“So we lose a day.”
“Yeah. When I come back, we’ll only have one day before you fly home.”
“Then I guess,” she says, kissing my neck and sliding her hand down my back to squeeze my ass, “we should make the most of it.”
My laugh is an aroused exhalation. “My sentiments exactly, which is why I want you to ditch your friends and spend the entire day with me tomorrow. They can have you back when I go to London.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“You have to trust me.” I trace the contours of her face with my index finger.
“Okay. I trust you.”
I feel like an ass because I know how precious and hard-won her trust is. Her hatred for my father still burns bright and fresh. I have to tell her the truth, but I’m selfish enough, I want her too much just like this for as long as I can have this, to even tell her my real name.
20
Lennix
Maxim’s smile steals hearts for a living. The magnetism of it draws me to him sitting on that wall across from the hostel.
It’s only been a few hours since we parted ways. Maxim brought me home long enough for us to both change and prepare for our day together. He slides his aviators into his hair, and strands of it curl around and cling to the lenses. I’ll miss the way his hair feels threading through my fingers when he’s inside me. I’ll miss the way he kisses me like he can’t believe it’s real—a startling sense of wonder from someone so pragmatic, cynical even. I’ll miss the way he tangles our fingers under tables and touches me every chance he gets. There are a dozen things I’ll miss about him. I’m already cataloguing them with only two days left of whatever this is, has been.
“Hey.” He stands from the wall, laying that same book about Antarctic expeditions down, spine up. He grabs my hand and pulls me into a hug. I don’t wait for him to bend and kiss me, but tip up on my toes to take his mouth with mine. My hands slide over his shoulders and into his hair. I press him close, and keep my eyes sealed tightly over sudden tears.
I’m going to lose him.
I’ve only had a few days with him, but just the thought of not having this every day brings tears to my eyes.
He pulls back and links our hands at our sides.
“Well good morning to you, too,” he says with a chuckle.
I force a laugh and keep my lashes lowered a second longer, composing myself. Get your shit together, girl.
My little pep talk goes to hell when I glance up to find his stare fixed intently on my face. I fear my shit is beyond getting together. Can you feel so deeply for someone after just a few days? But Maxim has been inside me. It’s not just sex; he’s entertained my impossible dreams. Witnessed my nightmares. Maybe I waited so long to make love because I knew I’d be bad at this—at taking someone into my body, but checking them at the door to my soul. I rolled out a welcome mat for Maxim, and it’s no one’s fault but mine. He said no attachments from the beginning.
I don’t care if it hurts.
I said that the first night we made love. Na?ve, silly girl. Myopic child, thinking only to have him, with no notion how hard it would be to let him go.
“You okay?” he asks, a frown pleating his thick brows.
“Yeah.” I brighten my smile for him. “I’m fine.”
“Kimba and Viv didn’t mind me kidnapping you for the day?”
My smile becomes more natural. “They’re actually relishing sleeping in. After dinner last night, Aya took them drinking. They’re pretty hung over.”
“Good. Then they won’t miss you too badly.”
We walk to the train station and board. Anticipation overtakes the sadness the thought of our pending separation brought on.
“Where are we going?” I lean onto his shoulder where he’s seated beside me.
“West,” he says, deliberately cryptic.
I pinch his side, though it’s just lean muscle, not much to get hold of.
“Ow!” He laughs so loudly several heads on the train turn. “You little . . . I’m punishing you for that later.”
“Spank me?” I give him an eager look. “Tie me up? Gag me?”
“Are you sure you were a virgin just days ago?” he whispers. “I’m not sure I can keep up with you.”
“You seemed to be doing fine this morning.”
“And last night.” He licks at the seam of my lips, teasing them open for a deepening kiss. “God, I want to fuck you all the time.”
“We have that in common then. Now tell me where we’re going.”
“Sassenheim. Keukenhof Gardens is a little more curated. Like a tulip museum. I thought we’d go a little off the beaten path.”
“Says the man leaving for Antarctica in a week. I’m pretty sure you’re king of ‘off the beaten path.’”
“You may be right about that.” He laughs. “I think we can access tulips better on our own, finding the fields, seeing windmills along the way. Maybe have a picnic. Sound okay?”
“Seriously? It sounds like the best day ever.” As soon as he said “we” it sounded perfect. I want to see tulips and the coastline and anything of this country he wants to show me, but I mostly just want more time with him.
“Good. The season for tulips is just beginning, so they won’t be in full bloom, but still beautiful. The weather has been favorable this year. Mid-April is best, so we’re about a month early. I just wanted some time out of the city,” he says. “Some quiet with you. A slower pace with fewer distractions where we can just enjoy each other.”
“It’s working already.”
The train ride lasts about a half an hour, and as soon as we step off, I’m in love. A canal runs through the village, bordered by narrow houses. Small boats line the canal walls and stone bridges crisscross the water. It reminds me of Amsterdam, but emits a different energy, like the city’s restive cousin. It’s so vivid and the air is crisp. It only takes a few minutes to rent bikes, find a bike path and start off. It’s cool, and the wind whips at my face and hair. Exhilarating.
“You okay?” Maxim asks over his shoulder, pedaling slightly ahead of me on the bike path.
I increase my speed to pull up beside him. “Yes. I’m loving this.”
“I thought you would.”
As we ride, the landscape changes, signs of the village falling away and replaced by lush countryside, by fields and horses leisurely grazing, not bothering to look up when we ride past. Stout windmills, their thick, wooden arms lazily whirring, dot the scenic route along the highway hugging the coastline.
He pulls over and stops at a railing bordering the bike path. I pull up beside him.
“See those?” He points out to the water.
“The windmills?”
He slants me a grin. “Those are wind turbines, not windmills. There’s a difference.”
“Yeah, well what about them?”
“They’re mine,” he says, a possessive glint to his eyes.
My mouth falls open and I scoot closer to the rail like that will somehow bring me much closer to the objects floating on the water, starkly white and elegant.
“What do you mean they’re yours?”