Chapter Sixteen
Allegra squinted against the mist spraying off the Jet d’Eau, the spray soaking the front of her T-shirt and the hem of her skirt. She wriggled a finger across the wet fabric. Definitely should have picked something less white.
Nate stood a few steps away, hands stuffed in his shorts pockets, watching the fountain shoot skyward like a silver spear. “So, what’s the deal with this thing? Just for show, or is there some deep Swiss meaning I’m missing?”
Allegra smirked, wiping a droplet from her cheek. “It’s a monument to human ingenuity. And also, apparently, a really expensive way to waste water.”
Nate raised an eyebrow. “That’s the grand explanation?”
“Nope.” She jerked her chin toward the plaque a few feet away. “But if you really want to know, there’s a whole dramatic backstory over there. Something about pressure and hydropower and the Swiss being extra.”
“Right. I’ll just have to take your word for it.”
The wind shifted so another cloud of mist drifted across the viewing platform. Allegra gasped as it hit, her T-shirt going from wet to partially transparent.
“You’re aware,” Nate said, his eyes flicking to the outline of her bra, “that you’re losing the battle with that thing.”
Allegra pressed her sunglasses back into place. “Come on then. Before I fully dissolve.”
They made their way back along the wooden platform toward the quay, abandoning the tourists still braced for impact—phones lifted, squealing every time the spray ambushed them. Ahead, the curve of the lake opened up.
Allegra tugged at her damp T-shirt, frowning. “You know what? Let’s sit for a minute so I can dry off.”
Nate trailed her to a park bench and they collapsed onto it side by side. Ella crossed her legs and fussed with the corner of her shirt while the breeze lifted her hair and sprinkled goosebumps along her arms.
“Better,” she said under her breath as the sun settled across her shoulders.
Nate back, draping an arm along the back of the bench. Together they watched the passing crowd—parents steering strollers like bumper cars, a couple negotiating with a yappy dog that clearly believed it was in charge, travelers photographing absolutely everything—but none of it stuck.
Instead her mind hovered stubbornly on Nate. The warmth of him beside her, the way he managed to be close without crowding her, and the memory of yesterday’s kiss, which kept drifting through her thoughts like glitter that refused to vacuum up.
Then a familiar voice cut through the hum of the park.
“Hey… it’s you.”
Allegra froze, heart tripping over itself. She and Nate turned.
Liam. Of all people. The Irishman from the bar, the one she’d picked up on a whim and then left without even a goodbye.
“Oh. Hey,” she squeaked, lifting a hand in an awkward wave.
Liam’s gaze flicked over Nate. His jaw tightened, the easy sparkle in his eyes dimming, replaced with a flash of calculation—or maybe irritation.
“When I woke up,” Liam said slowly, the edge in his voice sharpening, “you were just gone.”
Allegra’s cheeks turned cherry. “Uh, yeah. I, um…” Words scrambled like escaped pigeons. She forced a smile. “Had somewhere I needed to be—”
“Right.” Liam’s eyes flicked back to Nate, lingering a second too long. There was a beat of silence, like he was daring Nate to react.
Nate, for his part, didn’t so much as twitch. He stayed leaning against the bench, looking for all the world like a man who didn’t give a damn about being measured. That only seemed to make Liam’s shoulders tense more.
Finally, Liam coughed. He pulled out his phone, glanced at the blank screen, and then—with the kind of timing that screamed bullshit—frowned. “Sorry. Gotta take this.” He turned and walked away.
Allegra exhaled, tension spilling out of her. “Oh. That… wow. I’m sorry. That was—super awkward.”
Nate shook his head. “Ella, seriously. You do not need to apologize. Not even a little.”
She let out a laugh, half-relief, half-embarrassment. His grin was infuriatingly calm, as if Liam’s jealous little cameo hadn’t even happened. And yes, her chest tightened again, a little fluttery, a little ridiculous.
“Alright,” she said, springing up and grabbing his arm. “Move it. There’s something you absolutely need to see.”
Nate raised his eyebrows but didn’t protest, letting her pull him along. “Uh oh,” he said, a grin tugging at his lips. “That tone means danger.”
They cut across toward the Jardin Anglais, until a flower clock came into view in a riot of red, yellow, and violet blooms, planted in precise, hypnotic swirls. Thousands of tiny flowers formed the face, while slender clock hands glided over the living petals.
Allegra beamed. “Voilà. L’horloge fleurie.”
Nate frowned. “I’d heard about it, but… that’s it?”
“I mean, yeah. It’s a clock. Made of flowers.”
“I see that,” he said, scratching his cheek. “I just expected it to, I don’t know, do something. Sing. Dance. Release a swarm of bees.”
“It tells time.”
“So does my phone.”
She gasped. “It’s iconic.”
“For a country that invented luxury watches, this feels like a missed opportunity.”
Allegra wrinkled her nose. “All right. Maybe it’s not the Eighth Wonder of the World.”
“Thank you.”
“But it’s cute. In a very Swiss, hyper-organized way.”
He leaned in, squinting. “Does it at least pop out a tiny wooden bird?”
She laughed. “First Saint Pierre’s, now this. You really are impossible.”
They left the flower clock and wove back toward the lakeside path, dodging clusters of tourists snapping selfies, families corralling children, and people lounging on benches.
Street performers strummed guitars nearby, and the scent of roasted nuts and gelato mingled with the lake breeze.
A coffee stall waited under a striped awning, steam curling from its espresso machine.
“Caffeine?” Nate asked.
“So much.”
They veered toward the stall—
—and that was when she saw him.
Dark suit. Dark tie. Formal enough for a funeral. In ninety-degree weather. He stood near the edge of the path, sunglasses on, posture rigid—like he was trying to blend in but had forgotten how to relax.
Shit.
Could be nothing. Geneva was full of men in stiff suits, all of them rushing to meetings or pretending to be important. But this one? His focus was all wrong. Too intentional. Like he wasn’t just looking—he was waiting.
“Hey,” Nate’s voice cut through her thoughts. “You okay?”
Allegra didn’t look at him. Didn’t dare glance back at the man, either. “Ferris wheel,” she said.
“Huh?”
She grabbed his elbow. “We’re doing the Ferris wheel.”
“Right now?”
“Yes.” She tugged him toward the large white wheel turning lazily a short distance away.
“Allegra—coffee?”
“After.”
She could feel the suited man in her peripheral vision, or maybe that was paranoia knitting itself into her spine.
Either way, she wasn’t risking standing still.
They slipped into the queue, joining a family with sticky-fingered toddlers and an elderly couple arguing in German over whose turn it was to hold the map.
Allegra positioned herself so Nate’s body blocked her from the path.
“Okay,” Nate said slowly, in that I know you’re up to something tone. “What’s going on?”
She pasted on a smile so bright it hurt. “I just thought—could be fun?”
His eyes narrowed. The wheel creaked, one of the glass carriages descending with a mechanical whine.
“Also,” she added, lowering her voice to a whisper, “I’ve never actually been on one.”
That got his full attention. “What?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Ferris wheel. Never done it.”
“Seriously?”
“Mmm-hmm.” She examined a nonexistent speck of lint on her top. “My parents thought they looked dangerous.”
He stared at her. “Why?”
“They spin. In the air,” she said defensively. “There are heights involved. Structural trust. Wind.”
“It’s a giant, slow-moving circle.”
“Yes, well.” She crossed her arms. “Tell that to my childhood.”
The family in front of them shuffled forward. Nate was still looking at her like she’d just revealed she was allergic to oxygen. “You’ve traveled all over the world,” he said.
“Yes.”
“You’ve been on planes.”
“Frequently.”
“But not a Ferris wheel?”
She met his gaze. “Correct.”
The corner of his lip pitched up. “Okay, then we’re definitely doing this.”
“Uh, yeah. We’re literally in line.”
“Good,” he said, pulling out his wallet. “My treat.”
The capsule door swung open with a metallic clunk.
Nate paid, and the attendant waved them forward.
Allegra’s stomach fluttered, a chaotic mix of nerves and something lighter, something almost like excitement.
Whether it was from the suited man still hovering somewhere behind her, the looming height of the wheel, or the fact that she’d just admitted something small and stupidly true, she wasn’t entirely sure.
They climbed inside—a glossy white bubble of glass and metal, just big enough for two people to sit awkwardly opposite each other.
Allegra perched on the bench, and Nate settled across from her, his knees brushing hers in the cramped space.
The door shut with a click. A second later, the wheel lurched, and they began to climb.
The frame creaked as they rose, the ground slipping away beneath them. Allegra gripped the seat—casually, she hoped—but her knuckles were white.
The Mont Blanc bridge stretched across the water to their right, lined with flags snapping sharply in the breeze.
Bold Swiss crosses alternating with Geneva’s yellow-and-red crest. Beyond it, the lake shimmered in fractured sunlight, boats cutting pale lines across the blue.
As they climbed higher, the Old Town came into view, clustered terracotta roofs and pale stone facades stacked in gentle tiers.
And above it all, rising clean and certain against the sky, the steeple of St. Pierre Cathedral pierced upward like it had something to prove.
Geneva looked orderly from up here. Balanced. Contained. Like a place where things made sense.