Chapter 16 #2
There are a million periods of time I’d love to travel to if I could, and this is one of them.
The Dutch East India Company was terrible and ruthless and did awful things to people in many countries, but I’d love to just see Amsterdam back then, with its barges delivering precious goods from faraway lands.
“At one point, Amsterdam’s houses held six million pounds of pepper. ”
He raises a brow. “So no one lived in them?”
I shake my head. “They did, just on the upper floors.” I point across the street to a hook swinging from a gable roof.
“That’s how they’d move furniture in. A pulley system.
They still use them. Amsterdam was like central storage for everything in the fucking world.
” I point across the street to a plaque above one of the doors.
“A lot of the homes still have a drawing that kind of tells you what they stored.”
“Is that a fox?” he asks, squinting at the plaque.
It looks like it. I still want to time travel to Amsterdam in the 1600s, but I think I’d avoid the houses packed to the gills with foxes.
Following the canal ride, we wander through the shops and stalls in the Nine Streets section. Theo’s gaze lingers a moment too long on the window of a jewelry store. Is he hunting for a gift to bring his complication? I’m not sure why that annoys me.
The shops get slightly cheaper. K-beauty I don’t need and jewelry shops where I’d buy something wildly unnecessary just because I can afford it.
I’ve got to come back with Bron—
I catch the thought midstream and stop myself with a wince.
When will it stop feeling like a punch to the gut?
When will I stop needing to remind myself she’s gone?
It takes seven years for your body to regenerate new cells.
I’m scared it’s going to take seven years until I stop picking up the phone to text her.
I’m lost in these thoughts, struggling not to cry, when Theo’s hand slides to the small of my back, pulling me to the other side of him so that I’m not hurt by some boys shoving each other in the street.
I’ve noticed that he does this, and that he stays close when we’re in a crowd, as if I’m actually his wife and he doesn’t want to lose me.
It’s the sort of nice I could get used to, could grow to like, if I allowed myself to do so…which I won’t.
“You don’t want to buy something for your complication here?” I ask, lifting a small package of edibles aloft. “Is this something she’d like?”
He tenses and his eyes fall closed for a moment, as if it’s his way of keeping me from a room he lets no one enter. “You’re making too big a deal of that.”
“You were going away with her for the holidays, right? You don’t generally take a woman to Puerto Rico for a week if it’s not a big deal.”
“I’m not discussing this while wearing a microphone,” he says. “And actually, I’m not discussing it with you at all.”
I swallow. Maybe it is serious with her. Maybe it’s so serious he can’t stand to sully it by sharing a single detail with me. It’s strange, the way my stomach drops. The way it suddenly feels like the words he’s not saying could matter one day.
That night, we have an early dinner, made unpleasant by the food we’re served—raw herring in its natural form, followed by sausage and mashed potatoes mixed with sauerkraut—and made awkward and dull by the presence of cameras and the fact that I haven’t slept since yesterday.
“This is ridiculous,” Theo finally says, halfway through our meal, watching me push the sausage around on my plate. He pulls off his mic. “Lars, she can barely keep her eyes open. You need to wrap it up.”
Lars frowns at Theo but reluctantly concedes the point, and suddenly it’s just me and Theo in the restaurant alone, waiting for the bill.
“I don’t do it on purpose, you know,” I tell him, too exhausted to hide my defensiveness. “I’d like to be able to sleep on a plane. I just can’t relax. I don’t feel safe enough.”
He glances up from the bill and studies me for a moment. “Bex, I didn’t call attention to it because I blame you. I know how hard you try to get this right, and if you’re so tired that you can’t, you need to be in bed.”
Tears spring to my eyes. I stare at the table so he won’t see them. But it’s perhaps the first time in my entire life when someone has looked at me and assumed the best rather than the worst. I’m not sure why it sort of hurts.
We walk back to the hotel, Theo large and warm beside me, his hand near the small of my back anytime someone passes us, as if he’s worried I might get snatched away. It’s wildly unnecessary. I’ve been watching out for myself for a very long time. But it’s also…sweet.
I don’t need him to do it, but it’s refreshing, having someone choose to.
His room is five doors down from my own. We unlock our doors at the same time. There’s something in his gaze as I say good night. As if he’s considering the possibilities here.
I picture the way his weight would feel above mine. The certainty of his kiss. I must be beyond exhausted to be thinking these things, but if I could manage to stay awake long enough, it would…
“Get some sleep, Bex,” he says.
Alas.
I walk inside, but just as I’ve finished taking off my makeup, there’s a quiet knock.
I picture Theo suggesting a drink. Theo suggesting a lot more than a drink. It’s an incredibly bad idea, but when have I ever let that stop me?
I cross the room and open the door, still not sure what I’ll say, and discover Caden standing there. Ugh.
His gaze sweeps over the room behind me. “Thought you might want some company.”
Are you fucking kidding me?
“I’ve been awake for over twenty-four hours, dude,” I say, barely civil. “I’m going to bed.”
“Guess I’ll just have to jerk off to those stills we took of you in your bikini,” he says. “Another time.”
I slam the door in his face. It seems insufficient, but while I’d love to be the girl who tells him to go fuck himself, things will just get worse for me if I piss him off. Caden’s got a powerful dad, one who could probably make sure this show never airs.
And I know from experience that no one’s going to take my side.
· · ·
In the morning, I don one of the training outfits Mindy sent and head to the lobby, where Theo is impatiently checking his watch. I’m not even late. He’s just the kind of dork who’s eager to run.
A hot dork, however, and wearing the hell out of those running shorts.
While my mic is being placed, Lars is arguing with someone by phone, and Paula, beside him, looks tense. “What’s going on over there?”
Theo frowns. “Bad weather coming in.” He runs a hand through his hair. “And I suppose you haven’t seen the latest Baby Makes Three tirade. Someone is claiming to have seen me out in a pub with a woman in London.”
My stomach knots. “Were you?” I’m not sure why it will bother me if he says yes. I’m fully aware he’s with someone else, in some capacity.
“I was seen out with a group of friends from childhood, which included married females. You’d think I was in a brothel with the way they’re acting.” Maybe it’s the truth, but if so…why can’t he meet my eye?
Lars concludes his call and walks over. His good cheer is more muted than normal. “Okay, guys, just go for a run. We’ll stop you if we hit a snag but otherwise just try to forget we’re here.”
“So how far are we going?” I ask Theo.
He hitches a shoulder. “There’s a place called Vondelpark not too far from here. A bit of a jog and then we loop around the park, seven kilometers total. You’ll be fine.”
“I have no idea why you’d assume that.”
He acts as if I haven’t spoken and turns down the street. It’s annoying that he just assumes I’ll follow.
It’s annoying that I do it.
We begin to run side by side, at a pace I’d choose only if my life was in danger and probably not even then.
He points out various things—solely because we are being filmed, I’m sure—and I mostly nod in response because he’s running so fast that I can’t speak.
He doesn’t relent until we’re halfway through the loop at Vondelpark and have temporarily lost the crew, who couldn’t follow us down the narrow path.
“Why don’t we stop for a minute?” he suggests as we reach a small bridge. “The crew has to catch up and I’m worried you’re about to have a heart attack.”
“I’m stunned that would worry you. I’d think it would be a cause for celebration.”
“It’s hard to find a fake wife these days,” he says, lifting his shirt to wipe his face. “Production would be delayed a week at least.”
I laugh, doing my best to ignore that slice of abdomen revealed by his raised shirt as he pulls out his phone to take a picture of the lake. I move out of the shot without being asked this time and follow the camera’s gaze to the water.
“My father would have loved this. He loved to run in new cities.”
He puts his phone away and I brace for the inevitable discomfort that comes when I mention my family to people, which is probably why I always make it into a joke.
“He and I would run together whenever he was in London,” Theo says, watching me carefully, not uncomfortable at all. “He was incredibly fit for his age.”
I nod, fighting this thing swelling in my throat.
“That’s what pisses me off. You know who’s supposed to die before sixty?
Someone who smokes a pack a day and eats a steak wrapped around a stick of butter.
My dad ate well and worked out constantly.
So did Bronwyn. I drink more in a week than either of them did in a year.
I just want it to be…fair. I need there to be a reason for it. ”
He gives me a sad smile. “What kind of reason would there be, though?”
I shrug. “Like if you and I were meant to meet. If, maybe, the child we produced from our union had a superpower, one that saves the world.”
“And what superpower would that be?” he asks with a grin. “Is there something you’re particularly good at? I excelled at maths.”
“I used to be okay at field hockey.”
“Ah, yes,” he says, “the unstoppable combination of field hockey and maths. Quite the genetic powerhouse.”
“We would name our superhero child after Bronwyn and your brother, but Bronwyn gets higher billing obviously. More tragic.”
“A son named Bronwyn would need to have a superpower to survive the bullying. Also for playing field hockey.”
“I assure you, your maths skills wouldn’t be helping that situation either.”
He grins at that, and though I still fucking hate running and hate fake marriage, I’ll admit this moment of being in a world without my father and stepsister, a world that still makes no sense, is sort of okay.