My cock twitched in my jeans.
Fuck.
I whirled away, cursing myself once more for being a fucking idiot, and disappeared into the shadows where she could no longer see me, all the while promising myself I’d stay away for good this time. Find a new mark, move on without her.
I was a shit liar.
At least, I was when it came to deceiving myself.
Chapter 9
Faith
CHINESE WATER TORTURE
* * *
My history lecture was boring me to tears.
I’d been doodling on the edges of my notebook for the past hour while Professor Varga droned on in heavily accented English about King Andrew II’s Golden Bull of 1222. Apparently, as the first edict in European history to limit the powers of a monarch, it was significant enough to take up a whole class period.
Yada, yada, yada.
Snore.
I felt my phone buzz in my bag. In an attempt at stealth, I slipped it from the side pocket and glanced covertly at the screen.
Margot: Hey! I have a surprise!
Faith: I hate surprises.
Margot: You’ll like this one! It involves college boys and alcoholic beverages!
Faith: ….I’m listening.
Margot: Study Abroad Student Mixer! Tonight in City Park! It’ll be fun!
Faith: I don’t know. It’s my one night off from work. I was planning to relax.
Margot: Oh, come on! It’s Friday night! You won’t regret it! I promise!
Faith: Are you aware of how many exclamation points you use while texting? Because it’s a lot. Like, a lot.
Margot: Shut up. It starts at 6. You’re coming.
Faith: Okay(!!!) Sounds good(!!!)
Margot: I hate you.
Faith: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
* * *
Városliget — otherwise known as “City Park” to those of us who’d only been in Hungary for a month and were still struggling to master basic pronunciation — was a sprawling, magnificent garden that made every American park I’d ever been to pale in comparison. Nestled in the very center of Pest, the immense, green public garden was home to many of the city’s most beautiful sights. From the stunning Széchenyi thermal baths to Vajdahunyad Castle, which was perched on a lakeside like something straight out of a fairy tale, the entire affair took my breath away.
I’d been here several times before, but never this late in the day. The weak light from the setting sun illuminated the walking paths, aided by hundreds of beautiful paper lanterns strung from light-posts and tree branches. There was magic, here. Wisps of childhood floated through the air and threads of long-forgotten dreams were called to mind as you strolled from one attraction to the next.
Tonight was a perfect, sultry summer night, and the park was a popular destination for twilight strollers. Scores of couples walked hand in hand, gazing up at the lanterns or wandering the botanical gardens with dreamy looks on their faces. Families with small children hurried down the paths, eager to get their sleepy young ones to bed after a long day riding the wooden roller coasters and the hundred-year-old Ferris wheel at the amusement park.
Margot and I meandered past a stretch of museums and eventually reached Heroes’ Square. I hadn’t been back since my chance encounter with the stranger last week and, as I peered up at the imposing statue of Gabriel, I felt the stirrings of inexplicable remorse deep within my chest. I wasn’t sure why I felt such a connection to the man I’d collided with — there was just something unforgettable about him. As though, once my eyes caught sight of him, they’d become so utterly fixated, they could’ve spent an eternity drinking in nothing but his image, and never felt a loss.
“Hey, you coming?”
Margot’s voice stirred me from my reverie, and I realized I’d drawn to full stop with my eyes locked on the archangel’s face high above. Shaking myself out of the trance I’d slipped into, I forced a smile and hurried to catch up with my friend.
“Sorry, got a little distracted.”
“You and your obsession with history.” Margot snorted. “Doesn’t all that stuffy old architecture and ancient art get boring after a while?”
I laughed. “As if studying languages is any more exciting. Who considers conjugating Hungarian verbs a hobby?”
“Just keep up, will you? At this rate, we’re going to miss the whole thing.”
I rolled my eyes. Margot had a tendency to exaggerate and was a total stickler when it came to being on time for events. “Margot, it started literally five minutes ago. We’ll probably be the first ones there.”
“Less talkie, more walkie!” she ordered, giving me a light shove toward the path that would lead us to the lake. I sighed, but allowed her to steer me along.
We walked for several minutes until the lakeshore came into view. A crowd of maybe forty people had gathered on one of the grassy banks, clustered around two rows of cocktail tables — a mix of young men and women in their twenties, most of them dressed far more formally than I was, in my casual jean cut-offs and summery top. As soon as Margot and I stepped off the path onto the bank, several sets of appreciative male eyes instantly clapped onto us and did a vertical sweep of our forms. I tried not to fidget, feeling insecure and underdressed beneath the collective weight of their eyes.
Abruptly, I had a very bad feeling that Margot hadn’t been entirely honest about our plans for the evening.
“I thought you said this was a study abroad mixer,” I hissed in her direction.
“Did I?” she asked, her voice all innocence.
“Yes.”
“Oops!”
“Margot, don’t make me torture you.” I glared at her. “Where have you dragged me?”
“It’s a twenty-somethings speed-dating night! I saw a flyer for it while I was out riding during my shift yesterday, so I called and reserved two spots for us!” She grinned at me. “I thought it would be fun!”
“Margot,” I bit out, clenching my fists together so I wouldn’t reach out and strangle her. “Do you also consider Chinese water-torture or having bamboo shoots forced beneath your fingernails fun? Because I’d rather sign up for either of those activities than go freaking speed-dating with total strangers!”
“Oh, relax.” Margot huffed. “Let’s get a drink. You’ll feel much better after a glass of wine.”
“Are you planning to roofie it?”
“Only if you continue being such a spoilsport,” she countered breezily, grabbing my hand and tugging me forward.
There was a buffet table of appetizers on the left where, thankfully, most of the crowd had gathered. A makeshift bar had been set up on the right. I beelined for it, and not five minutes later, I had a complimentary glass of cheap, boxed wine clutched tightly in one hand – in the nick of time, too, because a bubbly woman with a brunette bob straight out of the 1950s had just grabbed an electronic megaphone and stepped up onto a stool to address the crowd.
“Good evening, everyone! I’m Linda!” Her voice boomed at such a high decibel, the mic let out a piercing shriek that probably set every dog in a ten-mile radius on high alert. I rubbed at my ringing ears and took a large sip of wine from my plastic glass. It tasted horrible, but I was pretty sure if I drank enough of it, the night might become a fraction more tolerable.
“Sorry, sorry!” the woman blathered into the bullhorn. “Still getting the hang of this thing!”
Her amplified giggles made me want to hurl myself into the lake.
“So, anywho!” she continued, her voice full of excitement. “You’ve gathered here tonight because you’re all English-speaking singles looking to spice up your love lives overseas! Am I right? Or am I right, people?”
I nearly threw up in my mouth, but managed to stop myself. I wasn’t about to waste a single drop of the precious little wine remaining in my glass.
Thank god no one in the audience chorused you’re right! back at Linda. I drew the line at campy call-and-response activities.
There were halfhearted murmurs from the women in the audience. Margot giggled; I sipped more wine.
“We’ve got a great group this evening, I can just tell!” Linda gushed. I was beginning to wonder if she’d popped a happy pill — or six — before beginning her speech. “So, ladies, you’ll each be stationed at a table. Gentlemen, you’ll rotate from woman to woman when you hear this sound!”
Linda rang a small bell with so much enthusiasm, I thought her arm might snap off.
“Each round is five minutes! Any questions?”
Silence from the crowd.
“Excellent!” Linda smiled wide. “And just remember… when you hear the bell toot, it’s time to scoot! No lingering, gentlemen.”
I did throw up in my mouth a little, that time.
“Now, off you go, ladies! Find your name and table.” Linda clapped her hands in excitement. “Gentlemen, please line up over here. You’ll have a better view of the ladies as they get settled from this spot, anyway!”
I turned to Margot with a fake smile plastered on my lips. “When your body washes up on the banks of the Danube tomorrow morning, just know… you totally deserved it.”
Ignoring my words, Margot shimmied her entire body inappropriately in my direction, drawing attentive stares from several of our potential suitors. “Oh, yeah. Single and ready to mingle. Let’s get this party started.”
With that, she turned and headed off to find her table. I raised my glass to take another sip of wine and was dismayed to find it completely empty.
Damn. This night was really not going my way.
* * *
“So, as I was saying, I’m really just here for a few weeks. It was the next stop on my bucket list, so I had to check it out. I’ve been all over Europe — Prague, Vienna, Florence, Amsterdam. I’m gonna hit up Asia next, then maybe head to Australia for a while.” He finally took a breath. “You know, some people aren’t like me.”
What, you mean not everyone is a total narcissist? Well, thank the lord for that.
“Some people aren’t lucky. Not everyone gets to travel to fifty countries in two years,” Earl prattled on, entirely unaware of my thoughts. He smiled at me with a faux-humble grin he’d no doubt been perfecting since his boarding school days, and I tried my best not to gag. “Not everyone has a trust fund, either,” he added.
Jesus. Was this guy for real? Did women actually find this shit appealing?
Actually, given the fact that he was self-enrolled in a speed-dating service, I was going to assume the answer to my question was hell fucking no. I cast my eyes heavenward and prayed for divine intervention. Maybe a merciful lightning bolt would strike him — or me — dead. Because Earl was match number six, and, so far, he was the best of the bunch.
The first two guys had essentially stared at my boobs until the bell rang. The third had at least attempted conversation, not only revealing that he’d been traveling the world on a religious pilgrimage for the past eight months, but also attempting to convert me when I told him my parents had raised me without any formal religion — all in five minutes or less, mind you. Number four had been so shy, I’d initially wondered if, like me, he’d been forced into this situation by his friends, so I struck up a scintillating conversation about how beautiful the park was at this time of year. It seemed like an innocuous enough topic.
Huge mistake.
As it turned out, match number four was horrified to learn of my ignorance concerning the indigenous bird species that had been driven from their habitats due to overcrowding and excessive tourism. He used his five minutes to educate me quite thoroughly on the issue.
By the time date number five arrived, I was thinking things might finally be on the upswing — he was attractive, well-dressed, and I’d seen him engaged in a lively conversation with Margot only minutes before. And yet… he seemed totally disinterested in me from the moment he sat down, glancing at his cellphone every few seconds and casting several unsubtle looks at the girl at the next cocktail table rather than making conversation.
Talk about an ego boost.
Hell, considering the other options, Earl was shaping up to be the most eligible bachelor of the evening.
A surreptitious glance at my watch informed me that there were still three minutes left until the bell rang. I’d spent a hundred and twenty seconds with Earl, and I was ready to jab my eyes out. I didn’t know how much longer I could last.
Thankfully, he was so enamored with himself, he didn’t seem to notice that I was no longer paying attention. My eyes drifted down the bank of the lake and, in the fading twilight, I saw an artist packing up his easel for the day. He’d been sketching the rowers on the water, his canvas streaked with the red-orange hues of sunset. His back was to me — all broad shoulders and defined muscles. He wasn’t huge, like those roid-ragey, neck-less, body-builder types who were always grunting at the gym, but there was something in the way he held himself, even from this distance, that spoke of tightly coiled power, of lithe energy and a deceptive amount of control.
I should’ve recognized him, but I didn’t.
He turned slowly, as though he felt the weight of my eyes on him. When his face lifted and I realized it was him, my stranger, I nearly had a heart attack right there at the cocktail table.
His eyes locked onto mine. Hands frozen midair, canvas hovering half-stored inside his portable easel, he stared across the expanse between us. Our eyes held for five unblinking seconds, and I felt a slow, disbelieving smile spread across my lips. My mind blanked except for one word.
Fate.
I should’ve been embarrassed to be caught staring. I should’ve looked away, as this fleeting glance between strangers had stretched on for too long. But I couldn’t.
“Hey, you still with me?” Earl’s voice invaded the moment and my eyes flew back to his face.
“Yeah, sorry,” I said, my heart thundering in my chest. “Spaced out for a minute there. What were you saying?”
“I was telling you about snowboarding at my dad’s chalet in Switzerland.”
“Oh, right,” I murmured. “Carry on.”
Happily back on track, Earl launched once more into his monologue of self-congratulation, and I let my impatient eyes fly back to the lakeshore. But there was no easel on the bank. No brushes scattered on the ground. And no handsome artist, painting my night a little brighter with his mere presence.
Maybe he hadn’t been there at all.
Maybe I was imagining him again, like I had in the club the other night.
I sighed and turned back to Earl, my chin resting in my palm as I counted down the seconds until the next bell.
Chapter 10
Weston
A WATERY GRAVE
* * *
I picked this spot on purpose.
I knew she’d be here. Just like I’d known she’d be at the club the other night, and at the café last week. I was fully aware that if I sat here long enough, she’d grow so bored with whatever moron was currently chatting her ear off, she’d let her gaze wander down to meet mine.
Just because I was prepared for it, didn’t make it any easier, though.
When you jump into a really cold body of water, there’s a moment when the breath is stolen from your lungs, when the icy waves close over your head like a liquid tomb. It’s bone-chilling. It hits you like a kick to the stomach. Like knives piercing your skin. You choke in a lungful of ocean, push your way to the surface, and assure yourself that you’ll adjust. That the shock will wear off and, eventually, your body will go numb enough that you don’t feel the frigid water lapping at every inch of you.
Every time my eyes locked on Faith Morrissey’s, it was like jumping into the fucking Arctic Sea: instant shock to the system.
Except it didn’t go away.
There was no adjusting to her. No way to numb her effect or ignore her influence on my body.
It wasn’t pleasant — drowning never was. I hated her for it. I fought against her hold on me, but I couldn’t shake her. I couldn’t prevent her effect any more than a drowning man could resist gasping for one last mouthful of air when he was 10,000 leagues underwater. Though it promised certain death, that final, fatal gasp for air was unavoidable.
I was drowning in the ocean that was Faith Morrissey.
* * *
I let her spot me on the bank, but only for a moment.
Just long enough to peak her interest further. She was a little more skittish than most of my targets — I wanted to make sure she was truly on the line before I set my hook and reeled her in.
Hidden from view in the shadows, I watched her for another minute. Her chin was planted in one palm and her eyes glazed over as her sixth match of the night talked on.
What a prick. He was more interested in regaling her with his life story than he was in getting to know her. She could’ve been anyone — he didn’t care, so long as she had ears and was forced to listen to him talk for five, uninterrupted minutes. I knew his type. The melody of his own voice was his favorite sound in the world.
Maybe if he pulled his head out of his ass for thirty seconds, he’d realize what he was missing. He’d learn that the girl sitting across from him was bright and beautiful, fierce and funny as hell. But he didn’t. Like the five who’d come before him, he ignored her. He didn’t see her at all. And, as the minutes ticked by, I watched her slowly deflate, gradually retreating into herself as though their asinine behavior was somehow her fault. As though she was the one with something to be ashamed of, rather than those useless pricks.
Love & Lies Page 51