized, my body a live wire shooting sparks without relief.
His fingers caressed my jaw as he released my ear and turned my face toward his. The brown of his eyes had been swallowed up with darkness as he caught my lower lip between his, so gently, sucking it lightly before pressing his mouth to mine—finally—in full.
He tasted of peppermint, along with an ever-present sweetness that I could now recognize on command, and a slight saltiness of sweat from one or both of us from the hike. I wanted more of him and urged his lips to open with my tongue, and he obliged. I grasped his head between my hands and heard the soft clink of the water bottle against the rocks as he let it go. Both his hands worked through my hair, tangling at the base of my neck.
My body sang as I twisted on the ground, pressing my chest against his, searching for that extra inch of contact. His hands drifted down my back once more to stop at its lowest point, pulling me in tighter.
“Ahem…on your right.”
We sprang apart, both instantly beet-red as we faced the trio nearing us on the path. The lanky man leading them offered up a knowing grin before diligently looking straight ahead.
When they’d gone, I put a hand over my mouth and giggled. Emil smiled back with a light shake of his head.
“How does it feel?” He jerked his chin toward my ankle.
The pain had been forgotten, and it only twinged a bit when I moved it. “I think…it might be okay now.”
“So it worked?” His tone was haughty as he stood and offered me a hand.
“Well,” I said as I took it, “I won’t be trying that method in the emergency room anytime soon, but…yeah, I think it did.”
And then I put my full weight on it and faltered.
“It’s not okay,” Emil countered, all business.
“It will be.” I bit my lip, worrying at the distance we still had to reach the top. “You should keep going. I’ll catch up.”
The heavy roll of his eyes quickly dismissed my suggestion. “We can just wait here together. It’s no rush.”
“I have no idea how long it’ll take, though. I didn’t hurt it badly, but since it already had a sprain, I might be awhile…if at all.” The fact that I’d have to find a way down off this mountain eventually was a problem I could solve while he completed the hike.
He bit the inside of his cheek as he thought, then pulled our light day-pack from his shoulders. “Put this on.”
I frowned as I took it. “I don’t think adding extra weight will help.”
“I’m going to carry you.”
“What? Oh, hell no.”
“Mallory, I told you that I do hikes all the time with my friends back home. I’ve done much longer and difficult distances than this, all while carrying a full overnight pack that weighs more than you.”
“But—”
He took the backpack from my limp fingers and moved behind me. “Arms out.”
“Emil—”
“I’m not going to just leave you here. I will put you down when you’re ready, but I promised you food—proper food—and I’m not breaking another one of our bargains.” My tense shoulders were a dead giveaway that I hadn’t given in yet. He knelt as he said, “We made a pact, remember? Don’t make a liar out of me.”
I knew it was a ploy, but it was a good one. Thanks for the well-intentioned guilt trip, sir. I heaved a sigh. “All right. Load me up.”
He snorted, waiting for me to hold my arms out before slipping on the pack. When it was secured, he squatted in front of me. “Climb on.”
I hadn’t gotten a piggyback ride in…well, ever. My arms circled around his neck uncertainly, and he grasped my forearms to keep them there while he stood. I squealed as my toes skipped through the dirt.
“Hitch your legs up,” he instructed. At the same time, he reached down to grab behind my knees. Instinctively, I locked my legs around his waist, still worried I was strangling him.
“Is this okay?” I asked, flexing my arms a little to make a point.
He coughed for effect. “Yeah, it’s fine. Just keep them here.” He guided them lower so that my forearms rested at the base of his throat and collarbone instead, his fingertips lingering on my skin for a moment longer before setting off.
It was the best hike I had ever gone on, easily, thanks to the now steady press of our bodies together. If I was uncomfortably heavy, Emil didn’t complain. Every once in a while, he would stroke his hand in a soothing path along my arms or would reach back to pat my hair, asking if I was still all right. I would sneak in a kiss against his neck or squeeze him a little tighter while smiling like a fool.
I was almost disappointed when we stopped for another break, and I tested my ankle to find that it was much better. Emil traded me for the backpack again, and I gave it a jealous glare as it replaced me, bouncing against his shoulders.
Eventually we made it to the end, and beholding the arch was worth my injury alone. It towered ahead, a beautifully gaping hole cut into the sandstone, creating a stunning picture frame around the panoramic views of the valley and mountains. Nestled between the arch and the neighboring hillside sat the red-roofed restaurant, so perfectly situated between the two, it was as if a sculptor had chiseled through the rock and revealed it. We took our time enjoying a meal there, soaking in as much of the mesmerizing views as we could, before attempting the steep hike down.
My ankle throbbed dully during the descent, and my muscles were screaming before we even made it to the car. The hour-and-a-half drive back to Prague provided them all the opportunity to cool and cramp. I practically hobbled upstairs to the bathroom to wallow under the hot stream of water before I started to feel selfish and gave others a turn.
After our big lunch, Emil and I opted for a light dinner. We went downstairs and put together sandwiches from the hostel’s help-yourself-to-odds-and-ends kitchen. Exhausted, we turned in pitifully early and were instantly asleep.
When I awoke, the sunlight blared off the stark white walls .
“Finally.”
I didn’t move other than to let my eyes drift open and upward. I was in the exact same position I’d fallen asleep, cradled in Emil’s arms with my own crisscrossed over my chest.
“Hi,” I mumbled.
“Good morning.”
When he pulled away, sadness dipped my stomach, but the tingle in my arms as blood returned sent me moving, shaking out my hands.
“What time is it?”
“Probably noon by now,” he grumbled.
“Noon?” My heart sank. “But we were going to go on the tour.”
“I’m kidding. I don’t know. It feels like hours since I woke up.”
“I’m sorry it was so horrible for you, lying here.”
His lips twitched. “Just terrible.”
With a grin, I swung my legs over the bed, grabbing my phone. “It’s only nine!”
The whole bed shook with the force of his stretch. “Time passes slowly when you can’t move.”
“You could have shoved me off.” I yanked on my jeans, then pulled my hoodie over my head, the room colder now that we were the only inhabitants.
“Next time I will.” He followed suit getting dressed, and we headed down for breakfast.
The tour group met in the town square, beneath what our guide quickly pointed out was the oldest astronomical clock still in operation.
Our little assembly wandered the streets. Around each bend, it was as if we had entered an entirely new city. The square was full of its Gothic spires. The next corner brought us through the Jewish quarter, the street framed by gorgeous synagogues and a historic, cramped graveyard. Cement pillars and boxy buildings took their turn until, eventually, they gave way to the Renaissance of the Charles Bridge and its Baroque statues. The guide spoke of Prague’s tumultuous history as we stopped in a clump on the sidewalks in each neighborhood. Various occupations throughout the ages had left their stylistic marks upon the city, still glaringly apparent through the remaining architecture. The resilience of Prague’s people marked their own triumphs after repeatedly fighting to reclaim and defend their home, restoring, rebuilding, or preserving those moments from times of great adversity, honoring the good and bad.
At least they got their peace at last. I gazed at the city with heavy admiration.
We crossed the river and made our way through burnt-orange roofed houses to the top of the hill where a castle complex waited, the jet-black points of the vast basilica at its center hovering ominously above it all. It was yet another fascinating conglomeration of different eras. I turned to Emil, my comment stopping as I took him in. His mouth was open with childlike wonder, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They were withdrawn, even sad.
“If you’ll follow me,” the guide continued, leading us to the rear of the cathedral.
When the tour was finally complete, we found ourselves back in the square by the astrological clock. While Emil studied the map we’d each been given, I stepped away with several others in our group to hand the guide a tip.
“Thank you, that was wonderful.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he said kindly, pocketing the money. “How long are you here?”
“One more night.”
“If you’re interested, the theater I mentioned where Mozart held performances of Figaro and Don Giovanni is around the corner. Right now they are showing his Magic Flute . Box seats can be very reasonable compared to America.” His expression was playful.
“How did you know?” I asked with a teasing laugh. At this point, I might as well go with the trend and be in on the joke of my obvious foreignness .
“I’m not deaf.”
I smiled in concession, then addressed his suggestion. “I’ve never been to an opera before.”
He leaned in with a smile. “Then you must.” He waved as he walked toward the square. “Have a good visit.”
“Thanks.”
Emil joined me. “What was that about?”
I chuckled darkly. “Do you want to go to an opera?”
His look of rebuke was exactly what I’d predicted. “Opera?”
“Have you ever been?”
He snorted. “No.”
“Me neither. Want to live on the edge with me?”
“Not really.”
“I’ll owe you.” I added a wink.
His mouth turned up at the corners even as he sighed dramatically. “All right. Why not?”
We purchased the tickets, which were at least as affordable as our guide had promised. In our room, I put on the black wrap dress I’d packed just in case. I slid on shimmering gold ballet flats and twisted my hair up into a knot at the back of my head. Emil was tucking a simple but crisp button-down shirt into black slacks when I came in from the bathroom.
He paused, his eyes widening in a way that was absolutely adorable. “You look beautiful.”
I blushed. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”
His hands slowed as he smoothed his shirt. “Is this okay? I didn’t pack anything for a special occasion.”
“We’re going to be stuffed into a dark corner for three hours. I don’t think anyone will really care.”
The three hours comment had his nose wrinkling, but then his forehead smoothed. “What will I do if I get bored?”
I bent toward the tiny mirror beside the door to hide my grin, swiping on some lipstick. “I might be able to think of something. ”
As it turned out, we were both equally enthralled with the beauty of the theater inside. Gorgeous frescoes wrapped the walls along the horseshoe-shaped space and ceiling, decorative carvings twisting elegantly around each theater box. Our seats were situated upon a small platform near the back of our box, but no one ever claimed the chairs in front of us. We were completely alone.
People below chatted as they found their seats, the general buzz of excitement in the room filtering up to us.
Emil’s hand rested on my knee. “I’m glad we came.”
“Me, too.”
“I never pictured this place.”
“The theater?”
His head shook. “The city. It’s so unapologetic.”
“What do you mean?”
“Everything it’s been through. No one hid the marks left behind.” He paused. “Each attempt to turn it into something else only made it stronger, instead of tearing it down and starting fresh.”
I could practically see the wheels turning. Mostar remained very much a town in healing, its wounds still sensitive and open. How would they choose to rebuild? Would they wash the history away completely, fill every bullet hole, repair every window, tear each ruin down section by section? Or would they honor its past, the price of which would be the constant reminders of what it and its people had endured?
“You know you already do that, right?”
“Hmm?”
“Stari Most may have been rebuilt, but you respect it for the symbol it has become. Before, maybe it was just a bridge? Now, it’s so much more. And the trench art. You aren’t throwing those casings in the trash. You are embracing your past. You can take inspiration from here or not, but there’s no shame in rebuilding your own way.”
His fingers squeezed my leg.
“My father was an architect.” His words were barely a whisper .
A stone settled in my stomach. “He was?”
He gave a curt nod. “I never knew him. I was only a few months old when he died. My mother never talks about him. Mia would sometimes share little snippets of what she remembered, but she was only six when he passed.”
I bit my lip, torn on whether or not to ask.
He let out a small breath. “During the war,” he said simply, answering my unspoken question. “He was trying to help, handing out food. He was in an apartment building when fighting began and a…” He paused, his jaw tense. “Part of the roof and upper floors collapsed.”
Emil’s face blurred as tears filled my eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
He pulled his hand from my knee, smoothing both his palms down his thighs. “When I was ten, I was going through a chest in our house and found a folder of his designs.” He shook his head. “I’d never seen blueprints before. I didn’t know they were his. I’d never seen his handwriting. But those drawings, it was as if I was reading a story for the first time, even if I didn’t understand the language. I could see them being built in my mind’s eye, like magic.”
The lights flickered, warning the show was to begin momentarily.
“Keep going,” I urged him.
“When I asked my mother about them…it was the only time she spoke about him with me. She told me everything. How they’d met, how he’d lived—and how he’d died. It felt like it was my one chance to learn who he was.” He swallowed. “He sounded wonderful. For a while, I used to imagine bringing his visions to life.”
“Why didn’t you?”
His head gave a slight jerk, stopping it mid-shake. “University wasn’t an option. My grades were never good, and without a scholarship…” His tone was clipped when he continued. “Immediate work was more important. I took any odd job. When tourism started picking up in Mostar, Amin needed help at the shop, so I stepped in.” His jaw lo cked. “I grew up.”
I could see it so clearly, understood the need to simply get by. My heart clenched. I had been able to realize my dreams, even though it’d taken more time than I’d wanted. But Emil? I cleared my throat softly. “And now?”
“Being here, seeing this city…I haven’t thought about any of this in a long time.”
“Dreams don’t have an expiration date, Emil,” I said, my voice firm.
The lights dimmed, throwing the theater into blackness before a spotlight illuminated the actor coming in from the wings. He pandered to the audience, and they laughed at his over-the-top antics. Finally, the curtains drew back. The set pieces were elaborate, painted in rich colors, saturating the magical world and drawing us into its dreamscape.
I was only somewhat paying attention, aware Emil was still absorbed in his thoughts. I reached into his lap, grabbing his hand with a gentle squeeze.
“Come with me,” I whispered, tilting my head toward the stage with an inviting smile. “Come dream with the rest of us.”