Souvenirs

by Mia Kay

  While her mother and Camille explored, Ben stood on the stairs so he’d have a good view of the park and a vantage point to watch the older women. Instead of standing with him, or following their mothers, Grace explored on her own. She wanted to find a shade plant she could order online and put in her yard to remind her of here.

  She was taking a photo of the perfect plant when a shadow loomed over her shoulder.

  “There you are,” Ben sighed. “I didn’t know where you’d gotten off to. What are you doing way over here on your own?”

  “Gardening research,” she mumbled as she checked her camera. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, but they’re ready to eat. The Palm House has lunch. Is that okay?”

  As they walked side-by-side toward the large glass building, Grace couldn’t fathom her body’s reaction. Just like her irrational disappointment over a picture, her nerves now jangled in unjustified anticipation.

  Inside the Palm House, their mothers had already claimed a table. As she sat, Grace stared overhead. It was if someone had sectioned off a piece of the park and built walls around it. There had to be a way to incorporate this into a scene, if not a plot point.

  “You like being outdoors?” Ben asked.

  “I enjoy gardening, and I’ve seen a few plants I’d like to add to the yard at home.”

  “Like that one I saw you with under the trees?” Her mother asked. “That would look wonderful along our path to the lake.”

  “You live close to each other?” Ben asked.

  “On adjoining properties,” Grace snapped before she sipped her coffee.

  Ben’s brows knitted into a frown. Now she felt like a raving bitch. It wasn’t his fault her living arrangement had been a source of constant criticism from Ryan. Can’t cut the apron strings, too needy, too immature, co-dependent.

  Her mother patted her hand, a standard lifelong reminder to watch her manners. “After everything that’s happened, she wanted to keep an eye on me.”

  “Ben’s the same way. I don’t even take the tube to get to his home.”

  Ben’s face melted into exasperation as he rolled his eyes. We’re right here. Grace heard the words as surely as if he’d said them. She smiled, shook her head, and changed the subject. “Camille, what was your favorite part of the garden?”

  “The statue of Mozart. I’ve always had a crush on him.”

  After lunch, they toured the SiSi Museum and the Royal Apartments. Rather than reading the explanations and listening to the guide, Grace wandered from room to room and let her imagination take over. She couldn’t use the location in a plot, but she could borrow the apartment and put it somewhere else.

  Her muse ran with the idea. Ian and Zadie could be on vacation. Maybe he planned it because it reminds him of home. Maybe she planned it thinking he’s homesick, but he hates it. Ooh. That’s go-ood.

  Photos weren’t allowed, and her sketches were awful, so she scribbled notes and vowed to buy a souvenir guidebook. After a last reconnoiter, she found Ben in front of the Empress Elizabeth’s portrait. “Beautiful lady, wasn’t she?”

  “If you like high maintenance,” he drawled.

  “You don’t know she—” Her objection faded into a giggle at the disbelieving look on his face. “In her defense, it was the standard for her day.”

  “True. I suppose that makes her all right as an empress, but not as a date.”

  He used his height advantage to locate their mothers, sitting on a bench at the edge of the room. “Why don’t we see if they’re ready to go?”

  Once outside, her mother had her own ideas about the remainder of the itinerary. “Camille and I are going to rest in the Volksgarten and enjoy the sunshine. Grace, go on to the National Library. You know you want to.”

  “Are you sure?” Grace’s gaze swept the crowd of people.

  “How much trouble can I get into in a garden?”

  “Okay. I won’t stay long.”

  “I’ve heard that before,” her mom grumbled, her wink softening the sarcasm.

  Camille spoke up. “We can’t have you gandering around alone. Ben, why don’t you go with her?”

  “I can if you’d like,” he offered.

  “Sure,” she shrugged. “Why not?”

  Leaving the older women to enjoy the sunshine, Grace and Ben walked across the plaza. Refusing to admit how much she liked having him at her side, she nodded her thanks as he held the door. Then she saw the library.

  Open floors revealed shelves and shelves of books. Colorful spines sat on polished wood, balconies curved around the room, heavy rails flanked wide staircases. A ceiling mural had been substituted for the sky.

  “If I lived here, I’d never leave this spot.”

  Ben tugged her hand. “I’m sure there’s more to see further inside.”

  Grace cringed at the sight of their joined fingers. Her friends had teased her for years about the embarrassing habit. Until now the worst had been when she’d ended up holding hands with a complete stranger at a magic show. She pulled against his hold.

  Ben resisted and winked. “It’s okay. It may be the best way for me to keep up with you.”

  They explored until she had a crick in her neck from looking over her head. Again she pulled against his fingers, this time with a smile. “I can’t take pictures this way.”

  He released her with a sheepish grin that made him look like a teenager.

  When they resumed their self-guided tour, he reclaimed her hand. Her legs moved out of habit but her thoughts faded into the static pattern of a TV with no channel.

  I am in one of the most magnificent palaces in the world, holding hands with an Englishman I didn’t know thirty-six hours ago. A man with really, really nice hands.

  Her arm stretched its full length, and she looked back to see Ben standing beside a bookshelf. It was clear he was waiting on an answer to a question.

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Why does it intrigue you?”

  Her unoccupied hand stroked the nearest spines as she stared down an aisle of mellow, faded leather. Outside were the blues and greens of summer. Inside, there were the oranges, yellows, and browns of fall. Her breathing slowed.

  “They’re like history you’re allowed to hold.” She led him down the stack and pulled from his grasp to take a book from the shelf. “Imagine who else has held this, who read it. Maybe Marie Antoinette’s nanny read it to her as a bedtime story.”

  She put the book in his hands. “There’s the weight of it.” Taking his fingers in hers, she drifted them over its leather cover. “The feel of it. And then there’s the smell.” Cracking the text open, she inhaled, encouraging him to do the same.

  She peeked over his arm to look at the page. “It makes me wish I’d taken German instead of Spanish.”

  Ben was spellbound. Buttery leather under his fingers, Grace’s warm hand atop his, her vanilla scent surrounding him while her words tempted him closer and begged him to play along. He read the stanzas and did a quick translation. Love and loss, separation and longing. Shit. Why couldn’t this be the Erlking? “Umm . . . it’s Goethe.” He should have known the explanation wouldn’t satisfy her.

  “What does it mean? Is it part of the Erlking?”

  “No.” He took a deep breath and looked into her deep brown eyes, felt the weight of her hand on his arm. He meant to make it a perfunctory performance, but he was in trouble from the first line. Softly, he recited.

  “I am with you,

  However far away you may be,

  You are next to me!

  The sun is setting,

  Soon the stars will shine upon me.

  If only you were here!”

  Impulsively he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, and she leaned into him. Re
turning the book, he clutched her hand. He’d never look at a library the same way again. “We’d better go.”

  They emerged into the sunshine, blinking and fumbling for sunglasses. He reached for her, and they went in search of their mothers. Ignoring their sly grins and knowing glances, he hailed a cab and the ladies climbed in. His mother entered last.

  “I thought we had a discussion about matchmaking,” Ben whispered.

  “We did.”

  He kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Mum.”

  The older women sat next to each other and left him the spot next to Grace. Now her hand waited on him.

  She faced Sunny. “This does not change our vacation.”

  Ben envied the steel in her voice and tried to emulate it. “The same goes for us, Mother. I’m here to make sure you and I have a good time. This is a bonus.” God help him, he was grinning like a wally.

  Grace nodded as she continued. “It may not work out altogether. We may hate each other by the time we get to Paris.” Despite her words her grip tightened, and his spirits soared. “But that shouldn’t affect your friendship.”

  “We’re adults. We can handle this on our own,” Ben said, despite feeling less like an adult than he had in years.

  They arrived at the hotel, and Sunny spoke first. “Of course, dear.”

  His mother arched her eyebrow. “Does this mean I can’t suggest we all have dinner together?”

  The light mood was contagious, and Ben laughed as he handed his mother from the cab. “Dinner sounds wonderful, Mum. I’ll ask the concierge for a suggestion.”

  He grasped Sunny’s hand, helped her to the curb, and kept hold of her until she looked up with a wide smile. She squeezed his fingers. “It’s okay with me.”

  Grace emerged last, and they walked behind their animated mothers.

  “I think that went well.”

  She shook her head at his assessment. “They didn’t hear a thing.”

  “At least we have a good understanding.”

  They reached the lifts, and all four walked to the same car even though several opened at once. Grace was right. The older women were already making choices to keep them together.

  He allowed Grace her freedom as they reached the Wards’ floor. His understanding dissolved when his hand ached without hers in it.

  Chapter 3

  Meeting at their door seemed too intimate too quickly, never mind that Ben had kissed her in the library. Maybe especially because of that innocent, impulsive kiss. But Grace rethought her decision to meet in the lobby as the elevator doors opened onto a melee. The cacophony echoed from marble floors, columns, and high ceilings. As they wove through the crowd, her mother craned her neck to look at fellow guests.

  “I’ll bet they’re on our tour,” Sunny said, sizing up a group of women knotted together as they checked in.

  “Probably,” Grace mumbled as she searched for Ben’s dark head and the nearest exit. Relief left her weak when she spotted both at the same time. Propped against a wall, Ben saw them and made for the door, ushering his mother in front of him.

  Outside, Grace squinted in the glare of the lighted entrance portico. At least it was quiet. Ben waited next to the taxi’s open door, his white knuckles wrapped around the frame. Over his shoulder, the night closed in. “We could walk,” her mother protested even as she climbed into the cab. “It shouldn’t be far.”

  “Let’s plan on walking back,” Grace compromised as she put a hand on Ben’s arm. His muscles were rigid and impressive beneath the soft, brushed cotton of his shirt. “Crowds?”

  He nodded and looked down at her fingers where she was stroking the fabric with her thumb.

  “Sorry,” she whispered as she jerked her fingers away.

  “Don’t be,” he purred. Grace forgot to breathe.

  Forcing her feet to work, she ducked into the taxi. Ben followed her, closed the door, and took her hand.

  As Sunny had predicted, the drive was short and they stopped in front of a friendly, casual cafe. From the outside, it looked like the mom-and-pop diner where Grace went for catfish dinners at home. The inside was just as welcoming. A round-faced hostess seated them with a jovial suggestion for beer all around. The large steins arrived with their waiter.

  “Hello, I’m Phillip.”

  Grace decided to continue their adventurous evening. “What would you recommend?” she asked, smiling at the young man.

  His mouth fell open as he froze with her stein halfway to the table. After a moment, he resumed service and stammered suggestions, assuring them their meal would be the best they would experience in all of Austria. He stayed next to Grace as he took orders, and then left with a fervent promise to return as quickly as possible.

  “I think you have a fan,” Ben teased, grinning. “If you’re not careful, he’ll have you autographing napkins before the night is over.”

  Grace fought her panic as she looked into the kitchen. Phillip stared back with a shy grin.

  “What on earth would make you think that?” she whispered.

  Her mother’s warm hand on her knee helped calm her. “Ben’s only teasing you, Idgie.”

  Ben’s glee faded as he tilted his head. “He was smitten with you from the moment you smiled at him, doll.”

  Her imaginary fan was forgotten. “Doll?”

  He looked as panicked as she’d felt moments earlier. “It’s common in Britain.”

  “In America it’s only used in old Jimmy Cagney movies.”

  Ben narrowed his eyes, leaned across the table, and slanted his jaw just like the gangsters in movies as he went into character. “What’s your angle, sister? What bank you want me to stick up, who you want killed, and what you want done first?” The impression was almost perfect.

  Phillip returned, and his expression wilted when he saw their joined hands. Grace tugged free so the tabletop would be empty.

  She regained her composure. None of her book jackets had her picture on them, and no one here would have seen last week’s interview. She was anonymous. She chanted the assurance until she believed it.

  Their food arrived, and Phillip’s doting attention kept Ben laughing. They spent their evening drinking excellent beer and eating superb food. Dessert was on the house.

  When the locals crowded in, Ben moved his chair to Grace’s side, draped his arm over her shoulders, and whispered translations of stories and conversations. She couldn’t talk for the hammering of her heart, and she hoped her hands weren’t sweaty. Sweet Jesus, she was in serious trouble.

  Phillip brought the check and shyly tapped her on the shoulder, motioning for her to follow him to the kitchen. Grace’s stomach plummeted as she stood.

  Ben’s hold tightened and his laughter vanished. “Fawning over you is one thing, this is—”

  “It’s fine.” She put her hand over his. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Looking over her shoulder, she made sure he stayed seated. If he crashed into the kitchen, her secret would get out, and he’d never want to see her again. Worse, there would be a scene and she and her mother would have to go home before their trip had begun.

  Phillip led her to a small office where a teenage girl waited in the open doorway. The young man’s English halted in spots and lilted in others. “My sister Greta, the hostess, suggested it would be best if I talked to you privately. This is my cousin Phoebe. She is here to make sure you are comfortable—that we are not alone.” His blush tinted his face an impossibly darker shade of red. “Fraulein Donnelley?”

  Despite her intuition, Grace’s head spun. One interview. One five-minute interview that didn’t even have my name on the screen.

  “You are E.G. Donnelley, aren’t you?”

  “Y-yes.”

  He rapped his fist on the desk and bounce
d in his chair. “I knew I was right.”

  “H-how did you—”

  “In your Hulu interview, you knew more about the story than a simple movie executive.” He burrowed in the desk drawer. “I’ve read all your books at the library. I wait for them like Christmas.” The blush returned. “Would you mind an autograph?”

  “Not at all. Just . . . no one else can know. Please? I’m on a family vacation. It means so much to my mother.”

  “It is our secret,” Phillip whispered. “Phoebe doesn’t even speak English.”

  “Thank you.” She scrawled a hasty sentiment on the napkin, giving the autograph Ben had predicted. “Which library do you visit?”

  “The National Library.”

  Grace fumbled the pen. “My books are in there?”

  He nodded, as if having her books in a national monument was the most natural thing in the world. Her fingers shook as she handed him the signature. She’d have to send him a book, maybe all of them, for life.

  Phillip led her out of the room. As soon as she reached the table, Ben leaped to his feet and shepherded all of them toward the door. Grace evaded him to get a carryout menu and the restaurant’s mailing address. When she emerged, he was glaring at the door from the halo of a street lamp.

  “What the devil did he want?” he growled.

  He was jealous? Her books were in a beautiful library, she could finish her anonymous vacation, and the hot Englishman was jealous. Tonight was a very good night.

  “An autograph, of course. Thank you for worrying.” She balanced on her toes and kissed his cheek. Her heels dropped back to the pavement with a thud as heat flooded her face. What did I just do?

  It didn’t matter. He didn’t notice.