Winter Glam in Amsterdam (Walker Brothers #3)

1. Chapter One - Summer

Summer

Dear Ms. Shepard, we regret to inform you—

I don’t even continue to read the email before I hit delete and throw my phone somewhere on the bed behind me with a sigh so deep it feels like I’m exhaling my soul. And my will to continue this hopeless job hunt while I’m at it.

I let myself fall into the mattress with a force that makes the bed squeak, and I’m groaning right along with it.

How difficult can it be to find a job after university? It’s not like I expected to be handed job offers left and right, companies fighting over my expertise, but naive as I was, I thought finding a job within half a year would be realistic.

One year later, I know better.

If I pulled up my spreadsheet for tracking applications to turn yet another row red with this newest rejection email, it would mark company number 247 that has no interest in hiring me. But hey, there are still eight-hundred-something jobs that haven’t replied to my application at all. Whenever I turn at night, sleepless, I like to tell myself ‘your dream job is among those, they just haven’t gotten to your application yet.’ At this point I’m not sure whether to laugh at that optimism or just succumb to my desperation.

Slowly but surely, I’m losing my hope.

"Make sure study something you have fun with.”

“If you turn your hobby into a job, you won’t work a day in your life.”

I remember my family’s voices like it was yesterday, only now they sound taunting to me instead of encouraging. Over the years, I’ve lost count of how often my aunts and uncles gave me this advice, but look where it got me. Jobless and throwing up in my mouth a bit at the memory of their words.

Who could have known that studying computer sciences as a woman would quickly become dreadful instead of fun? I love computers, always have. My parents used to joke that they were my calling, that I was better at typing than writing with a pen and would one day create the computer used for world domination.

It used to be fun. Before the judging stares came with it. The ‘Sweetheart, are you sure you’re in the right lecture?’ questions and condescending mansplaining.

A ruckus downstairs tears me from my thoughts, an annoyed sigh falling from my lips as I bury my face in my hands. Right. Luca wanted to come over today. I get up with a groan, pausing once I’m on my feet for a deep breath.

It’s draining.

These past months, it’s felt like my bones weigh triple what they should, breathing like the air is a heavy sirup. It’s just so damn frustrating.

But what can I do aside from straightening my shoulders and sending out the next 300 applications, receiving more applications and dancing the turns of this vicious cycle?

My hand is on my doorknob when it flies open without warning, and I jump back to not be hit in the face, and suddenly my brother’s way-too-happy face is right in front of me.

“There you are! Hey, Summer, my loveliest, wonderful—” Then he freezes when he sees my face that’s probably set with a tightened jaw and frustrated frown at this point.

“What’s going on?” he asks quietly and softly closes the door behind himself, worry washing over his face. “Did anything happen?”

I force the corners of my mouth upwards. “It’s nothing,” I assure him through gritted teeth and try to slip past him into the hallway.

Mom and Dad have been looking forward to him coming home for weeks at this point. He used to live three houses down from ours, popping in whenever he had a break and eating all he could find in our fridge.

That used to be their compromise when he became an actor: he could travel the world, shoot his movies wherever, as long as he kept the home base nearby and came over at least once a month.

Then he got together with Millie, one of the girls of world-famous popstar-duo The Sirens, and moved in with her in a city that’s an hour away. A house with security measures like Fort Knox, located halfway between our parents and Millie’s, close enough to an airport to hop on one of their private jets and pay their families a visit, but it has gotten less either way.

And I get it. I just hate to admit to myself that my brother, the very person who almost chopped his finger off while peeling an apple, has his life figured out, and I don’t.

Jealousy is not a good look, though, so I’m keeping that little tidbit to myself.

“Take it slowly,” my parents always say when they see how frustrated the job search makes me. I know they mean well, but I don’t want to take it slowly. I want to stand on my own two feet, move out without needing any of them to lend me money and just become independent.

Whenever I check social media, which is very often considering I don’t have much else to do, I see former classmates living it up. They go on their dream vacations, travel the world and party it up on the weekends, while I’m at home fighting the urge to throw my phone against the nearest wall when it shows me just another rejection.

“You know I can tell when you’re lying.” Luca grabs my hand and pulls me right back into my room, shaking his head at me. “You’ve had the same tell ever since you were three years old.”

“I totally don’t,” I object with a glare, trying to wrestle my wrist out of his grip.

“Hell yes, you do. You never look me in the eye, and you blink twice.” He chuckles but lets me go. “Come on, tell me.”

“It’s nothing, Luca.” Although the sigh from the depths of my soul that follows absolutely confirms his theory. “Come on, let’s go downstairs. Pretty sure Mom and Dad got you a cake to celebrate you showing your face here.”

Without a word, our eyes meet. One second of silence. Two. Then we simultaneously start running down the stairs, trying to get ahead of each other.

“So,” Luca starts to explain, chocolate cake decorating half his face as I glare at him. That fucker was like half a second in front of me, but knowing how much it pisses me off, he put his whole hand into the cake to take a bite out of it like a fucking caveman. Some days I wonder if he stopped maturing after the age of five. He’s certainly acting like it.

Guess I’m sticking to coffee for now.

“You know, I got two cupcakes,” Mom whispers, leaning close to me and hiding her mouth from Luca, who’s back to focusing on eating a slab of cake like it’s an apple, devouring it like we’re about to take it from him.

“You know us too well,” I whisper back with a small grin. “I’ll get one when he’s gone. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She nudges me with her shoulder, and for once, the smile playing at my lips is a real one.

“You were saying?” I remind Luca that he’d been talking, and a grin spreads across his chocolate-covered face.

“Right. So, as you know, Millie and I are getting married,” he starts, like that hasn’t been the topic of conversation for the past three months, ever since they got engaged, “-and we thought, instead of doing a bachelor or bachelorette party, we’d like to go to Amsterdam with all our families in the new year and spend some quality time.”

“All of us?” I raise an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Well, because you’re family, and we don’t really see you often. Plus, we get invited to so many parties they are more like a chore at this point.” He shrugs and I can only shake his head at him. Oh, what a poor guy, forced to party. “We thought it would be a fun time. Millie’s parents will also be coming, Kayla and Asher of course, Lily, because let me quote my girlfriend ‘she’s running our label, she’s part of the family now too.’ Of course she’s also bringing her boyfriend Adam and he just asked if it’s okay for his brothers to come too.”

“That’s quite the guest list after all,” I mumble. Must be nice to have the means to just up and invite so many people to a vacation in Europe.

“The Walker brothers?” Mom asks, confused. “I didn’t realize you kept in touch after the charity match.”

“Somewhat.” Luca shrugs. “Now that Lily is together with Adam, we hang out from time to time when they’re having a girls’ night. I’m sure it’s going to be fun.”

“Is it?” I ask skeptically, reaching out to steal a corner of his chocolate cake, hoping his dirty hands haven’t touched it. I pick off crumb after crumb, eating it slowly as I gather my thoughts. “Are you that close to them? The most you’ve ever talked about those brothers was during the charity football match back then, and they didn’t seem like a harmonious family.”

“They’ve been through a lot,” Luca says delicately, lowering his hand. “I don’t really know what’s going on with them. They’re not that open about it, but it seemed important to Adam, so who am I to say no?”

“I mean you’re a guy who’s basically throwing his bachelor party during this trip, not family counseling,” I point out, causing Mom and Dad to shoot me a look. “What? I’m right and you know it.”

“You might be.” Luca shrugs and bites into another huge piece of cake, eyebrows creased as he gathers his thoughts then swallows. “But I can’t exactly forbid Adam from flying in his siblings and having them stay in the same hotel. Plus, I’m still somewhat friends with them, even if mostly during boring industry events.” Another shrug. “It’s fine with me, and if they can’t behave, that’s their issue.”

His eyes soften when they meet mine. “You don’t have to hang out with them, Summer. They’ll do their thing. You’ll do yours. We’ll have some dinners together. There’s no way I’d require you to spend 24/7 with any of us.”

My shoulders relax. I hadn’t even realized they’d tensed up. No wonder though, because at this point, the trip sounded like an introvert’s nightmare.

“Just to make sure,” I ask him, narrowing my eyes, “you’re paying for the trip?”

“I’ll even give you an allowance,” he assures me, and my shoulders immediately tense right up again. “Or not. Your call.”

For a moment, I look at him not sure what to say.

He couldn’t have known but it’s just another time my shortcomings are glaring at me. Inviting me to a vacation is one thing, but needing to offer handouts so there’s actually something I can do there apart from sitting in my hotel room is just so damned pathetic.

So before I burst into tears, I get up and quickly leave the room.

The reluctant knock to my room door comes after only a few minutes.

I’m lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling—the very same ceiling I’ve been staring at for 26 years at this point. Well, some of those years were spent in a dorm, but it’s still the same ceiling, nonetheless, only with one or two more coats of color on it.

I want to ignore it but alas, I forgot to lock the door and hear it open tentatively as my eyes are locked on a speck of glue from when I put glow in the dark stars on my ceiling last year, then decided I hated it but was too lazy to peel all of the remnants off.

“Can I come in?” Luca asks softly, and I curse internally.

Nevertheless, I wave him inside, not taking my eyes off the little speck of glue I’ve been fixating on for the past few months whenever I lie here in a contemplative state, not wanting to deal with anything.

I feel the bed dip and finally lower my gaze to Luca’s worried face.

“Come on, tell me what’s going on,” he urges, and I gulp.

“It’s no—”

“Stop it, Summer.” He shakes his head at me. “Something’s clearly bothering you and I’m not going to let you act like a moody bitch without at least getting an explanation.”

He holds my skeptical stare, and finally, I let out a deep sigh, sit up and reach for a pillow to hug to my chest. I know he’s right. I’ve been acting like a moody bitch, but talking about it makes it more real. And right now, dealing with reality is not exactly high on my list.

“I’m annoyed and frustrated,” I start, mumbling into the pillow. “I see everyone my age living their lives, being—” I lift my hands for air quotes— “‘functioning adults,’ and here I am, still living at home, still jobless after months of applications, no prospects.”

“Well, that’s not true,” Luca interrupts me and pinches my calf.

I sigh and shake my head at him.

“It is, though. I don’t have job experience. But you need job experience to get a job. But not an internship—which I did plenty of—because apparently internships are not work experience anymore. But how can I gather ‘real’ work experience if no one will hire me because, guess what, I don’t have work experience? It’s a bullshit cycle that I can’t break out of.”

“Come on now, it can’t be that bad.”

“Oh yeah?” I reach for my phone and pull up my trusty spreadsheet, tracking all the jobs I have applied to and all the ones that sent rejection emails. “I’ve had three interviews,” I tell him as I hand him the phone. “I’ve applied to over a thousand jobs, got more than 200 rejection emails, and got ghosted by the other eighty percent. I’m not seeing the perspective here.”

He scrolls through it, eyes growing wider as he sees all the red marked jobs.

“It will come,” Luca assures me, but his smile seems more forced as he reaches out his hand to ruffle my hair the same way he’s always done since we were kids. “It might just take a bit longer. And if living with Mom and Dad is your issue, there’s a house three doors down that I haven’t had the heart to sell yet.”

“I appreciate it, but no,” I tell him and shake my head. “I don’t want a house on a silver platter. I want to stand on my own two feet, make my own money and spend it as I please without guilt gnawing at my conscience.”

“You feel guilty about spending my money?” I pinch the bridge of my nose between my eyes, feeling a throb behind my temples.

“Not the point,” I whisper, grinding my jaw in frustration. “I don’t have a choice but to take it. But I don’t want to live having to rely on you for money. I don’t want to live on Mom and Dad’s dime, either. But at this point, I’m probably going to live here until I inherit the house. They’re already making jokes about me living here until I turn into their caregiver and it makes me feel even more pathetic.”

To my dismay, I realize tears are forming in my eyes. This sounds so fucking ungrateful because I love Mom and Dad, and they’re amazing. I know other parents would’ve kicked their kids out or issued an ultimatum, not giving a fuck about how hard they’re actually trying.

“You just want your independence,” Luca says, and the understanding in his voice makes my tears overflow, which he thankfully ignores.

“I get it. And everyone who knows you gets it. You’re headstrong, you’ve always been the independent one of us two and the one who needs a space for herself. It doesn’t make you sound ungrateful or pathetic that you feel badly about not having any influence over these things.” I gulp down more emotions as he puts exactly into words what I needed to hear. “I’m not going to pretend like I know what the job search is like. But I’d like to remind you that it took five years for me to land a proper role.”

I sniffle, wiping my tears, as he adds, “Now, how about you come to Amsterdam with us? Take your mind off things. And I promise I’ll get you a room far away from everyone else. I wasn’t kidding when I said you can do your own thing and only join us for a few dinners. I promise—no expectations.”

“But what if—”

“No ‘what ifs.’” He gets up, turning his back to me to escape my glare. “At this point, the tickets are basically booked. I’ll let you get out of it if you have a job interview, but otherwise, you’re coming along.”

Once he reaches the door, he stops and turns his head to shoot me the same proud grin he gave me at my graduation—the one that reminds me I might just have the best brother in the world after all. Maybe I should listen to him, just this once.

“Okay,” I finally whisper, wiping away tears from my face. “Damn it. When’s the flight?”