Chapter Seven
A s I gradually open my eyes, the gentle morning light streams through the windows, wrapping the room in a warm embrace. There sits Nathan, perfectly framed by a hazy, orange glow, completely absorbed in a book that holds his full attention. Beside him, a steaming cup of coffee is placed on the small table, its rich aroma filling the room.
He exudes a relaxed charm, and in this peaceful moment, everything feels right. When he notices I’m awake, he moves the book aside and looks at me. I stay still, my expression neutral, not letting on that my heart is quietly racing. Our eyes meet, and for a moment, I wonder who am I waking up to this morning. Which version of him am I getting today?
He smiles, an almost disarming smile, and stands up from his chair. The movement is graceful, intentional. He leans down and places a gentle kiss on my cheek.
“Good morning, love.” His voice is calm, affectionate. “It’s only 6:40 a.m. Let me bring you a cup of coffee.”
Sweet Nathan it is.
I nod and he leaves the room. Flashbacks from last night rush before my eyes, and even though I’m a little confused, I smile.
All this time, my thoughts kept drifting back to him. I have to admit that I missed him. Seeing this side of him last night sparked the thought that perhaps we can renew what we once had, pick up right where we left off. The point before I drifted away. Only now, I’m able to put a face to that blur of him I had in my head, and I love the image of it.
I pull the bedsheet around my body and stand up, feeling the coolness of the wooden floor beneath my feet. The room is bathed in a soft, foggy light. It’s peaceful, and I let myself enjoy the calmness.
I feel Nathan’s warm hand slide gently around my waist. He hands me a cup of coffee. The scent is rich, comforting.
“Thank you,” I say, smiling up at him. He kisses my cheek again, the action so casual, so tender. Sweet Nathaniel, I could get so used to this version of you.
“It’s soothing, isn’t it?” he asks, looking outside the window. “It’s the only thing keeping me living in my workplace.” He sits on the chair and looks at me.
“You have quite the view,” I say, sipping the coffee.
“I do,” he concedes while his whole focus remains on me, a playful grin spreading across his face.
Is he talking about me? I try to hide the smile creeping on my face while sipping on my cup, but I know my eyes betray me. His grin widens, knowing he’s caught me. I place the cup on the table and turn on my heel, walking toward the bathroom while heat rises to my cheeks. I hear him laugh as I let the bedsheet slip from my body, and rush inside the bathroom naked, as if he hasn’t already seen me in every possible way.
Inside, I catch my reflection in the mirror and pause. Nathaniel Martens, of all people, is making me blush.
I glance around the bathroom. My clothes from last night are neatly hung as if by magic, and a brand-new toothbrush waits for me, placed over a white towel. Everything is ready, as if this is his routine. Does he do this for other women he brings here? The thought crosses my mind, but disappears in an instant.
I take a quick shower, running my fingers through my hair to smooth it down. I dress, realizing I don’t have time to stop at home, which means Tatiana is certainly going to ask questions when I get to the coffee shop. No make up, messy hair, same dress as yesterday—this is unlike me, but I feel so good it doesn't even bother me.
As I wander the room, trying to find my shoes, I notice a door. It’s not immediately obvious as it blends into the wall. Almost too well. A closet? I place my hand on the handle but something feels off…It’s locked.
“Are you lost?” Nathan’s voice cuts through my thoughts, making me jump. I spin around, a small yelp escaping me as I meet his amused expression.
“My shoes, did you put them inside the closet?” I ask, tilting my head toward the door.
“Hmm, not quite,” he replies, his voice smooth and even, though a flicker of caution creeps in his eyes. “Your shoes are by the main door.”
I open my mouth to ask more, but before I can, Nathan’s hand is on my lower back, guiding me away from the door and toward the living area with a gentle but firm touch. His hand feels warm against my skin, but the curiosity gnaws at me. What isn’t he telling me? I glance back at the door one last time, but Nathan’s presence beside me pulls my attention back.
"Come on, Olive. Peter is waiting for you downstairs," he says. I send the thought of his locked closet to the back of my mind and leave the suite, with Nathan behind me.
We enter the elevator and he stays close to me, composed as always. As the elevator doors close behind us, he stands closer than before, the air between us charged with tension. I glance at him through the reflection in the mirrored walls, his perfectly tailored double-breasted suit hugging his frame, his dark blond hair combed immaculately. I, on the other hand, look far from what I’m used to.
I try to tame my hair with my fingers, feeling his eyes on me the entire time.
“You’re gorgeous.” His voice is low and intimate while he puts his hand at my waist. I turn my head, and his face is close to mine. “How can I be sure this isn’t another dream of mine?”
His words pierce my senses, and the intensity in his gaze draws me in. I press my lips to his, and he kisses me back with that same sweetness contaminated with a hint of urgency. His right-hand stretches, and the elevator stops. Before it can open, he pushes the emergency stop.
"Let me see you again tonight." He breaks apart, his face barely away from mine.
"Where?" I ask.
“Your choice,” he says, his hand lingering at my waist. His thumb brushes me as he steps back, releasing the button and setting the elevator in motion again. The moment feels suspended between us, and I’m left wanting for more of him.
“I’ll send Peter to pick you up,” he says, standing now next to me. The elevator doors slid open, and I couldn't hold back a frustrated sigh.
"Ugh, give him a break," I mutter under my breath, stepping out into the bustling hallway. My eyes land on Peter, who is waiting by the entrance. I can still feel Nathan's gaze on me from the lobby where he stands motionless. I enter his car, waving good-bye as I grant him a last look. His charming smile is hard to ignore.
We pull up in front of the shop after a quick five-minute drive, the clock striking 8:00 a.m., right on time for work. I realize Tatiana hasn’t shown up yet. I nod my thanks to Peter and dash to the door. With a quick flick of the key, I unlock it and step inside. I grab one of the lovely aprons Tatiana’s mom custom-made for us, tie it around my waist, and begin prepping the shop to open in thirty minutes.
Ten minutes later, I’m deep in my morning groove, feeling ridiculously productive. I’ve already restocked the display, set up the register, and started my go-to jazz playlist, softly humming through the coffee shop’s speakers. That’s when Tatiana comes in, her eyes immediately going to me behind the counter.
“Olivia James,” she starts, her voice playful but sharp, “early, ready, and visibly in a good mood.” She glances around, looking toward the neat counter and listening to the soft music. She narrows her eyes at me.
“You got laid.”
I let out a fake laugh.
“What are you even talking about?”
She rolls her eyes at me.
“Girl, please. You’ve got no makeup on, your hair’s giving sexy lioness instead of indoor cat , and you’re wearing yesterday’s outfit. Do you need me to continue?”
“What’s wrong with that? I’m trying something new.” I try to sound convincing, but she’s not buying it.
“YOU. BLOODY. ARE!” she shouts, leaning across the counter with her elbows planted firmly and her hands cupping her cheeks. “So? How was he?” She wiggles her eyebrows, clearly fishing for details.
I laugh at her enthusiasm, but play dumb.
“Who?” My mind is flying to the recent memory of Nathaniel asking me to spend the night with him. But before I tell her everything, she precipitates. Tatiana’s face lights up like she’s onto something.
“What do you mean who? Adam, obviously! I bet his body is as perfect as his face. Please tell me he’s your something new,” she says, her anticipation practically radiating off her.
My stomach churns. She has no clue about Nathaniel. I’m going to need more than twenty minutes to explain this tangled web of—I don’t even know anymore.
I take a deep breath and lean forward on the counter, bracing for impact.
“Not Adam, Tate,” I say it calmly, watching her expression morph from intrigue to pure, unfiltered disappointment. Her shoulders slump, and she stares down at the counter like a kid who just found out Christmas has been cancelled. She opens her mouth to say something, but before she can, I drop the bomb.
“It’s his brother. Nathaniel.”
The stunned look on her face is priceless: eyes wide, mouth hanging open, speechless, for once in her life. For a solid five seconds, she stares at me, trying to process what I’ve said.
“OLIVIA! What is this, a Mexican telenovela? Are you seriously dating the two of them?”
“Tate—” I try to interrupt, but she’s on a roll now.
“You’re only missing someone to come slap you and curse you out in Spanish—weren’t you seeing Adam?” Her eyes are wide, full of drama.
“Tate—"
She ignores me.
“Is this Nathaniel harder to resist? Is Adam free then?” She raises her eyebrows suggestively.
“Tatiana!”
“I need details! Details , Olivia,” she whispers, finally lowering her voice, but the smirk on her face is unmistakable.
I sigh, rubbing my temples.
“Not the two of them. Not Adam. Only his brother, Nathaniel.”
“But what—how?”
“Tate, I actually met Nathaniel before Adam. Long before Adam. I…didn’t know they were related.” The words tumble out, and I feel the weight of the secret I’ve been carrying start to lift. After all, she’s my best friend, and keeping this from her has felt like a betrayal.
Her face softens as she leans in, all ears.
“Wait, what? Spill.”
And I spill .
I start from the beginning. The moment Nathaniel and I first crossed paths, the conversations that led to late-night calls, our first physical encounter, and how I thought I had cut him out of my life—only to find him again, thanks to Adam. I can see the amazement on her face, her expression shifting from curiosity to shock, then back again.
I tried to give her details about Nathan, but it came out complicated, and at this point, I guess that’s who he is. By the time I’m done, she’s silent, processing.
“Wow,” she finally says. “I didn’t see that coming. I thought you were going to tell me you’ve been banging Adam or something.”
Before she can say more, the door opens, and we both glance at the clock, 8:45 a.m. It’s time for customers. Tatiana slides in behind the counter next to me, grinning.
“And here I thought you were boring,” she teases, nudging me with her elbow. I roll my eyes again, but this time, I can’t help but laugh.
The day passes smoothly, and whenever the boutique quiets down, we sneak in more conversation. It’s like we’re catching up on every little detail we missed in each other’s lives.
By midday, I’m no longer the star of the show. As we approach closing, the focus shifts to her, and she tells me about her upcoming Christmas trip to visit her family. Usually, her mother and sister come every year, but this year, she’s decided that her life is steady enough. We hired extra help and I will be around. Plus, I know she’s been wanting to visit them for a while now.
Around 7:00 p.m., I go back to my tiny desk to reply to some pending emails that have been waiting for me for too long. I give my entire focus to this moment and make sure I organize everything, plus next week's schedule.
I sink into my chair and flip open the laptop, ready to get this office work done.
“Olivia!” I hear Tatiana call from across the hall. I roll my eyes before pausing everything to go to meet her.
“Tate, I had just sat down—" I interrupt myself, seeing him before my eyes.
“Nathan,” I say surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“I told you I was meeting you tonight.”
“You said you would send Peter,” I remind him, my eyebrow raised in question, recalling his words from the elevator earlier.
“You said to give him a break,” he shrugs with an unapologetic gleam in his eyes, “so, I did.”
I look at the clock: 7:30 p.m.
“I’m closing tonight,” I say, my tone being clear that he needs to wait, and his rather impatient personality might find it unacceptable.
He merely raises an eyebrow.
“I have time,” he says, sliding onto a stool by the counter, making himself comfortable like he’s in no rush at all.
“Liv,” Tatiana jumps in. “I’m closing tonight, remember?” Tatiana looks at me in the way she does when she wants me to follow her lies. I suppose this is one of those moments, as I’m closing every day this week according to schedule.
“There’s no one here but us,” she adds, emphasizing her point. “You can go, it’s fine.”
“Are you sure?” I whisper, knowing exactly what she’s up to.
“How can you say no to that?” she mutters through gritted teeth, her eyes flicking over to Nathan. I bite my lip to keep from laughing.
“Thank you, Tate! I’ll see you tomorrow!” I say, grabbing my bag from behind the counter and joining Nathaniel by the door.
“Thank you, Tate . Have a lovely evening,” Nathan says smoothly as he opens the door for me. Always the gentleman.
I look back at Tatiana and wave her goodbye before leaving, to what she mouths Oh my God , I hold back a laugh as the door closes behind us.
We step out, stopping in front of a car that isn’t his usual ride. I pause, waiting for him to direct, but instead, Nathan holds up a key in front of me, dangling it like a challenge.
“Do you want to do the driving?” He gives me that infuriatingly charming grin. “After all, you made me give Peter a break?—”
I grab the key from his hand before he can finish, cutting him off with a raised brow. I turn the key over in my palm, and my eyes widen.
He drives a Bentley?
I press the unlock button, and the lights flash on the car parked right in front of us. Without taking a second look at Nathan, I go in the driver’s seat. Inside, every detail whispers refinement. The dashboard is an elegant sweep of polished wood flowing seamlessly from one door to the other. The iconic winged “B” emblem embossed proudly in the centre of the steering wheel. The soft, ivory leather fills the cabin with a richness that contrasts with the dark interior. This car screams Nathaniel Martens inside out.
I run my hand along the leather, shaking my head in disbelief.
“You had to show off, didn’t you?” I mutter as Nathan settles into the passenger seat, clearly enjoying my reaction. He chuckles, leaning back with that easy confidence that drives me crazy.
He looks at me, smiling.
“So, Olive.”
“So, Mr. Martens?” My wide smile is hard to overlook. “Want to get close somewhere far away?” I ask.
After he nods, I place my foot on the brake and press the engine start button. The engine purrs to life, the hum controlled and precise; much like Nathaniel himself. I catch him glancing out the window from the corner of my eye. He’s always in control, but now, as we drive further from the city, I can feel him trying to hold back a question.
It’s about a thirty-minute drive to my chosen destination. I watch his expression shift, curiosity melting into a faint tension, as if the distance from the familiar starts to unsettle him.
“Are you sure you know where we’re going?” he finally asks, his voice betraying a hint of unease as we climb a hill, the traffic fading behind us.
“Do you trust me?” I ask, smiling, eyes fixed ahead.
“I—” He pauses, chuckling nervously. “I don’t know anymore.”
I take the hidden road, steering the car off the main path. He tenses beside me.
"Olive...there was a sign for?—"
"I know the sign," I cut him off, not giving importance to the danger sign we left behind, warning us about a cliff.
"Don't worry, we’ve arrived." I smile.
“Where did we arrive? Precisely?" he asks, confused.
I turn to look at him, smiling, and park the car. I step out almost immediately, and it takes him less than a minute to do the same. I walk confidently with full visibility thanks to the moonlight being especially bright this evening, with Nathan trailing behind. I stop abruptly and he almost stumbles with me.
“Look up," I say, my eyes fixed on the breathtaking landscape before me. "You may have a good view from your suite on the top floor of that building," I say, pointing to the Botanic Hotel building, its BHI emblem glowing brightly. "But this view...it's priceless, unowned by anyone. Yet it feels like it belongs to me.’’
The city stretched out before us, a glowing labyrinth under a bruised sky. The clouds hung heavy, as usual, but with the same charm that made me fall in love with Amsterdam when I left Paris. Paris was heartbreak. Paris was memories that I didn’t want to hold. Paris was all the things that made my heart heavy. But Amsterdam is new beginnings. Amsterdam is hope.
But at the same time Amsterdam feels lonely.
Lights flicker in the distance, tracing a patch across the water, I convince myself they lead me to hold onto hope, to the happiness I crave. The city is surrounded by water reflecting the houses, the buildings, the bridges. It’s been like this long before I moved in, and it will continue to be like this even after I die. There is something haunting about it, this endless expanse of life carrying on with or without me.
“I like to think that each light out there is a person, a life with problems, dreams, desires, and wishes flickering quietly against the darkness of the night,” I say with my eyes fixed straight ahead, but I can feel his gaze heavy over me. “It’s comforting, in a way,” I continue, “imagining all those lives—each one as complicated and messy as mine, a gentle reminder that my sadness, my struggles, are one tiny part of something infinitely larger, and it feels like a weight being lifted of my shoulders,” The thought makes me feel so small, but not in a way that hurts.
“That’s why I come here,” I say. “To this spot, to this view. It puts everything into perspective, like pressing a reset button on my heart.” The lights remind me that the world doesn’t stop for my pain—it hums, and glows, and carries on. And somehow, that makes it easier to breathe. Every time I come here it works, every single time.
A part of me hopes that Nathan feels at ease—a big part of me hopes that he feels the peace I feel up here. He holds many things I don’t know about, many things I’d love to hear him confide in me. But until he does, he can confide in this view, in the sky, in the water, and the lights that flicker at night.
He moves closer, his arms slipping around me, pulling me against him. There’s a heaviness in the way he holds me, like he’s trying to say something without words. His breath brushes my ear as he speaks, quieter than before.
“It’s beautiful, Olive.” His voice cracks, barely audible. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
We stand together in silence, the extensiveness before us reflecting the quiet between us. His grip tightens, as if there’s a risk of me running away from him.
A part of me wants to turn and meet his gaze, to ask him what he’s thinking. But the silence feels fragile, like any question might break whatever is holding us together in this moment.
After a few minutes of being still, he clears his throat.
“I’m not used to doing this, being in these sorts of places…or even letting people in this much.” The words come slowly, like he’s unsure of what he’s saying. “But with you, it’s different. I feel—” He stops, exhaling, the vulnerability in his gaze is raw that it filters through me and it reaches my heart. I know this is way too difficult for him. He’s not ready to put his feelings into words, and I don’t want him to feel the pressure. His eyes tell me everything I need to know.
“Nathaniel…” I try to stop him, but he continues.
“I’ve always felt like I was stumbling through darkness.” Nathan’s voice is low, vulnerable. His eyes search for mine. “Then I met you…and you became the only thing I could see.” His gaze softens, becoming more real, more present than I’ve ever seen it before.
“You light so many parts of me, Olive.” He pauses. “Your presence is addictive, and I can’t get enough of you. The way your hands move when you speak, the way you put the hairs that fall on your face behind your ear, those sweet lips of you, your soft skin—God, I can’t get enough of the view of you.”
The night wraps around us, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. We stand together. Close. His hand caressing my face. His words running through me. His touch is gentle. And only by standing together in this place and moment, we’re lighting up the darkest parts of us.
I know he’s still guarding some part of himself, some parts of his heart he refuses to unfold. The light flickers, but is never fully on.
Nathan and I sit right there and talk. There's nothing sexual about it, just the two of us laughing. We laugh until our sides ache, trading stories and memories like old friends who’ve known each other forever. The kind of laughter that makes you forget the time, the day, and life itself.
“I never asked you what brought you to Amsterdam,” he mentions, and the laughter softly fades.
And there comes the conversation I’ve been dreading to have. Why does it press strongly on my chest?
“I want to say business opportunities, and that I wanted to learn the romantic language that is Dutch?—”
“Uh-huh, I’m assuming that’s not the reason you left Paris, mon amour .” I always thought that Nathan’s voice was perfect, but Nathan speaking French is above that thought.
“ It isn’t. ” I breathe in. Go ahead, Olivia, rip the freaking Band-Aid off.
“I was in love, then engaged, then heartbroken. Paris was not la vie en rose anymore, and I wanted something different, a new beginning. I guess that’s what Amsterdam became for me.” He listens to my words attentively. I can feel the weight of his gaze on me. He remains quiet, and when I look at him, he stares down on the ground. He is lost in thoughts.
“But it’s ok now,” I say, breaking the silence that creeps between us. “I mean, Antoine is part of the past. It hurt, but I learned. I don’t regret my feelings—or my life in Paris.”
He lifts his head, giving me a half-smile.
“I’m sorry you went through heartbreak. I can only imagine how hard?—”
“You’ve never had your heart broken, Nathaniel Martens?” I interrupt him as soon as he uses the word ‘imagine’.
Of course, he hasn’t. He must be the one ending relationships with his busy schedule being the best excuse.
“Oh,” he says, his eyes widen in surprise to my question. “I don’t do relationships.”
“Then, what do you do?” I ask. Did I lift an eyebrow?
He looks at me in the eyes and I hold his gaze. His lips begin to move, and I see there’s something he wants to say, but he doesn’t. He smiles instead. His eyes now look at the sky and we stay there next to each other without saying a word. Was I too blunt? Was it the freaking eyebrow?
“I think I’ve been through it,” he finally says.
“What?” I ask.
“The feeling of your insides churning, the knot in your throat that words can’t ease, your mouth being dry while your cheeks are wet—the emptiness, the hollowness. The nowhere to go. People call it heartbreak, but it hurts everywhere else.”
I look at him, but his eyes are still set in the sky. He doesn’t imagine, he understands. He can describe heartbreak. Does that mean it is recent? There are many things I want to ask, but I don’t. I just look at him and I see the cracks.
An urge to hold him and put his pieces together takes over me. But again, I don’t. I can’t hug him. Not like that. Hugs make me emotional, and when I’m emotional, I cry. I stand up instead.
I hold my hand in the air for him.
“Care to dance with me?”
He looks at my hand and grabs it without hesitation, then his eyes move to my face.
“Right here? No music?” He stands up and narrows his eyes at me, not letting go of my hand.
“Yes. And we can always sing.”
He laughs lightly, keeping a wide smile on his face. He puts my hand over his shoulder, on the nape of his neck, and I place my other hand over his chest. His hands move to my waist. His touch sends all sorts of feelings through me. He starts moving me along with him, slowly from one side to the other.
“Which song do you want for our first dance?” he asks.
“Surprise me,” I say.
He clears his throat and starts humming a familiar melody, making me smile. I lift my eyes to him as soon as he starts singing his own version of I’m Old Fashioned by Chet Baker. He smiles while singing, and our bodies move, putting our pieces together. I rest my head against his chest, and I refuse to leave. I refuse to break this embrace.