by Cora Carmack
“Thank you, Jackson.”
I let my hand coast down his chest as I turned away and began walking toward the castle. I heard his slow exhale behind me, and knew my plan was officially in motion.
We made our way through the city, and arrived at the edge of the town just as the sun started sinking below the horizon. A stairway led up toward the castle, and my feet hurt just looking at it.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Come on,” he said. “It won’t be that bad.”
“Um, you don’t get to assume things like that. People assumed the Titanic was unsinkable, and look how that turned out for them.”
“All I’m hearing are excuses, which doesn’t sound like someone interested in an adventure to me. In fact, I dare you to race me to the top.”
“You dare me? Is that supposed to make me suddenly eager to participate?”
“I’m daring you to have an adventure.”
“Well, do I get to dare you to do something later?”
He gave me a knowing look, and I was pretty sure he knew exactly what kind of dare I wanted to give him.
“Within reason, yes. And if you win the race, I’ll even make it two dares.”
I had a feeling that “within reason” was going to bar most of the dares I would think of. I said, “So, this is how this adventure is going to work? You force me to do something I don’t want to do, then I return the favor, and somewhere along the way we both miraculously start to have fun?”
“Sounds about right. It will be an epic montage when they make the movie about our lives.”
“My life, you mean. I’m the princess here. You’re just my guide.”
He rolled his eyes. “Then let me get your bag, your highness.”
He took my pack and his and hid them both beneath the leafy branches of a nearby bush. He said, “Wouldn’t want anything to weigh us down during our race.”
I shook my head and moved toward the stairs. Each individual step had a white painted number on it, starting with a number one on the first step. “How many steps do you think there are?” I asked.
“I guess we’ll find out when we get to the top. You ready?”
I nodded.
“On your mark,” he said. “Get set. Go!”
We took off running, and the little white numbers blurred into unreadable splotches as I took the steps as quickly as I could. I managed to stay with him through the first twenty steps or so, but then he started pulling away.
My killer stilettos kept my legs in decent shape, but not as good as something like, I don’t know, being in the army.
By the time I got to step number seventy-five, my calves were burning. By one hundred and two, my lungs had joined the party. By one hundred and thirty, I was ready to cut off my own legs just so I had an excuse to never take stairs again. I paused for a few seconds, panting, and looked up.
Hunt was God knows how many steps ahead of me. Fifty maybe. And he was just over halfway up the stairs.
“Screw this,” I whispered. I sat down on one of the steps, wiped a little dirt and grime on my hands and my shins, and then gave an elaborate (and maybe slightly overplayed) cry, followed by a low, painful whine. I clutched at my ankle, and bit my lip, and waited for—
“Kelsey? Are you okay?”
Bingo!
I didn’t look up at him, but stayed focused on my ankle. I said “Jackson” just loud enough so that he could hear me, then I sucked in a loud breath.
Thirty seconds later, he slowed to a stop beside me. He knelt on the stair below with hands outstretched and said, “What happened?”
I’d not blinked since I first decided to fake the injury, but I did then and the water that had been building in my eyes ran down my cheek, and I met his gaze.
“I fell,” I panted. “My ankle.”
He touched my leg, just above where I was gripping my ankle with both hands, and I hissed.
He jolted backward, apologizing.
“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s just tender. God, it hurts so bad.”
I wrung out a few more tears for effect.
“Do you want to go back down?” he asked. “I could carry you.”
“No, I . . .” I paused for effect. “I’d like to see it. I know I acted like a bitch at the bottom, but this was really sweet, and . . . never mind.”
“No,” He said. “I’ll carry you up instead.”
“I couldn’t ask you to do that. It’s a long way. I can try to walk.”
I was going to try to stand, fake another cry and collapse back down, but I didn’t even have to work that hard. Before I could try, he stood and scooped me into his arms. I gave a cry of delight that I quickly masked as pain, and buried my face into his neck so he wouldn’t see me smile.
16
The ascent to the castle was slow with Hunt carrying me, but I didn’t mind the extra time snuggled up against him. His arms were like bands of steel around me, but his breath against my forehead was warm and soft.
“You still okay?” he asked, and I nodded.
I gave a small whimper just to enjoy the way he pulled me even closer in response. I had both arms wrapped around his neck, and ever so slowly I let one of my hands begin to wander. I used my fingernails to lightly scratch down the column of his neck, and had to hold in a laugh when his step faltered.
He cleared his throat and kept walking.
He walked, and I documented his reactions, like the way his eyes closed for just a second when my fingertips brushed the hinge of his jaw below his ear, and the hitch of his breath when I dug my fingernails into his shoulder after a particularly “painful” jostle of my ankle.
I could feel his fatigue by the time we hit step 250, and decided to take pity on him. I lifted my head and said, “Jackson.”
I wasn’t prepared for how close our lips would come when his head turned toward mine. A knot of desire tightened low in my belly, and my thoughts fled.
“Um . . .I . . .”
The word want didn’t do justice to how badly I hoped he would kiss me again.
His steps slowed to a stop, and my heart went epileptic.
I could have kissed him myself, latched my mouth to his and held him tight. But I wanted him to come to me. I was tired of feeling him pull away. And if I had my way, within five and a half days, I’d have him completely. So I flicked my eyes to his, enjoying the strain I saw in his gaze, and practiced patience. My plan would fall apart faster than Lindsay Lohan post-rehab if I gave in now.
I said, “I can walk now.” Then added, “If you’ll help me.”
He didn’t argue, probably because he was glad for the distance. He set me down gingerly, and then wrapped an arm around my waist. I threw my arm over his shoulder, and then slowly we tackled the stairs again. I had to keep reminding myself not to forget that I was supposed to be injured.
When we hit stair number three hundred, we were only about ten to fifteen steps from the top. I sucked in a breath and winced. Hunt stopped and faced me. “What’s the matter? Did you twist it again?”
“I don’t know. I . . .” He knelt beside me to take a look, and soon as he was down, I took off running up the last of the stairs.
I heard him laugh when I hit step number 310, and I screamed in victory when I hit the last step, number 315.
I turned to find him slowly walking up the steps, shaking his head. His lips were pressed into a thin line, but I could tell he was holding back a smile.
“I won,” I sang tauntingly. “I wonder what I should dare you to do.”
Hunt approached me slowly, like a predator stalking his prey and my stomach fluttered in response.
I paused to pretend to think about possible dares, and I was too busy gloating to notice him run up the last few steps. I shrieked when he lifted me up and threw me over his shoulder.
“Hunt!” I yelled.
“You’re unbelievable,” he said.
I laughed. “I’m going to pretend that was a compliment.”
/> “Oh, it was, princess.”
“Then, put me down.”
“No can do.”
I struggled a bit, pretending to be unhappy, but the truth was . . . Hunt had a fabulous ass. And I had a fabulous view.
“What are you going to do to me?” I asked.
“I haven’t decided yet. Maybe this place has a dungeon.”
I whistled. “Kinky.” He pinched the back of my thigh, and I yelped.
I couldn’t see much (other than the aforementioned glorious backside), but the sun must have fully set because the sky in the distance was a vivid purple. I glimpsed a few other tourists wandering the castle grounds out of the corner of my eye. I took a wild guess and said, “Put me down, Jackson. People are starting to stare.”
“Let them,” he said. “It’s a nice view.”
Well, at least we were on the same page.
I swatted his back and said, “You’re just a sore loser.”
“No, I’m just a guy, probably not the first, to fall for one of your schemes.”
And now I had five and a half days to get him to fall for another.
I said, “I’ll be good. I promise. Unless you want me to be bad, of course.”
He laughed, but the sound was strained. Then without warning he flipped me back over and deposited me on my feet. I gave him a sly smile and he said, “You’re trouble.”
“Me?” I faked innocence.
He shook his head. “Come on, princess. Let’s see the castle before I decide to toss you in a fountain.”
“Wet T-shirt contest? Only if you jump in the fountain with me.”
I’d been mostly joking, but he actually looked tempted.
Typical.
He said, “I might have to find you a new nickname. I
don’t think you’re proper enough to be a princess.”
“You know the nice ones always have a naughty side. Mine just happens to outweigh the nice by a lot.”
He looked at me, and I was beginning to think I wouldn’t need those five and a half days to break him down.
“Let’s go explore before I . . .” he trailed off and shook his head. “Let’s just go.”
I resisted the urge to do a celebratory dance for his crumbling resolve, and focused on sightseeing. The castle was gorgeous with grand architecture and even grander ruins. Vines and moss grew over steps and up the stone walls, and it was like a fairy tale.
It was now almost completely dark, but the castle was lit up beautifully. Between that and the view of the city down below, there was something stunning everywhere I looked.
But it was Hunt my eyes kept going back to.
We arrived too late to tour the inside of the castle, which apparently housed a gigantic wine barrel that held over fifty thousand gallons of wine.
“We might have to come back to see that,” I joked.
“No time. We’re on a strict schedule.”
And yet we were currently leaning against a wall, quietly surveying the moonlit city down below us.
“So, we can’t have maps, but we have a schedule?”
“You only gave me a week. So, yes. We’re on a schedule.”
“So what if I decide to stay longer than a week?”
“I’d like that.”
He didn’t look at me as he said it, but stayed focused on the city below us. I tried to read his expression based on his profile, but it wasn’t happening.
“And you don’t have anywhere to be? No one you have to go home to?”
“I’m yours for the foreseeable future.”
As a friend. Greeeaat.
Should I be reading something into this? Did he have a girlfriend back home? Is that why he pushed me away? But then what the hell was he doing here in the first place?
I didn’t get any answers before he started pulling me toward the stairs. We didn’t race this time. The view was too good to speed up. Black bleeding into purple bleeding into a village that looked plucked from another century. Halfway down my stomach growled loudly. Hunt smiled and draped an arm over my shoulder, like it was the most natural thing in the world. He said, “Let’s go get you some food.”
This was what friends did apparently.
His arm stayed around me as we arrived back at the base of the hill and wandered back into the city. We found a small café that was empty except for us and one other couple. The owner was also our waiter, and spoke broken English.
“Welcome.” He gestured between Hunt and me and said, “Beautiful couple. Have seated.”
He put us at a small table in a corner surrounded by artwork and candles. Hunt dropped his arm from around my shoulder and pulled out my chair for me. I smiled in thanks. His hand brushed through my hair and across my shoulder when he walked around to take his seat. I shivered in response.
He said, “Cold?” and I shook my head.
Seriously. This guy fucked with my head like nothing else.
“So what’s next on our schedule, soldier?”
“More trains.”
Blech.
He laughed at my expression and added, “It will be worth it when we get there.”
“There?”
“Italy.”
I resisted the urge to squeal. ITALY. Who doesn’t dream of going to Italy? And talk about making it easy to seduce Hunt. If I couldn’t do it in Italy, someone should take away my vagina because I didn’t deserve it.
“I’m guessing by your smile that you approve of the next leg of our trip?”
“I do.”
“Good, because we’ve got fifteen hours of traveling in front of us.”
I blinked. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“Of course not, princess. We could fly if you’d rather, but I thought since you already had a Eurail pass, you’d prefer to go by train.”
My whiny rant was cut off by the arrival of the owner with our menus, which were in German.
Awesome.
The owner gestured between Hunt and me and said, “Together? New married?”
I started to shake my head, and Hunt said, “Yes. We’re on our honeymoon.”
I raised my eyebrow at Hunt, and he shrugged.
Mind. Fuck.
The owner clapped his hands, smiling and nodding, and held up a hand. “Wait.”
He scurried off, and I faced Jackson. “So . . . husband, huh?”
“Maybe it will get us a free dessert.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Are there any other perks that come with being your fake wife?” Because I could totally get on board for some wifely duties.
“My company isn’t enough?” he asked. He shot me a charming smile that could have knocked down a row of girls like dominoes.
“I’m not going to feed your ego.”
I picked up my menu and started browsing through it for anything that looked familiar. But it had been a long day of traveling and trickery, and all the strange words and letters were just jumbled on the page.
“Speaking of feeding,” Hunt said. “Ordering should be an interesting experience.”
“What? You mean you don’t speak German, just like you don’t speak Czech?”
“Well, I’m definitely not trusting your translations. That’s for sure.”
The owner came back with two glasses of red wine, which he placed on the table between us.
“For you. For marriage.”
I smiled. This fake marriage had perks after all.
“Danke,” I said to the owner.
He placed his hands over his heart and nodded. I took a quick sip from my glass and smiled my approval. He pointed to my menu, and I panicked.
I pointed at the first thing I saw.
Schwarzsauer, which sounded suspiciously like Schwarzenegger when I said it, but the owner nodded all the same.
“Yes. Yes. Gut.”
Then he turned to Hunt, who looked just as lost as I did. He pointed at something and the owner said, “Yes. Himmel und Erde. Is you say, ‘Heaven and Earth.’”
Great.
I got the terminator, and he got heaven and earth. The owner took our menus and left. I picked up my glass, smelling the dark, fruity scent.
“Are you not going to try it?” I asked.
Hunt eyed the glass for a moment, and then shook his head. “No.”
“Do you want a beer? We are in Germany, after all.”
“Thanks, but I’m okay.”
“All right, spill. You’re what twenty-five—”
“Twenty-seven.”
That made him five years older than me.
“Okay, so you’re twenty-seven, which is—*newsflash*—old enough to drink.”
“I’ve done plenty of drinking before, Kelsey. I just don’t do it anymore.”
“Bad experience?”
“Bad life.”
His hands were stiff and jerky as he unfolded his cloth napkin.
“What happened?” I asked, then regretted it a few seconds later. He’d been charming and funny for most of the day, and a dark cloud rolled over him. He had the same tension in his shoulders as the first few times I saw him. “That was stupid. You don’t have to tell me anything.”
“No, it’s fine. It was what always happens with alcohol. A
little became a lot, and my life unraveled around a bottle.”
“So you’re . . .”
“An alcoholic, yes. I was up to one-year sober this time. Or I was until the other night.”
“Was?” I asked. I wracked my brain to try and remember if I’d seen him drink anything. Maybe he’d fallen off the wagon right before I met him.
“I took a drink that night at the baths.”
“When?” I searched through fuzzy memories.
He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”
“What do you mean it doesn’t matter?”
“It just doesn’t. It happened. It’s over.”
A thought stuck in my mind like a thorn. And maybe it was part memory or just because I knew myself, but I said, “It was my fault, wasn’t it? Whatever happened . . . you broke your sobriety because of me.”
My stomach clenched, and I felt sick. Maybe I drove everyone to drinking. Not just my mother.
“No, princess. It was my choice. Don’t take that on you.”
He didn’t deny it though. He didn’t deny it, and my head was spinning. He continued, “It’s not my first time off the wagon, and it probably won’t be my last” His eyes shot to the wineglass, and he added, “But I’m good for now.”
