December 23, 2010 11:00 a.m.
If I thought our first kiss had sparks, this one is a flame. His kiss consumes me, his mouth searing a fiery path of fire down my entire body. I can feel his smile against mine as our tongues battle for dominance.
He gives, he takes. And me, I am greedy for more. My hands tangle in his hair, insistently pulling him down further so I can relax my tip-toes. My chest is tight and I need to breathe, but in my own kiss-universe, my brain rationalizes that I can just steal his breath.
His hands settle on my hips, pulling me closer. With a jerky skid against the snow, my boots comply. My legs are between his, our torsos touching, my chest skimming against the front of his jacket.
He isn't totally clean-shaven; his chin and jawline feel a little scratchy against my skin, but it doesn't deter me. Only when my lungs are raw and screaming in agony do I pull away, gasping.
He looks as dumbfounded as I feel, his chest rising and falling rapidly like he too is trying to catch his breath. "You have a boyfriend."
Is he trying to remind himself or me?
"We broke up."
"When?" He gapes, his cheeks pink and his lips swollen and red.
Did I do that? A blush creeps up my cheeks. It's freezing out here and we're both pinking from the cold, so hopefully I can pass off my embarrassment as a side effect of the weather.
I realize I haven't answered him yet when he repeats himself, this time louder. A few people walking around us give him a strange look and hurry their children away, casting a suspicious glance over their shoulder.
"Before." I chance a glance at him from under my lowered eyelashes.
It feels like that one word explains everything. Before the Netherlands. Before Wolfram. Before our kiss.
My skin feels prickly and my legs are still tingling - all in good ways. "Wolfram..." I start to say. "This doesn't have to mean anything if you don't want it to."
I want it to mean something to him, too, but I know the score. He's an adult in a way that I won't be until I graduate, get my own place, and get Charlotte's Web off the ground. Somewhere deep inside me is my twelve-year-old self, screaming, "I kissed him! That boy is mine now!" My fifteen-year-old self is simultaneously cooing about how pretty our babies would be and aren't young parents the cutest? My eighteen-year-old self wants to cling on to him and talk for hours about what does this mean, where are we going, do you like me?
I squash all those voices. Wolfram is used to more sophisticated girls. Girls who disrobe and saunter around his bedroom naked. Girls whose bikini wax probably cost more than my entire outfit. I have to give him the option to bow out, to keep it casual. That would be the adult thing to do, right?
His eyes crinkle at me in concern, but he doesn't say a word. I wonder if he's doing a cost-benefit analysis in his head, trying to figure out if I'm worth keeping around. Even if I come out on top, I don't want to be the result of his overthinking it. I want him to emphatically like me as much as I like him.
"Let's walk around a bit, okay?" I force a smile to my face. "We're in the Fairytale Forest and I haven't even seen a single fairytale yet." My muscles rebel, stiff from the cold. "We don't have to talk or...or make plans. Or whatever."
At his nod, we start off, not speaking. There is a careful one-foot distance between us. It wasn't me who put it there, but neither of us makes a move to get closer.
With the exhilaration of our kiss dimming, I'm more resolved than ever to make sure the magic of the day doesn't wane, too. We're in Efteling, a fairytale amusement park. Supposedly better than Disney, though unfortunately much, much colder.
I spare a moment to think of Florida. Of the skimpy two-piece I'd bought in readiness, of the seedy hotel along the beach we were going to book. Of crab legs and cold beer until midnight, of flirting with sandy-haired beach bums and pro surfers.
But I wouldn't have met Wolfram.
Breaking into my thoughts with the abrupt demandingness I've gotten used to, he halts, grabbing my arm. "Charlotte."
I look at him, a question on my lips.
"I don't want to not make plans with you." The admission surprises him as much as it surprises me, judging by the sudden flaring of his eyes.
"I'm not sure I fit into whatever plans you have for your future," I admit.
"The future can change," he gently reminds me. "I don't know what's going to happen any more than you do. Until we decide we don't want this anymore, why not see where it goes?"
"Because I'm flying home in a few days."
"Extend your stay," he says, eyes lighting up. A smug smile spreads over his face, like he's thought of all the answers.
"I have school!" I laugh. "And I can't leave Brett to do everything on her own. She's already been complaining that she had to attend an investor meeting alone."
"I'll invest whatever you want," he counters, impulsive.
Immediately, my hackles rise. "I don't want your money."
"It's just money," he replies, waving a hand.
The absurdity of his statement isn't lost on me and it's a prime example of how much I don't fit into his life.
"Let me fund you guys."
"Prostitution," I grimace. "Lovely." For some reason, that phrase sends a wave of deja vu washing over me. But I'm positive I've never said it before.
"I mean it," he insists. "If you won't take an investment, then what about a gift?" His smile is mischievous. "It is Christmas, after all."
My lips twitch into a grin against my will. "I appreciate the sentiment, but I'd rather earn it."
His eyebrows waggle at me.
"NOT LIKE THAT!" I hiss, scandalized. I slap at his chest half-heartedly. "What the fuck, Wolf."
The laugh bursts out of him and he tilts his head back, exposing his throat to me. The weirdest urge to press a kiss into the hollow of his throat skips into my brain and I shake my head quickly, banishing the thought. Get a grip, Charlotte!
"Let's walk," he smirks.
Our legs move in sync and his arms wraps around my waist, holding me snugly against him. In a way, this is more intimate than our kiss. This feels like a promise, like he wants me at his side. Not ahead, not behind, but right next to him.
"So have you been here before?" I ask, not because I really want to know, but to distract my thoughts.
"When we were kids, Mom brought us here. Me and Graeme, that is."
I remember the picture on his desk, where Marcus was conspicuously absent as well.
"Must have some fond memories here," I muse, watching as a pair of excited, squealing blonde children tug their parents towards a small, angled-roof cottage.
"I guess." He shrugs his shoulders.
We get closer to the cottage and I can hear the mother's voice begin to recite something to the children, her voice low and melodic.
"She's saying 'Once upon a time, long ago, there lived an orphan girl who walked the streets barefoot. The cobbler's wife took pity on her and gave her a new pair of red shoes.'" He took a breath, pausing, and I took the opportunity to raise my hand.
"It's okay, Wolf. I don't think I'm interested. I've never even heard of that fairytale."
He grins down at me. "Good. Because it's quite a boring fairytale, to be honest." He gestures ahead of us. "I think if we retrace our steps and go back the way we came a little bit, we can see Red Riding Hood." He pulls the map out of my hand. It's slightly crumpled now, but he smoothes the crinkles out. "Or we keep going along the path and see The Little Mermaid, Hansel and Gretel, Snow White, and Cinderella. There's others too, but I don't know if you're as familiar with the stories. We can take a look since we're passing anyway." He offers me the map again.
He's right, a lot of these stories I haven't even heard of. "A picture is worth a thousands words!" I quip, pulling my phone out to take a quick picture of the fairytale forest. According to the map, the Dutch name is Het Sprookjesbos. "I can Google the stories later."
"Het Sprookjesbos," Wolfram corrects when I caption the photo incorrectly. "There's an 'r' in Sprook."
"Thanks."
We set off walking again, Wolf reclaiming me at his side. It's comfortable, despite the fact I'm hyper-aware of every accidental brush or graze.
As usual, I stick my foot in it by asking, "So what really happened to Diana?"
"I killed her," Wolf deadpans. "Her body is in the trunk of my car."
"When did she leave?" I persist.
"Last night."
"When?" I give him a frown. His short answers are starting to make me think there's something fishy going on.
He exhales loudly, looking annoyed. "Look, she just decided to leave, that's all. After we came home, I felt bad so I brought her something to eat. She ate it. We talked. She asked me to drive her to the airport."
"That's all that happened?"
"What do you think happened?" he shoots back, exasperated.
I'm not his girlfriend. I'm not his anything. So why do I have this possessive need to beat the issue into the ground? "You just seemed furtive about it in the car. Like you didn't want to answer."
"So, unsatisfied with my previous explanation, you then decided to ask me again, despite picking up on the fact I didn't want to answer?" His voice is incredulous.
I can't look at him. When he puts it that way, I feel absolutely humiliated. "I'm sorry."
His anger deflates immediately. "It's fine. Sorry. I shouldn't have gone off like that."
The rest of our walk passes by in silence. I want to apologize again, but it would just sound redundant and stupid, so I keep my mouth tightly shut. Following my lead, Wolf also says nothing, and he makes no move to put his arm around me again. After a few minutes, we're no longer walking side by side. I'm trailing behind by a good two feet, and he hasn't seemed to notice.
I snap pictures and watch as they save to my Camera Roll, but I barely see the structures themselves. It all passes by in a blur of snow, childish babbling, and numbness.
A young boy runs past me, almost knocking my phone from my hand. His father chases after him, giving me an apologetic glance. "Het spijt mij," he rambles off, the words sounding uncannily like "hat-spite-me". I guess it's the Dutch version of "I'm sorry".
Inspired, I break into a jog to catch up with Wolf. "Hat spite me!" I say in a rush, the words tumbling out without finesse. "Hat spite me."
"What?" He gapes in confusion, but he stops walking. His hands land on my upper arms. "Charlotte, are you okay?"
"I'm apologizing, you jackass." I scowl at him.
"You..." He shakes his head, grinning. "Some apology."
"Did I not say it right?"
"It's not the way you said it." He gives me a rueful look. "You just said, essentially, 'pardon me'."
"Come again?"
"That's what you would say if you bumped into someone," Wolf patiently explains.
"Oh." My face colors.
"You know," he says, face looking thoughtful, "you're pretty cute when you try so hard to impress me."
I scrunch up my nose and stick out my tongue. Incorrigible ass.
"I forgive you," he says, sighing with dramatic flourish.
"Gee, thanks."
Our earlier combativeness forgotten, we resume our trek, bumping hips as we walk. The exhibits are charming, the perfect life-size fairytale for children. Scattered laughter echoes in the trees as we walk and we stomp into fresh drifts of fallen snow. The sun's glare does nothing to melt the snowscape and as families herd themselves into the fairytale cottages to ooh and ahh with their children, Wolf and I exchange secret smiles. We are absolutely alone in our very own winter wonderland.
It feels like we're out of time, that this isn't our world at all, but a magical dream that neither one of us wants to wake up from. His hand grazes mine, and on impulse, I slip my hand into his. His eyes widen infinitesimally, but he gives them a squeeze. Our arms are loose at our sides, rhythmically swaying in time with our steps.
"It's almost an hour now," Wolf says, his voice breaking me out of my reverie. "We should head over to the restaurant now."
I don't want to, but I nod. The others will be waiting for us.
Polles Keuken is exactly where Graeme said it was, and even though the place is cloaked under a veil of white snow, it looks every bit as charming as a fairytale restaurant ought to be. The first thing I notice when we enter is the kitchen; it's all open and I can see dapper, white-clothed cooks busying themselves at the stoves. To my surprise, there is a rotating cake stand with the kind of confections that look more like art than food. Silver spoons and ladles jingle quietly from the ceiling, swaying gently as people pass under them.
"There!" I exclaim, spotting the others. Graeme is waving energetically at us from a booth in the corner. All three of their faces are pink, and Xander and Levi keep surreptitiously wiping their noses with their hands.
Even mine is starting to drip. My eyes sting and my mascara feels like it's hardened. With every blink, I feel how stiff and uncompromising they've become.
Graeme, damn her, still looks perfect. It's a quality I'm starting to hate about her, actually. "Have fun?" she chirps out, smiling at me.
My lips curl into a smile and before I know it, I'm flinging myself next to her. Xander groans and scoots over so all three of us can fit, leaving Wolf and Levi to sit on the opposite side.
It's down to Graeme that I owe my alone time with Wolf. I sorta owe the girl. "It was awesome," I enthuse, smile still on my face. I don't even care that I probably look like a demented joker. Without Brett, I need someone I can swap girl talk with. By virtue of being the only girl here, Graeme has won that dubious honor.
"Let's eat," Levi suggests, and in short order, we are digging into decadent, fluffy pancakes. Every mouthful feels like a bite of sugary, diabetes-inducing heaven. Caramel and chocolate swirl in my mouth, their gooey softness washed down with a rich hot chocolate that arrives topped with a layer of marshmallows.
"So good," I groan, taking the last bite with gusto. My eyes flutter open when I swallow.
Wolfram is staring right at me, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.
We pay up, each of us footing our own share, despite Wolf's protests. If he had his way, he would have paid Xander's way along with mine, but we put our foot down.
"Let's go ice skating," Levi suggests after we head back out into the cold.
"No way." My response is automatic.
"Charlotte doesn't know how," Xander reveals, giving me a dimpled grin. "Steven wanted to teach her - " He freezes.
Graeme looks inquisitively at him, waiting for the rest of the story. Impatient now, she demands, "Well?"
I shake my head. "It's nothing." Please, please let this be over.
"Is Steven your boyfriend?" Levi asks, pursing his lips.
"Not anymore," I'm forced to admit.
"Steven Albright," Xander says. Muttering under his breath, he adds, "The swine."
Levi is the first to catch on. "Albright? He's loaded!" Catching himself, he gives me a rueful smile. "What happened?"
Graeme pinches her lips together, frowning in disapproval. "As in the newspaper and magazine millionaire Albright? You dated his son?" Her voice carries disbelief. "You?" The note of smarmy superiority is back.
Only Wolf is quiet. He looks pensive and won't catch my eye.
"It's not a big deal," I force out, faking a smile. "Girl meets boy. Boy asks girl out. Girl says yes. Boy cheats on girl. The end."
"You left out the whole year you wasted on the bastard." Xander shakes his head. "I swear, the things guys will do to get out of buying a Christmas gift."
His joke is ridiculous but it breaks the uneasy tension and we all laugh in relief.
"You met in college?" Graeme presses.
"Yeah. He was in my business program."
"Wow," Levi says, rocking back on his heels in faux-shock. "So any other celebrities or moguls you forgot to tell us you've dated?"
I grit my teeth, noticing Wolf's clenched jaw. Lay off, Levi!
Author's Note: Surprise! Thanks to a suggestion, I decided to do two updates this week in honor of Valentine's Day. Or as I like to call it, Alentines Ay, for those of us going without the V or the D (; the next one will be posted on Saturday. I apologize for any typos, I'm drowsy on NyQuil so there's a chance my fuzzy brain missed something.
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