by Romy Sommer
What can I possibly say to that? Secretly, I agree. Nick’s death wasn’t just a blessing in disguise for Erdély, but for Adam too, if only he’d open his eyes and see it.
***
Three days left.
Borrowing one of those not-too-ostentatious sedans, we explore the rest of Erdély, driving through a landscape of farmland, vineyards, traditional farmhouses and tiny hamlets, finally arriving in the spa town of Veldes with its public, Georgian-era hot and cold mineral baths. The complex has an indoor heated pool, steam rooms and a splash pool full of kids outside, but the buildings look sad and tired, a vivid contrast to the brand spanking new luxury resort next door which is so classy it makes the casino hotel I worked for look like a Best Western.
The true gem is our discovery of a brewery close by. As we sample the local beers, the owner stops to chat. “You enjoying your holiday?” he asks, making friendly conversation. Friendliness is definitely a local trait.
I smile up at him. “What gave us away as tourists?”
“Aside from your accents? Locals don’t stop to sample the tasters. They stock up on their favorite brew and leave. And since the day-trippers who come across the border for a few hours never come this far south, you must be visiting a while. You staying at the spa resort or one of the gasthofs in Arenberg?”
Adam catches my eye. “On a farm. Of sorts.”
“Ah, a farm stay! Well, I hope you enjoy the rest of your trip.”
“More people should know about this place,” I tell Adam when the owner moves away. “Not just this brewery, but Erdély itself. Do you know this country doesn’t even have a Frommer’s tour guide? I think that’s something you should get right onto.”
“I haven’t agreed to take the job yet.”
“You should. This place has so much potential for tourism. And I don’t mean in a kitschy Vegas way.”
He shrugs. “I’d have to live here for at least part of the year.”
“And how is that a problem? Look around you. This is as close to paradise as any country can get.”
He stares into the distance, not looking at me. “I like my freedom. If I accept, I’d be tied to this place and its people for the rest of my life.”
This isn’t news, but a sharp, sudden pain twists inside my chest. He doesn’t do commitment, to places or to people. It’s not like he has ever led me on or promised anything more than this week. But I do do commitment.
I want commitment. The realization hits me like a sledgehammer: I’m falling for him. The way I always feared I would, from that very first time I laid eyes on him. I’m falling for my very own kryptonite, a man who will never commit to me, who is going to leave me as soon as he’s had enough.
Chapter 25
Khara
Two days left.
I can’t sleep. Adam lies sprawled across the bed, the covers thrown back. I listen to his deep breathing, and the steady sound of rain on the roof. The sky through the tall sash windows is utterly dark, with none of the reflected city light I’m used to, just wan moonlight illuminating the distant mountain peaks.
He hasn’t once mentioned what happens after we leave here.
It’s all I can think about.
Adam has a job in London he needs to get back to. Next week I need to be in Vegas to register for my final semester. But my mind cannot wrap itself around the idea of a life without Adam in it. Without his smile, his touch, his laugh.
I love him.
How stupid is that?
***
After the overnight rain, the air is crisp and clean and smells of fresh pine, and the sky is a brilliant, cloudless blue. The cooler air blowing down the valley is almost a relief from the late summer heat of the past few days.
I wake tired, restless and on edge.
We cycle into Arenberg, but since we’ve already seen all the sights, there isn’t much to do.
“We haven’t been to István’s bar,” I remind Adam.
The bar is easy to find. It’s on a tree-lined square, with the modern glass and steel courthouse on one side. The building is a traditional, two-story timber-framed inn, with a beer garden at the back. Though it’s not yet noon on a Friday, it’s still holiday season in this part of the world and the beer garden is filled with the lunchtime crowd.
Since word has filtered out that Adam is in town, he’s no longer anonymous, so we avoid the busy beer garden and choose a quiet booth inside the bar. István welcomes us like long-lost friends but, as he’s alone behind the bar and the servers working the beer garden are constantly in and out with orders, he’s too busy to say more than a few words to us.
The bar gets busier as people arrive, flowing through to the garden at the back, some pausing at the bar to chat to István or to place an order, and we get a lot of curious stares. It’s not just Adam they’re looking at. I get my fair share of inquisitive looks too.
Nothing to see here, people. I’m just this week’s novelty toy. Next week it’ll be someone else.
My chest hurts at the thought.
Soon it’s not just stares. This is a friendly place after all, and a steady trickle of people pass by our table to ask if we’re enjoying our stay. Complete strangers come up to introduce themselves and welcome Adam to Erdély. He’s in his element, oozing charm and shaking hands, just as he did at the palace parties in Westerwald, as I imagine he does in the boardroom too.
“Is it always this busy in here?” I ask István when he stops by briefly to check on us and re-fill our drinks, Apfelschorle for me and the local draught beer for Adam.
He grins. “Someone posted on Twitter that you were here, so I think half the town is dropping by to get a look at you. It’s been years since we’ve had a member of the royal family in here, mingling with us common folk.”
Adam looks surprised. “My cousin Nick visited Arenberg at least a couple of times a year, and he always loved a good bar. I’m surprised he didn’t stop in sometimes.”
István’s grin falters, and Adam sighs. “You banned him, didn’t you?”
“There was an incident with one of our waitresses. We don’t tolerate that sort of behavior here.”
I remember Nick’s too-soft, wandering hands and give István a sympathetic smile. “You sound like a good boss to work for. But you’re also clearly under-staffed.”
“I don’t want to be ungrateful, but it would have helped if you’d chosen another day to visit here,” István replies. “My barman quit yesterday. He fell in love with a Norwegian tourist he met right here in this bar, and followed her back to Bergen.” He shrugs, turning his palms up. “What kind of man would I be if I stood in the path of true love?”
He returns to the bar, where a queue of thirsty patrons is already building up.
I watch him wistfully. There’s a certain dance that happens behind a bar, a rhythm you get into when you’re serving a busy crowd. I can almost feel that rhythm in my blood as I watch him mix drinks, crush ice, pull draughts. It stirs something inside me that I haven’t felt in weeks: a sense of belonging.
“Don’t even think about it,” Adam warns. “I didn’t bring you here so you can wait tables or serve drinks.”
No, he brought me here as his plaything. It’s as if that memory of Nick’s unwanted hands sliding up under my dress has opened a floodgate, bringing back other memories from that long ago night in Vegas.
I remember Adam’s smirk when he offered me his room card. It might have taken a whole year, but I took him up on that invitation after all.
I raise my chin in defiance. “I’m free to do whatever I want.”
“You don’t need to work. Enjoy the break.” He leans back, smiling, confident. Smirking.
It’s that look that does it for me. “Is that a royal command, Your Serene Highness?”
His eyes narrow, as if he senses that something is shifting between us, but can’t figure out what. “I’m not a prince.”
“Yet.”
A middle-aged couple approach us, shaking h
ands with Adam, and he switches on that charm which comes to him as easily as breathing. I quietly excuse myself and head behind the bar.
“You look like you need help,” I say to István.
His expression is scandalized. “You can’t work here!”
“Why not?”
He opens his mouth to answer, then thinks better of it. “Thanks. You know how to mix drinks?”
“Yup.”
“Then I need two Aperol spritzes, a G&T and three draught beers.”
With my seat across from Adam now empty, more people stop by to talk to him. While I pour drinks, clean glasses and buss tables, I watch out the corner of my eye. It’s not Adam I watch as much as the people he’s talking to. They approach warily, not sure what to expect, and they leave smiling, charmed.
I send up a quick prayer to any deity who might be out there listening that he realizes what this means to the people of Erdély, that he realizes the impact he can have on all their lives.
It’s late afternoon when István’s late shift staff arrive – two university students – and Adam and I retrieve our bicycles and head back to the castle through the gathering dusk.
Though on the outside nothing has changed and he seems his usual easygoing, charming self, that evening it’s as if he’s a million miles away. In all the time I’ve known him, I’ve always felt that heated awareness connecting us. Even when we’re in a crowded room, or when he was pretending to sleep in the back of Max’s SUV on our road trip, I’ve felt his focus on me. But now it’s gone.
“The plane will be at your disposal whenever you want it on Sunday,” Lajos says at dinner. “János will have the helicopter standing by to take you to Graz Airport.”
A helicopter? Under the table, I pinch myself. Nope, still awake. I’ve never been in a helicopter before. Can’t say I ever wanted to. That’s more Phoenix’s style than mine.
“Thank you.” Adam sips from his wine glass, looking as if helicopters and private planes are an everyday thing. I suppose for him they are.
“Are you going back to Westerwald, or straight to London?” Lajos asks.
I try not to look as if I’m listening in, and focus on my plate.
“London. Khara has never been before, so I thought I’d show her the sights.”
My heart leaps.
“And you’ll be back again next week for the funeral?” The slight hitch in Lajos’ voice is barely discernible.
I should think of him as His Serene Highness rather than by his first name, but it’s impossible when I’ve seen him playing catch with his dogs and talking nonsense to them. He and Sonja insist there should be no formality with family. As if I’m family.
I press my eyes closed for a second and picture my own family. I didn’t think it would be possible, but I miss my mother. I even miss our trailer, and all the little things that make it home.
I miss my stepdad, Isaiah. He’s a lot like Lajos, a man of few words, reserved, but with a warm and generous heart.
Most of all I miss my brother. His baby is due next week, and I hope to be home in time for her arrival. Calvin texted me pictures of Aliya’s tummy, and she’s massive and can’t wait for the pregnancy to be over.
That’s my real world, I remind myself. Not this.
“Khara?”
I look up, startled, and realize Sonja has been speaking to me. I blush. “My apologies – I was thinking of my family.”
“Of course. You must be eager to get home to them. Will you be back here for the funeral too?” She sounds almost hopeful. I have to swallow the lump in my throat before I can speak. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. I have to register at college next week.”
I sneak a look at Adam when he doesn’t say anything. That feeling of distance is back again, even stronger now, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking.
It’s like that first day in Westerwald when he took me sightseeing, and he was smooth and charming and insincere. I’ve seen enough of the sincere Adam – the one who wears glasses, and reads financial reports in bed before he goes to sleep, who throws his head back when he laughs, and who is grumpy in the mornings before he’s had his first cup of coffee – to know when he’s not being himself.
The Adam I’ve fallen in love with, the real self he so rarely shows to anyone, is withdrawing back behind that arrogant, amused façade. I’m losing him.
***
Our last day in Erdély dawns warm and sunny.
Since my ass no longer hurts after my daily riding lessons, and I no longer walk like a drunken sailor when I get out of bed in the morning, Adam decides I’m ready for the next level: an actual ride beyond the castle’s grounds. We head through the forest at a gentle trot, the dogs chasing after us, up to an alpine pasture on the mountain that rises behind the palace. Apparently it’s not really a mountain, just one of the last foothills of the Alps, but I still find it pretty impressive.
We stumble across a wooden ski hut where we stop for a picnic, letting the horses graze in the fenced-in paddock behind the hut. It’s like we’re the only people in the world, just us and the beautiful, raw, wild, nature of the mountain.
In front of the hut is a table and benches where we spread out the picnic we brought with us, and Adam finds an unopened bottle of local wine inside.
“Doesn’t that belong to someone?” I ask, scandalized, when he opens it and fills the glasses from our picnic hamper.
He shakes his head. “These alp huts are public property. Off-piste skiing is a popular winter sport here, where skiers move from hut to hut, kind of like hiking in the snow. Whoever left this here will probably never even remember it, let alone come back for it.”
The wine and food and sunshine make me feel lazy, but after lunch we throw sticks for the dogs to fetch, until they’re tired out and flop down in the shade of a giant spruce tree. I’m tired out too, but when Adam grabs my hand and suggests a swim, I don’t resist. I need to make the most of every moment I have left with him.
We skinny-dip in the freezing cold of a mountain river, lying afterwards in the sun on the grassy river bank. I’m probably going to itch like hell tonight, but I can’t bring myself to move away, to shatter this precious moment.
A light breeze wafts down off the mountain and I shiver.
“Cold?” Adam asks, rolling me into his arms to envelop me in his warmth.
I close my eyes and bury my face in his shoulder, breathing in the scent of his skin.
The breeze is a reminder that fall is around the corner, that summer is ending, and with it this fantasy I’ve been living. Not the fantasy of castles and princes, but the one where Adam and I are a couple. Though we lie skin against skin, his arms around me, so close I can feel his heartbeat, I sense him pulling away, the increasing distance between us. This is the beginning of the end. I’ve known all along that this was coming, but now that it’s here the pain is a physical thing.
It’s my own fault. I knew this would happen. I knew I would fall in love with this man who is incapable of loving me back. I am my mother’s daughter after all.
“We need to talk.” Adam’s voice is low and intimate, his breath brushing my cheek. My body stiffens and I force myself to relax. “I want you to spend a few days in London with me before you go home.”
“My ticket is booked for tomorrow.” Neustadt to London to JFK, last stop Vegas.
“I’ll change it.”
His offer is so tempting. This doesn’t have to end. I can have another few nights with him.
But I can’t lie to myself. This last week we’ve been living in our own little bubble, but the moment we leave Erdély that bubble will pop. What we’ve had here this week won’t survive out there in the real world.
And every extra day I spend with him will be a day spent waiting for that axe to drop, waiting for him to say, “Thanks, that was fun, but it’s over now.”
How many times have I watched my mother fall in love with men just like Adam, starting with the father I never met, who didn’t even stic
k around long enough to find out if I was a boy or a girl? How many times have I watched her fall apart and put herself back together again when they say, “That was fun, but it’s over now”?
I always swore I would never let any man say those words to me, that I would be the one saying them. I know what I have to do. Tomorrow, I’ll pull the Band-Aid and I’ll say goodbye and walk away, and I will never see Adam again.
He takes my silence as agreement, and I don’t set him right. There’ll be enough time for that later. For now, I want to enjoy these last moments we have together.
The idle stroke of his fingers down my back turns deliberate. No matter what mood I’m in, his touch has the power to ignite a never-ending high for my senses. My skin trembles where his fingers graze, and I sling my leg over his thigh, bringing our naked bodies even closer together, pressing up against his erection, which springs to life, ever ready.
He groans. “I didn’t bring a condom.”
This could be the last time we ever make love, the last time I feel him inside me. “I’m on the pill.”
“I don’t ever do this without protection.” His voice is shaky, as if he’s trying to convince himself.
Once, just once, I want to feel him skin on skin. I want one moment, one memory, where there are no barriers between us. In the back of my mind I know I’m deceiving myself. Those barriers aren’t physical, they’re emotional. But just this once I’m willing to lie to myself.
My hand slides down to stroke him, and he nuzzles my neck.
“Don’t you dare leave another hickey!”
He laughs softly against my neck, his breath warm on my skin.
We take our time, enjoying the freedom of the fresh air and the sunlight and the chemistry that still sizzles between us. He works my body into a fever of anticipation, until I’m wet with need and can’t wait a moment longer. I roll on top of him, taking control, desperate to have him inside me, desperate for that sense of completion I have only ever felt with one man. This man.
A man who is as impossible to hold as quicksilver, like a lightning bolt flashing through my life.